Way back in my unemployed days, I wrote what was to be Part 1 of what was to be a 2 part piece on my job search. I promised Part 2 would come shortly, then warned my word isn't worth shit. I made good on one of those two statements. I had good excuses -- I moved, I got a new job, I polished a couple of scripts -- but I never did follow my with the conclusion. But now, after some gentle prodding from
In my marathon search for employment, I began looking for any kind of part-time job which could get some cash flowing in. One such job was a flower shop which delivers to Hollywood production companies, restaurants, and clubs. It seemed like a pretty chill gig -- driving around Hollywood, dropping off flowers, setting them up, and watering the ones already there. It was only about 4 or 5 hours a day, which would allow me lots of time to write and hike and watch baseball -- my three food groups.
When they called me back, I was actually kind of excited -- the lady on the other end of the line talked about the A-list Oscar party they'd just worked, and how she didn't like drama. It seemed like a good fit. I made an interview for the next afternoon. It was a bit of a hike out to West LA where the shop was, and upon getting there, I found there was very limited parking. I found a spot in a residential neighborhood a block away, taking note that I'd only be safe there for half-hour.
The woman let me in the door, and handed me an application. I filled it out and was surprised when she handed me another packet to fill out. This was a 50 question personality test. For a job delivering flowers. It had questions like "Which is more important, being right or being fair?" I quickly filled it out, trying hard to not fall to far on either side of the fence. Not too passive, nor too aggressive. Not to selfish, or selfless. Not too prideful, or too insecure.
When I finished, she went through that packet first, clearly eager to find out who I was. She might have accomplished this by actually, you know, talking to me. Instead, she used a key -- a grid printed on a sheet of paper -- to decipher the answers to my "test". She told me I was very zen, but also quite forceful. That I was neither too left, nor too right. I was, basically, right down the middle. She loved this, but what really seemed to clinch the deal was my birth year -- 1971. You see, that is the Year of the Pig on the Chinese calendar, and she was both Chinese and also born in '71, so she understood exactly what this meant. She went on to explain to me how we were a very good match, and how I had "open, honest eyes", and "positive energy". When she explained that it was also nice to have a "hunky guy" delivering her flowers, I started to wonder if this was a job interview or blind date.
It was around this time, I noticed that I only had 5 minutes to move my car before I got a ticket. I mentioned this to her, and she went on a long explanation of how parking was tough in the area, and how I'd have to park 3 blocks away and walk over some train tracks and a field to get to work everyday. When I had only 2 minutes, I reminded her again about my car. Just a moment, she promised, saying she was printing me out directions on how to park. It appeared I was hired, so the last thing I was going to do was walk out on her at that point, but she just kept talking and talking -- about the job, LA, life in general, spirituality, religion, everything.
Finally, she told me to come in at 8:30 the next morning, and let me go. It was 30 minutes past when I had to move, but I still jogged all the way (in dress shoes), hoping to avoid a ticket. But I got there to find one sure enough -- for 58 bucks. I was pissed, but calmed myself a bit by thinking about how I'd just landed a job. In hindsight, it should've been a sign.
The next day, I made sure to be up and out of the house early, making sure not to be late due to LA traffic. I also had to allow extra time for the walk from my car. Because of this, I was quite early. I killed a little time in my car, reading a magazine, but still got to the store about 15 minutes early. I thought this might be a good sign to my new employer that I was responsible, prepared, and on the ball. Instead, I got yelled at. "You're early", she said "Try not to do that. Now you've got me off my schedule." Of course, what throws someone off their schedule more than an employee arriving a little early to work?
Before long, she was showing me all the ropes of the job -- and expecting me to pick it up on the fly. That's okay, I like a challenge. Before long, the company van was all loaded up -- to her extremely detailed and very high standards -- and we were ready to leave. I got in the driver's seat, her riding shotgun, and left. We were 10 feet out of the parking spot before she began to criticize.
The breaks on the van were brand new, and I had never driven it, so the initial trip down the alley behind the store was a little herky-jerky. "These breaks are tight", I said, explaining. "No, they aren't -- they're perfect", she retorted. "I just had them replaced." I tried to be diplomatic: "New breaks are always tight -- that's good, I just have to get used to them." Before I could finish, she yelled at me that I wasn't paying enough attention to the "very dangerous" blind corner we were approaching. I shut up and navigated it, and were on our way to our first stop. Before getting there, she criticized my speed ("This van is harder to stop than you think"), my lane choice ("Most accidents happen in the left lanes, I try to stay right"), and my stopping ("You should stop at least 15 or 20 feet behind the car in front of you -- that way, if we're rear-ended, we won't hit the car in front of us"). "Oh dear", I thought to myself. "This will not end well", I'd think to myself.
But this constant harping was punctuated by what appeared to be her fawning over my every comment or joke. She'd compliment my looks, or my personality, I'd play it off with a casual line, and she'd giggle ("You're such a Piggy", she'd say, delighted -- apparently meaning such a typical person born in the Year of the Pig"). When I told her something about my life, a certain unlikely turn of events, she she'd virtually squeal: "Piggy luck! Piggy luck!" I mentioned she was crazy, right?
The first stop was uneventful, but on our way to the second, I could tell that wouldn't repeat itself. She began to get very nervous and talkative about the next job -- delivering and watering orchids for a big production company in town called Relativity. She said they were her biggest clients, and we must slip in and do our work silently -- invisibly -- so as not to disturb these artistic geniuses. I could tell by now this lady had serious issues with stress, and it was starting rub off: I was already imagining who from the entertainment world I might run into at Relativity, and how embarrassing it might be. My conclusion was that the most embarrassing run-in would be with the managers I just fired, second would be the producers who bought my pitch a couple of years earlier.
By the time we arrived at Relativity and lugged all our supplies upstairs, it was pretty hot, and I was sweating. This was just one of the problems she noticed once we were inside -- I was sweating too much, not working fast enough, making too much noise, etc. In the beginning, she was walking me through everything, explaining how to do the job, but at some point she just told me to go do things -- never explain how they should be done. Then she criticized how I did them, as if she had explained it to me before -- she hadn't.
Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, who do I see? The producers who bought my script in the lobby, waiting for a meeting. At first, I thought it was my imagination -- it couldn't really be them. But it was. Luckily, they were both so involved with their Blackberrys they didn't seem to notice me. I did my work, and avoided them. But when she came to check on my work, something awful happened -- she recognized one of them. They had worked together at Warner Bros. a few years earlier, and struck up a conversation. I was -- painfully -- just a few feet away, but I kept my head down, made myself look busy, and tried to stay under the radar. Because I only met this producer in person once (when we pitched), and had 90% of our contact over phone and e-mail, I don't think he recognized me, but it was embarrassing nonetheless.
Mercifully, he was called into his meeting shortly thereafter, and we got back to finishing our work. But it wasn't that merciful -- she complained we were taking too long to finish there because of me not working fast enough (her 10 minute conversation with the producer while she could've been showing me what to do and helping out apparently had nothing to do with this fact). As we finished, she seemed increasingly annoyed by the fact, I didn't know how much to water orchids (keep in mind, I'd never done it before, and never claimed to have). She ordered me to water one, then stared daggers at me while I did.
"Am I doing it wrong?" I asked. No answer -- just more daggers. The fact this evil face staring back at me belonged to the same lady who was fawning over just moments earlier made it even more off-putting. "I must not be doing it wrong, but I have no idea," I continued, "because you're just giving me that look of death." Still no answer, just a very angry and frustrated sigh and shake of the head. Now, I know this isn't going to work out, so why not be honest? "Look, this clearly isn't as good a fit as you thought it would be", I said. "So just tell me how to do it, so we can get out of here. I'll finish out the day, and you'll never have to see me again." This seemed to draw her out of her shell a bit. She showed me how to finish up, we silently gathered our things, and loaded them into the van.
Once inside the van, she wanted to open up and talk. "So, what do you think?" she asked. "I think I'm not as good as you need me to be, and you're not as patient as I need you to be. It's not a good fit. I think we finish out the day, and then go our separate ways." She loved this. Loved it. Complemented by honesty, praised my communication skills, even laughed at my earlier "Look of death" comment. Several times. She kept saying it over and over, laughing each time. As we continued on for the rest of the day, she was much more open and helpful, and continually talking about how good a fit we were. Seriously.
At the end of the day, she talked about the next day's schedule. I still had this job. The question was: Did I still want it? The answer: In this economy, yes. There was no talk of our problems, and it seemed she'd moved on. So I showed up for work the next day -- more than a little nervous about what direction this would go. I made sure to arrive right on time -- not a minute early -- but she claimed I was a minute or two late. I should've just left right then. We packed up the van, and I pulled out, making sure not to hit the brakes too hard. I turned the opposite way down the alley to avoid the dangerous blind corner -- she said that was a no-no because the bumpy alley the other way was worse. Here we go again.
The trip to Hollywood was much smoother this time -- I made sure to stay right, stop 20 feet behind cars, etc., etc. -- and she spent the entire time opening up to me about her life as if I was her shrink. She talked about how much she hated the superficiality of plastic surgery, then explained how she had her teeth whitened and got regular botox implants. She talked about how hard-working "her people" were, while "Mexicans in LA are all so angry". It was an eye-opening experience. Still, it was better than being yelled at. It wouldn't last long.
The first stop was at Eva Longoria's restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard, where the criticism and dagger-shooting began again. Again, she didn't give me the necessary details for how to do the job, then went crazy when I didn't know them, or accomplish them quickly. I wasn't alone -- she also laid into a bartender who wasn't doing anything wrong either. The main point of contention -- at least for me -- was the fact she was constantly telling me how to count, as if not understanding that was the key to my slowness. Every time there was an issue, she'd explain to me how to count quickly. It was really annoying.
Finally, she said, "We're late, we have to go." I explained there were still two things on her checklist we had to do. "We don't have time", she said. While she was clearly emotional, I was matter of fact: "Then which should I not do." Again, no answer -- just daggers.
The situation finally reached its boiling point at the next place, where she again tried to explain how you count. "That's it", I said. "You can stop with the training. This will be my last day." "Why?" she asked. Are you kidding me? I explained why she was so hard to work with, how she criticized, and went from one extreme to the other. Mostly, I explained that an angry glare doesn't convey any helpful information. I told her she was the hardest person to work with I'd ever met, and that I'd finish the day if she liked, but would much prefer walking away right then.
She was legitimately shocked, and asked how I would get back to my car. I said it didn't matter -- that I would be so happy to not have to work for her anymore, I'd be willing to walk home and call a cab. She appeared hurt, but offered to cut me a check right then for my services and would allow me to go. I took it, threw off the company polo shirt I was wearing, and walked home -- about 12 blocks. Later that night, I had my wife drive me over to West La to pick up my car. Even in this economy, you have to draw the line somewhere.
As I've said since, it all ended up working out for the best -- I have a better job, in a better location, working for a better boss, and earning more money. You know what I call that? Piggy luck!
1 comment:
that's awesome. Even better than I hoped.
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