The call went out. Maybe you saw the big “U” projected onto the Empire State Building. Maybe you heard the siren song blaring from large speakers mounted on flatbeds circling the city. Maybe you received a little note slipped into your pocket as some nondescript pedestrian brushed by on the sidewalk. RT (Russian Television) needed an unemployed person, an expert, stat, to comment on this bit of ridiculousness…

Looking for work? Unemployed need not apply

Who better than me, unofficial spokesman for the unemployed? Okay, so the call was an email. And I’m not technically unemployed at the moment. Oh yeah, and I can’t form a coherent sentence without my monkeys and their typewriters. But let’s not fuss over exactly how it all went down. I got the gist right. My blog and I were in the right place at the right time. The rest is television history.

Some employers don’t consider the unemployed for open positions. That was the story making the rounds. I wasn’t surprised to find this out. I wasn’t angry. I was, at best, slightly intrigued or, perhaps, mildly bemused. An unemployed friend posted a link on Facebook about the growing phenomenon. Anyone who’s been unemployed during a recession probably suspected this was happening. I know I did. There had to be a better reason for all the unreturned calls and emails than a simple lack of jobs. I’m not that bad of a job candidate, or am I?

Companies receive tons of resumes for every opening, many from people who aren’t remotely qualified. Separating the maybe’s from the no’s takes time and resources, both of which are in short supply these days. And let’s be realistic. Most resumes are ruled out even in a normal hiring climate; the percentage only rises during a recession. Employers can afford to be extra picky in a buyer’s market. But the short-staffed and shortsighted HR department needs a shortcut, an easy way to reduce the pile. Ruling out the unemployed is that shortcut.

Common thinking suggests someone is unemployed for a reason – they’re an undesirable employee. They don’t show up on time. They do substandard work. They wear soup-stained shirts and smell like dried cat vomit. A desirable employee would’ve found a job already, or never lost it in the first place. So failure to be employed is seen as proof that someone is unfit to be employed. I failed to win the lottery today. Does that make me unfit to win the lottery? The thinking is flawed. And any company that thinks this way is missing out.

People lose jobs for all sorts of reasons. I lost four different jobs for four different reasons, none of which had anything to do with my performance. Each of my former employers experienced some sort of financial duress and could no longer afford to pay some of its employees. People don’t find new jobs for just as many reasons as they lose jobs. During an employment crisis, one reason trumps all others: there are very few jobs.

The need to reduce the applicant pool won’t go away any time soon. Unemployment sits at 9.7%, and the ratio of unemployed to available jobs is 5 to 1. Submitting a resume is easier than ever. Ruling out unemployed applicants will continue. Companies still discriminate on the basis of race, sex, age and sexual orientation, and those practices are illegal. The unemployed can only take solace in knowing that any company that picks its employees this way isn’t worth working for. Too bad solace doesn’t pay the bills.

This says "stats." If you had eyes, you'd know. (courtesy of http://www.recruitingblogs.com/)

Three recruiters contacted me last Thursday, all within about an hour of each other. The stars must have aligned just so, creating a world where my resume springs to the top of every job board search for “digital marketing professional.” Does this signal the end of the famine, or the beginning of the famine? I’ll let you know when I eat, or die. Maybe it just means I should buy a lottery ticket.

The first recruiter was filling an in-house search engine marketing position, but expressed concern about my extended unemployment. His clients – potential employers – think there’s a problem when a candidate’s unemployment stretches past six months, horrible job market notwithstanding. Skills deteriorate; people get lazy. The long-term unemployed guy, the thinking goes, must be spending all his free time watching “Roseanne” reruns and inhaling Little Debbie snack cakes by the the pallet. Why hire someone who can barely remember how to bathe himself?

But a job search takes a month for every $10,000 of expected income. If my second grade math skills hold up (it has been 30 years), anyone expecting to make over $60,000 a year (6 X 10,000) may want to reexamine their options. A lower salary may be preferable to perceived obsolescence. I understand the recruiter’s point. I don’t like it, but he’s probably right. The burden is on the job seeker to prove continued relevance in an ultra-competitive job market. It’s nice to know the job of finding a job is that much harder.

I wasn’t really qualified for the opening anyway. We both knew it. I tried to talk my way into a meeting anyway, because that’s what I have to do. He backpedaled away from any sort of firm commitment, like a juggler on a unicycle. Recruiters are good at that. The call ended with his promise to run my resume by the company. Even if he actually does, nothing will come of it.

The second email came from an HR person at a reputable company. I would happily work at this place; I’d even hang out in their cafeteria just to make people think I work there. My qualifications line up nicely with the company’s needs, upon first glance. I followed up by phone but couldn’t get through, not even to a voicemail. So I expressed my interest via email, twice. I’ve yet to hear back, though my fingers and toes are crossed, and crossed again. Typing is painful. I’ll follow up once more, by phone and email, before writing it off. It’s frustrating to fail before actually getting a chance.

The third recruiter left a voicemail message while I was cleaning the kitchen and blasting old Rush albums (Power Windows, Hold Your Fire and Moving Pictures, for those of you who were teenage boys in the 1980s). Following up on an email I never received, he invited me to interview for an account manager position. I don’t remember applying. Nor could I find any record in the vast Excel spreadsheet that tracks my job search exploits. Many open positions don’t include the company’s name or identifying information. So I didn’t think much of it. He left a phone number but no name.

I called back later that afternoon to inquire. A frazzled receptionist who only spoke in rapid fire confirmed the company was interviewing for an account manager. She asked a bunch of questions and then put me on hold. Upon picking up again, she had me repeat everything. She then put me on hold again, picked up again and asked for another recap. We eventually arranged an interview for 10:30 the next day. The company forwarded directions via email later that evening. The email stressed that I should “…dress professionally, and to bring a copy of your resume.” A call confirming the meeting came early the next morning.

The initial phone message and followup email both seemed weird at the time. What recruiter calls and doesn’t leave a name? And when does a company ever remind someone how to dress for an interview? The phone conversation soured me some, but didn’t seem that unusual. Having just wrapped up a stint answering phones, I know all to well that people can be distracted at work.

I researched the company as I always do, reading the website and Googling what I found there. Grammar mistakes and misspellings aside, the website was fine for what the company seemed to be – a small marketing agency. It only contained a few pages and didn’t say much of substance, but many are like that. The Flash elements on the site were pointless and annoying. All in all, though, I’ve seen much worse.

The lack of additional info beyond the website concerned me too. Besides a few online press releases, which anyone with a PRWeb account can post for free, there was nothing. Maybe I didn’t dig enough. But a search on any company name should yield tons of stuff. My name brings up pages and pages of results, not that I ever Google it. I especially don’t search for “Norm Elrod” in my pajamas, late at night, while listening to “Juke Box Hero” on repeat and pining for the fame and fortune I so desperately desire. That would be dysfunctional.

And I am anything but dysfunctional. I may have forgotten marketing and basic math, as far as recruiters are concerned. But I am not dysfunctional. I am desperate however. So I went through with the interview. As my next post will reveal, that was a complete waste of time.

Read Job interview, aka complete waste of time

I love burritos so much that I named my fantasy football team after them. That, my friends, is dedication. (courtesy of allwomenstalk.com)

[Read the holiday season job post, part 1 and part 2 so this post makes sense.]

Around 1:30, a full three hours after my arrival, an interviewer led me out of the horribly misnamed Turnover Room and into the interview room across the hall. Set up were two rows of five narrow tables, each with two pairs of chairs facing each other. She sat me at a middle table and took the chair opposite. Eight other interviews continued on amidst the general hustle and bustle of people coming and going.

She explained that the sales floor position I’d applied for only paid $8/hour, and the HR coordinator position had been filled earlier that day. I didn’t ask why they invited me in to interview for a position and left me waiting all morning while they filled it. I knew the answer… my time didn’t matter to them. Making that point wouldn’t help things. As luck would have it, my computer skills – meaning my ability to use the Internet – qualified me to be a proctor. The person in this position helps jobseekers complete online applications at the computer terminals out front. The job paid $10/hour for 40 hours/week until early January, when it could become full-time. I indicated my interest in interviewing for it.

The interviewer asked a few brief questions about my resume, nothing terribly probing. Do you have a resume? Tell me what you did at Company X. Why did you leave Company Y? I answered simply, and she passed my file on to a colleague and left. I waited, listening to the interview happening a few feet away and mentally fielding questions that seemed to stump the interviewee. Those questions would be coming my way in a few minutes.

The next interviewer dug a little deeper, meaning she actually asked questions that required some thought to answer.

Interviewer: Why is customer service important?

Me: So people will buy s**t and then come back later and buy more s**t.

Interviewer: What would you do if faced with an angry, frustrated applicant?

Me: I would slap them across the face with the keyboard then climb up on a desk and wreak havoc from above in the form of a flying elbow or, perhaps, a dropkick. It all depends on space and what I’m wearing. What do you think I would do? I’d help them. Because being unemployed is frustrating enough without having to contend with technology.

I may be confusing my words and thoughts at that moment. The border between Reality-ville and Imagination Land gets a little blurrier everyday. And neither side seems willing to cede victory in the battle of Norm’s Brain. Regardless, the interviewer accepted my answers and complimented my outfit and comport. Her implication was that not everyone she interviews is as well dressed and well spoken. She said she would recommend to the director that I be hired. The director – the last step in the interview assembly line – had to meet all potential hires personally and was unavailable at that moment. She would call me by the end of the week. I liked my chances and, in my head, started revising my calendar and my budget. Then I remembered what it’s like to punch out and take a lunch break.

I left the store around 2:00, after three hours of waiting and 30 minutes of interviewing, and bolted straight for Chipotle, Burrito Bucks in hand. My stomach was about to feed on a vital organ to keep the rest of my body alive, so time was short. The closest Chipotle sits on the ground floor of the Empire State Building, home of my last employer. The lunchtime rush had ended and the line moved quickly. I commandeered a window seat and ate my chicken burrito. Guys in red jackets tried to sell bus tours to tourists outside. Tourists resisted, as they often do when approached on the mean streets of midtown and asked for money. The rest of the world hurried by.

I feared running into someone from my old company and explaining why I was there, eating a burrito in a suit in the middle of the afternoon. Various, less-than-plausible answers came to mind involving high-profile espionage and intrigue. But in the end I opted for vagueness followed by a quick change of subject. Something like, “I had a job interview nearby. How’s work these days?” It’s this kind of deftness that got me here today. I wasn’t ashamed of my interview so much as my year of continued unemployment. Though, truth be known, I wasn’t exactly comfortable with my interview either. No one familiar happened by.

I strolled up Fifth Ave., inspired by the beautiful weather to try and think positive thoughts. Many successful business types get their start on the ground floor of a company. I could be next. Of course they usually walk through the door at the age of 22, not 37. The director’s call never came. But a friendly generic email rejecting my application did later that week. It invited me to apply again, presumably for another job I didn’t want. Spending more quality time in the Turnover Room was definitely tempting. I could bring along a pillow next time, maybe my PlayStation too. But I never followed up.

The holiday season job I didn’t want and didn’t get, part 1

The holiday season job I didn’t want and didn’t get, part 2

Why does Jerry look like he's about to rise up to heaven? (courtesy of http://binkis.wordpress.com/)

[Read the holiday season job post, part 1 so this post makes sense.]

A security woman sat at the front desk – really more of a maitre d’  stand with a stool nestled in a corner – and glared at me. She seemed to want to rip my head off or fall asleep. I couldn’t tell which; it’s a fine line sometimes. Maybe she wanted to rip my head off because I kept her from falling asleep. I signed in, because that’s what people do when entering an office. She continued to glare, because that’s what people do when they hate you. Only when I asked where to go for my job interview did she take my ID and point me down the hall.

An official-looking woman with a clipboard met me in the actual reception area. She seemed to be about 20 years old and playing grown up. Ah, to be young and employed again… I asked a couple questions and quickly realized she only knew what was on her piece of paper. She checked me off the list and shuffled me past banks of computers and people in various states of interview limbo into the “Turnover Room” to wait. Apparently the online application is the E-Z Pass of the hiring process.

The Turnover Room could hold 50 or 60 people. But the five people there were spread out as if everyone else were contagious. “Don’t get too close,” their placement suggested. “I don’t want to catch your unemployment too.” I can’t say I blame them. Each looked up when I entered and then returned their attention to a cellphone or the floor.

Feeling a little self-conscious, I took a seat on the far side, a few rows from the front and also nowhere near anyone else. The room – with its dingy drop ceilings, worn-down industrial carpet and windows not cleaned since smoking was outlawed in the workplace – was depressing. Corporate inspirational posters dotted the walls. The one closest to me titled, “I Commit To My Own Sales” was signed by those who presumably had. It reminded me of something high school cheerleaders would post outside the boys locker room before the big homecoming game, sans bubbly letters and heart-dotted i’s. A TV and VCR sat on a rolling metal AV cart near the front of the room, as if class that day would be a video. Sound from another TV drifted in from the next room over.

I read a magazine and tried to figure out what was on. If forced to guess, upon penalty of more bad television, I’d have gone with “Living Single,” the mid-’90s show about Black, urban 20-somethings in Brooklyn starring Queen Latifah, Tootie and the guy who voices the God Of War video games. I’ve seen more episodes on late-night cable than is probably healthy. I could probably even rap (badly) the theme song’s Hip-Hop interlude if asked. At any rate, whatever show it was, the laugh track thought it hilarious. And who am I to disagree?

Jerry Springer came on at 11:00. Chants of “Jerry” gave it away. I put away the magazine and played with my phone, texting anyone who might respond while contemplating how to join the talk show circuit. The attitude part would be easy. I’ve already mastered the key phrases…

• You don’t own me!
• I be who I want to be!
• Talk to the hand!

But I’d need a gimmick and some ill-fitting clothes, maybe a bad haircut and fewer teeth. But the gimmick would be key if I wanted to be a regular. Garden variety fat people and unfaithful spouses come and go in the talk show world. And they’re bush league besides. No good persona came to me, so I gave up trying. So much for that career path. Maybe I could be part of Jerry’s show security team.

The Turnover Room started to fill up with applicants, but not so many that anyone sat next to anyone else. Every few minutes another job candidate wandered in, causing everyone to look up, sigh and return to their distraction of choice. Less often an HR rep hurried in and pulled someone out to interview. A clear sense of purpose distinguished the employed from those seeking employment.

The other obvious difference was level of dress. HR people wore corporate business attire; heals and pinstripes predominated. Applicants opted for what might seem like business attire to someone who didn’t know any better. Or they simply didn’t care. I was one of two applicants dressed in a suit. The other punctuated his outfit with a sideways baseball hat. A few people managed a shirt and tie or a nice blouse. The rest wore jeans and t-shirts. The longer I sat there, the more I doubted my choice of outfit.

By 11:30 people who had entered the Turnover Room after me were being called to interview. I felt forgotten (and a little stupid for wearing a suit), but figured my turn would come shortly. Causing trouble and making waves wouldn’t get me hired as a small, cheap cog in a giant machine. I grew restless and even more bored. I’d finished my magazine and texted everyone. The stale air was drying out my throat and making me a little ill; anybody who’s attended a business conference and spent hours breathing canned hotel or convention center air knows the feeling. I was thirsty and needed to use the bathroom, which was two floors down on the other side of the store. And I wanted to take off my tie.

By a little after noon I didn’t care anymore. Waiting an hour and a half to interview for a seasonal job seemed ridiculous. I asked the clipboard lady and another staffer when my interview might occur, trying my best to be deferential. They guided me into an office full of temps and left again. I waited there and then back in the Turnover Room while the situation was resolved. As it turned out, they really had forgotten me and were re-slotting me in the queue. I was finally called to interview 40 minutes later.

The holiday season job I didn’t want and didn’t get, part 1

The holiday season job I didn’t want and didn’t get, part 3

[Ben thought he had a new job this time... until he didn't. His latest experience got him wondering just how his fate can depend on someone who has less experience than he does.]

Ben Breier, 23, was a reporter and web producer for the New York Observer’s Politicker.com, a political news network that suffered massive cutbacks last December. Prior to working in New York City, Ben covered climate change and energy-related issues at the federal policy level for Inside Washington Publishers, a trade publication network in Washington, DC. A graduate of Kent State University’s journalism program in 2007, Ben lives in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.

Ben can be reached at ben.breier[at]gmail[dot]com. His resume can be found here.

A few months ago I landed a contract job as a web producer at a cable television station. The position seemed to have the potential to go full-time. But things took a turn for the worse when the company cut my hourly rate in half, to less than I made on unemployment. It was time to resume my search.

I landed an interview for a web producing job in the textbook department at a book publisher. The position looked exciting, and the company reputable. My first interview went swimmingly. There were two web producer openings in two different departments. And the woman who administered the first interview was so excited about my skill-set that she got me in to talk with the other department head. That meeting took place the next day – a Thursday. He had aggressively Googled me, and read my pieces on Jobless and Less. He said that applying for this job would be different than my other experiences. He even promised a quick decision on my hiring. By Friday, I would know the status of the job. The more I interviewed, the better I felt about my chances.

I celebrated my birthday that weekend. My girlfriend had given me a three-day pass to the All Points West Music & Arts Festival. But I spent Friday glued to my cell phone waiting for a response. No answer. Saturday came and went. No answer. Finally, on Sunday night I received an email. He apologized for giving me incorrect information. He went on to inform me that the job decision was in HR’s hands and he couldn’t comment any further. He hoped that I had a good time at the festival (something he discovered by looking at my Twitter feed, which I’ve since locked.)

I had been a nervous wreck all weekend long, and a 9:00 pm email on Sunday didn’t help things. But it gave me a sense of hope. I showed his email to an older co-worker at my job, and she interpreted the subtext as “he wants to hire you, but he can’t because of HR restrictions.” That seemed reasonable. The man went out of his way to apologize to me. He likely would’ve ignored me if I weren’t a viable candidate. One week went by. I heard nothing, save for an email from my human resources contact saying that the search was still ongoing. Another week went by. And then I received the automated email denying me the job. It was almost too predictable.

I typically criticize HR in my posts for what they did wrong and suggest improvements. I’m not a human resources professional, and I don’t claim to be an expert. But I do have some experience as a job search candidate. And that puts me in the position to have an informed opinion. There’s a fatal flaw in the system when the gatekeepers to entry-level professional jobs have roughly the same amount of work experience as the people applying for them. I Googled my HR contact to get her email address and happened upon her Meetup.com page. She is just 25 years old.

The interview process for one position at Company Z went well. The process for the other dragged on for weeks. The mature, experienced 30-something professional got back to me in a timely fashion. The girl who was my age didn’t treat me with the same level of respect. I realize that everybody has to start somewhere. But giving those just starting out in HR the incredible power to determine who lands a job seems like a huge misstep. Don’t they need to go through a learning process? When I picture an HR professional, I see a seasoned working professional who is an authority on what makes a great employee. It’s hard to be an authority on much of anything at 25.

[Ben's job search goes on, as much as he'd like it to end. The last time we heard from our hero, he was enduring new and exciting forms of rejection (nay, torture) at the hands of his HR nemeses. This time he fights back, a little.]

Ben Breier, 23, was a reporter and web producer for the New York Observer’s Politicker.com, a political news network that suffered massive cutbacks last December. Prior to working in New York City, Ben covered climate change and energy-related issues at the federal policy level for Inside Washington Publishers, a trade publication network in Washington, DC. A graduate of Kent State University’s journalism program in 2007, Ben lives in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.

Ben can be reached at ben.breier[at]gmail[dot]com. His resume can be found here.

While waiting to hear back from Company Z, I put out feelers for other jobs, just like everyday. Company A – a lobbying arm for a national body – was hiring a communications coordinator. I applied for the job the day it went up and received this response 2 days later…

Dear Ben:

Every employer looking for a media professional knows that when there is a typographical error in the first line of a letter, the applicant is missing an important skill. Best of luck with your job search.

Dread and sickness immediately filled my gut; I’d sent a prospective employer an email with an unacceptable typo. The HR person – we’ll call her Betty – understandably wrote me off. I responded anyway. It was a no-lose situation to tell her that she was making a bad decision…

Betty,

I’m sorry that you think an accidental use of ‘simple’ as opposed to “simply” is a complete and total indicator of my professional ability. In this case, I would like to express to you that you are wrong – I am a capable professional, and know that I would do an outstanding job in any media related position.

Good luck on your search to fill the position.

She called me three days later to come in and interview for the job. I researched the hell out of Company A in the interim. My girlfriend works in Company A’s industry, which gives me access to a human database of information. I knew what likely to expect. 13 people would be interviewed for the job, and three of them brought back for a second interview. While not as competitive as at Company Q, the circumstances were competitive enough to worry me.

Of all my job interviews so far, this one left me the most optimistic. Betty seemed incredibly receptive to my new ideas for Company A, and believed my media background would serve them well. Following the meeting, I was asked to write a surprise press release on the conference room laptop in 45 minutes. It came out really well. On my way out, Betty commented, “I knew there was a reason why I brought you in.” I smiled.

An email response from Betty, shortly after I’d followed up with another writing sample, gave me more reason to be excited. “Nice job,” she wrote. “We’ll be in touch.”

I celebrated my birthday that Friday with friends at Essex Bar & Grill on the Lower East Side. For the first time in awhile, I felt like I was heading in the right direction – toward a second interview and potentially my ideal job. I truly enjoyed myself in the company of friends – a rarity since I’ve been unemployed.

On Monday night, Betty rejected me.

Ben can be reached at ben.breier[at]gmail[dot]com. His resume can be found here.

Share your job search experiences in the unemployment forums…

[Welcome to Ben's second guest post. You may remember this talented yet unemployed media professional from his previous exploits in the job market. This article highlights some of his more recent experiences.]

Ben Breier, 23, was a reporter and web producer for the New York Observer’s Politicker.com, a political news network that suffered massive cutbacks last December. Prior to working in New York City, Ben covered climate change and energy-related issues at the federal policy level for Inside Washington Publishers, a trade publication network in Washington, DC. A graduate of Kent State University’s journalism program in 2007, Ben lives in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.

Ben can be reached at ben.breier[at]gmail[dot]com. His resume can be found here.

My last piece for Jobless and Less (Note to HR… be nice to the unemployed) detailed how two gigantic media companies are handling the hiring process during the recession. Although neither company hired me, Company Z was quick with their rejection, suggesting that I apply for another job, while Company Q dragged out the process for nearly three months, keeping me in the dark and filling me with false hope.

Moving forward, I was excited about my chances with Company Z. The HR department passed me along to a different representative, who was much younger and less experienced than the rep who handled me the first time around. She was incredibly professional in the interview (April 17). I’d hear back about a second interview by Wednesday of the following week.

So I waited in anticipation. The week went by surprisingly quickly. Not hearing anything by the promised date, I reached out to her on Thursday (April 23). She got back to me the following Monday, saying that they needed some more time. Given that Company Z actually asked for references, I just assumed that checking them was causing the delay.

Two weeks later, there was still no word about the job.  I reached out on a Monday (May 4), and the HR rep said I would “…know something within 48 hours.” That meant Wednesday or Thursday. Her precise timetable excited me. But 48 hours grew to 200+ hours. I was haunted with a familiar feeling; this felt like Company Q all over again.

The ultimate smack in the face happened came while poking around for other jobs on Company Z’s parent’s Web site. I noticed a function allowing the user to check the status of a job. The job I applied for at Company Z was closed April 28 (my birthday, coincidentally). That was almost a full week after the human resources representative told me I’d “…know something within 48 hours.” Our conversation on May 4th was just a front. They had already decided to reject me, but were likely holding out on the final “no” until the job was completely filled.

Even if the economy weren’t in shambles and prospective employees weren’t facing one of the toughest American job markets ever, this is a cruel practice. I understand the logic – Company Z wanted to keep all options open in case its lead candidate rejected the job offer. But it’s unreasonable for HR to inform candidates that they are moving forward with someone else. If I were rejected for a job and then the company came back to me later with the same job offer, I’d be ecstatic.

The lesson here? HR quality varies wildly not only from company to company, but from one HR person to another. A positive experience with an organization doesn’t guarantee another the next time around, especially dealing with a considerably less experienced rep.

I’ve yet to receive final word from Company Z.

Ben can be reached at ben.breier[at]gmail[dot]com. His resume can be found here.

Share your job search experiences in the unemployment forums…

[Welcome to my first guest post... pretty damn exciting. Ben is a talented and unemployed media professional looking for work in this difficult market. His article highlights some of his recent experiences, good and bad.]

Ben Breier, 23, was a reporter and web producer for the New York Observer’s Politicker.com, a political news network that suffered massive cutbacks last December. Prior to working in New York City, Ben covered climate change and energy-related issues at the federal policy level for Inside Washington Publishers, a trade publication network in Washington, DC. A graduate of Kent State University’s journalism program in 2007, Ben lives in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.

Ben can be reached at ben.breier[at]gmail[dot]com. His resume can be found here.

One of the industries hit the hardest by this recession is the media. Sharply declining ad sales and a major paradigm shift from print news to the Web have caused massive layoffs and newspaper shutdowns across the country. From paper chain Gannett’s decision to impose unpaid furloughs on its employees to the New York Times’ decision to re-lease parts of its building, media professionals are in a tight spot.

I was a political reporter working in the New York media world, and lost my job after just six months in the city. I couldn’t dive right into the job market, because companies weren’t posting any jobs around the holiday season. So I took care of my unemployment, spent the holidays at home with my family in Ohio and sunk my teeth into the job market equivalent of stringy beaver meat while doing pro-bono work for a progressive advertising network.

For the three months after that I applied for any sort of job I felt remotely qualified for, across the fields of communications and politics. In that time, I landed two interviews for identical media positions at two New York-based media corporations. Both corporations are roughly the same size, but my experiences during this job application process were very different.

My first bite – for an entry-level public relations job – came in March. To say I was excited for the opportunity would be putting it mildly. I was absolutely elated. The first interview with human resources at Company Q went swimmingly, until the HR person busted me in the gut with the harsh reality of the job market. 600 people had applied for this job, and Company Q would be interviewing 20 of them. After that, they would thin the herd to about a half-dozen applicants and begin a second wave of interviews.

But the real kicker was this: each one of the 20 potential employees had been referred to human resources via someone internally, just like I had been. Any sort of advantage I thought I had going into this job interview had gone out the window. However, there was a bright spot: HR told me there were other jobs that were not publicly advertised, as they had job requirements similar to the advertised one. The implication was that making it past the first round of interviews might lead to consideration for a similar job, even if the original job didn’t work out. HR also told me that they were looking to fill the position relatively quickly, within the period of a couple of weeks.

Eight days later, human resources at Company Q called me – and I was jubilant. I felt like I had cannonballed into a safety net; my chances of getting a job seemed very good. I would be interviewing with a pair of publicists in the media relations department in just a few days. For a moment, life was great, and it looked like I had a decent chance of lifting myself off of unemployment.

Interview number two was mostly what I expected it would be – a more in-depth description of the job’s responsibilities coupled with more pointed questions about how my previous work experience would transfer over. This interview also ended with an atomic bomb. It would be a couple of weeks until the media team would finish interviewing and determine who to bring in for a third interview, as the team was traveling the following week.

Obviously, this wasn’t good news. I couldn’t believe that Company Q was really going to have a third interview for the entry-level job. Waiting for them to reach that decision was absolute torture. The longer they took, the longer I would be on unemployment. And unemployment benefits only last so long. In this case, time was literally money, and I was starting to panic.

I attempted to touch base with the team at the end of March while they were out of New York, and was told that I was “still on the radar.” This made me feel optimistic. But time continued to pass – long after they’d returned – and a decision hadn’t been made, I grew really worried. The stress this situation put on me was out-of-body. But deep-down, I knew that these massive corporations didn’t owe me any sort of response until a decision was actually made, regardless of when that would actually be.

The three-week waiting time mentioned during my second interview was pushing six weeks. There was no word about the job. Paranoia started to take over, and I wondered if Company Q had gone with somebody else, or cut the position. I even began regularly checking the contents of my spam folder to make sure an e-mail hadn’t slipped through the cracks. I didn’t expect an immediate resolution. I just wanted to know where Company Q was in with the process. I e-mailed HR and my prospective boss about once a week, but heard nothing in return.

I reached out to HR by phone in mid-April. To my amazement, Company Q was still interviewing for the position, which wasn’t a good sign. Then they struck another massive blow: the parallel positions mentioned before had all been filled. I assumed that I wasn’t being considered for any of these jobs because I was still being considered for the primary job. My heart sank, as my safety net collapsed underneath me. At this point, I was mentally deflated and exhausted. Would each interview be as grueling and drawn-out as this one? Soon, I’d find out.

I was brought in on April Fool’s Day to interview for an entry-level public relations job at Company Z – another major media company, similar in size and scope to Company Q. My first interview again went very well. This job had many of the same requirements as the other job, and I felt I had a good chance. The human resources representative told me that she’d get back to me in about a week. I mentally scoffed, knowing my experience with Company Q.

Low and behold, Company Z got back to me with a phone call nine days later. She let me down gently, informing me that they had gone with an internal candidate. I was disappointed with the decision, but the HR representative was incredible. She told me about other jobs available at Company Z that might fit me. I applied for a couple of them, and four days later, I was scheduled to interview for one.

The day I interviewed with Company Z about potential job number two was the day that Company Q finally got around to rejecting me by e-mail. Company Q probably only rejected me because I e-mailed about the position again earlier in the afternoon. Had I not sought a response, I’d probably still be in the dark. My prospective boss at Company Q subsequently reached out to me in an empathetic and productive manner that I definitely appreciated, letting me know that my persistence was appreciated and to keep in touch with him. More jobs would become available at Company Q. Four days later, human resources at Company Q e-mailed me again to tell me I had been rejected. It was more salt in the wound.

My point isn’t to curse of praise the hiring practices of corporate America. It’s to show prospective employers what effect a lack of communication has on an unemployed candidate engaged in a desperate job search. There was a big difference between the nine days it took Company Z to get back to me and the 40 days it took Company Q to reach a decision.

Every person on unemployment is trying their hardest to beat a clock; our finite benefits will eventually expire. And to be fair, it wasn’t just the long-decision time of Company Q that sent me on a downward spiral, it was the radio silence after  Company Q told me to expect a resolution.

So, I’m ending this on two notes:

If you work in human resources or are charged with hiring and you run into delays along the way, try to keep job candidates apprised of the situation. It helps maintain an air of professionalism and keeps up your company brand – something that bigger companies should consider during this process. If the ultimate goal is to land the best employees, putting them through a painful job application process won’t make your company seem like a great place to work.

If you’re unemployed and on the hunt for a job, don’t take a delay in the process personally. If a company misses a deadline, give them a day or two before following up. I’m a firm believer that if you’re passionate about landing the job, persistence and a hint of craziness will help you achieve your goal. Just don’t become “a stalker,” like the one the Company Q HR representative vented to me about. Companies are wary of pushy personalities. Expressing keen interest in a position helps your chances. Coming off as if a prospective employer owes you something most assuredly does not.

Happy hunting, and happy hiring.

Ben can be reached at ben.breier[at]gmail[dot]com. His resume can be found here.

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