Yeah, but can you do this in a bathroom stall, poised over a toilet? (courtesy of connect.in.com)

I’ve been looking for full-time work for about two years. My resume is up to date, and can be tweaked at a moment’s notice. My answers to commonly asked questions sit on the tip of my tongue. And my sincere smile and confident demeanor can be summoned like a spell. This job seeker is ready to interview. But sometimes the hardest part of a job interview has precious little to do with the actual meeting and everything to do with looking the part.

I’ve been freelancing for a company on-site for much of 2010. The dress code is lax—not record-company, I-can’t-believe-your-parents-let-you-out-of-the-house lax—but lax. Jeans and a t-shirt may be fine for work, but they don’t cut it for a job interview. And, of course, most interviews happen during business hours. So the aspiring full-time employee, with dreams of job security and a regular paycheck, has a choice to make. Does he wear a spiffy wool suit to work, sweating on the subway platform, itching all day and enduring the inevitable “got an interview?” question over and over? Or does he bring the suit and change in a bathroom stall? I opted for plan B one fine day this past fall.

My suits and dress shirts and ties are relatively clean and wrinkle-free, not too mention chic and stylish and a whole bunch of other adjectives I found in GQ. And the company that interviewed me is four blocks away from my freelance gig. So I packed up my outfit in a suit bag and lugged it to the office on the subway the morning of. A half hour before the appointed time, I slipped into the bathroom with my clothes. That’s when the fun began.

The bathroom has two stalls, one large and one small. The large one dwarfs some Manhattan apartments. Being wheelchair-accessible, it’s plenty roomy for changing clothes. It even has a hook, which many men’s bathroom stalls don’t for some reason. Maybe I’m just not frequenting the right stalls in the right public bathrooms; maybe I’ve said too much. The large stall was occupied, by someone who sounded (and smelled) like he needed a doctor. So into the small one I went, breathing through my mouth.

The small stall is roughly two feet by four feet in size, and only slightly bigger than some Manhattan apartments. The toilet takes up most of the space, and, like most public toilets, doesn’t have a lid. The stall door won’t close or latch unless the occupant lifts it forcefully with the top of his foot. There is no hook. Though I must admit, the royal blue that adorns the stall walls did have a soothing effect. It lent an air of class to the occasion… low class.

I draped my suit bag over the stall door and stacked the contents of my pockets on the toilet paper dispenser. One false move would land my phone, wallet and keys in the toilet. I turned gently and unzipped the bag. It fell, and I caught it as it hit the floor. No harm done. Holding the bag up with one hand, I took out my shoes with the other. Then I jammed the hanger hooks over the top of the door. The suit bag now hung at a 45-degree angle from the door, making the stall almost two-dimensional.

I replaced my t-shirt with an undershirt and dress shirt and draped the tie around my neck. I sat down on the toilet, took off my jeans and changed my shoes and socks. My performance avoiding the floor with my bare feet would’ve impressed even a Cirque du Soleil recruiter. Clad in a half-buttoned dress shirt, untied dress shoes and tighty whities, I was the picture of hirability. What sane hiring manager wouldn’t employ me on the spot? I considered embracing the look for the interview and going forward in life.

But my discarded sneakers prevented me from actually moving my feet. So I bent over to slide them out of the way, narrowly missing the wall with my head and the toilet bowl water with my tie. A discerning interviewer would probably notice a forehead bruise and wet tie. And any on-the-fly explanation probably wouldn’t, um, fly. Though my headbutting, urinating bum story definitely has potential. We’ll just file that one away for a rainy day.

Catastrophe avoided, I moved on to the pants, which presented an exciting new problem. How does one put on slacks in a bathroom stall without dragging them across the floor? I sat back down, draping them across my lap left to right. I inserted my right foot, pulling my leg all the way through from the bottom of the pants. Then I did the same with my left and stood, cuffs hiked up around my kneecaps. From there, it was all buttoning and tucking and tying and adjusting. Within five minutes, I looked like a million bucks, or at least $12.98.

My acrobatics in the bathroom stall that day would’ve earned me a 10 from the American judge in Olympic competition (9.5 from the East Germans, damn Commies). It could’ve even landed me a sideshow gig the next time Cirque du Soleil plays the Port Authority bus station. At the very least, my amazing display of logistics should’ve got me that full-time job. Alas, the interview just didn’t seem like the place to tout my newfound skills. Nor did I have the foresight to set up a video camera and capture my accomplishment. I didn’t get the job. As they say, hindsight is 20/20.

I don’t wish I were a woman. Being a manly, guy-type creature of the male species works for me. It’s nice to have a built-in excuse for my noises, smells and propensity to stop channel surfing on any sports-related event. (I actually just watched a replay of an all-star high school football game while eating dinner.) The common drawbacks, such as body hair, male-patterned baldness and a complete lack of fashion sense, don’t bother me much. And the double standards tend to net out in my favor. So why complain? But on some days – like, say, any summer day in New York City when I have to go to work or a job interview – I’d rather wear women’s clothing. It’s just cooler.

Today’s weather wasn’t that bad for July; 78 degrees and sunny, with humidity thicker than Heidi Montag in math class, is practically Fall in this part of the world. We usually get temperatures 15 degrees higher to go with our atmospheric soup. But it also wasn’t suit weather. I had a job interview (yeah, me!), which meant putting on my finest (boo, me!) and hopping on the subway (again, boo, me!). The meeting seemed to go well, but my travels were less than pleasant.

A couple of my suits are dark and made of heavier fabric, perfect for all my Wall Street power lunches. A couple are light and made of lighter fabric, more suited for summer evenings sipping Mai Tais at the yacht club. Heavy or light, the bottom line is they’re all made of wool. And they’re all really, really, really, really hot. People keep telling me that wool breathes because it’s a natural fabric. It pants… maybe. Breathes… no. Wearing a wool suit in the summer is like wearing fiberglass insulation with slightly less itch. Would someone please bring back the Miami Vice look, and quick? I’ll happily embrace the feathered hair.

I opted for my favorite suit – a charcoal, pinstripe number made famous in a certain New York Times article – matched with a white button-down shirt and a blue tie. It may have been a tad conservative, though entirely appropriate for the occasion. This was a job interview, after all. I considered going with a blue-gray “summer-weight” number. But I opted to sweat out an extra half pound of water weight and not risk being under-dressed.

I managed to remain cool while waiting for and riding the 7 train. My station is above ground and attracts a nice breeze, and the train car was air-conditioned. The Grand Central station – where I transferred – was a little warm, though much more bearable than it will be as summer drags on. Subway stations are like oceans in that they maintain heat long after the weather changes. Some sort of giant fan thing circulated the air. That helped a little, until the cool-ish air mixed with the heat generated by other trains sitting in the station. I draped my jacket over my arm. Sweat began to form on my brow and drip down my shirt. My collar chafed my neck. That was the beginning of the end. I wiped myself off and boarded an uptown 4 express train for a little relief. Hopefully it would catch the uptown local 6 train I’d just missed.

The 86th St. station was much worse. I steamed for another ten minutes, until the 6 train came along to take me to 110th St. There I began walking and continued sweating. I arrived at the offices for my interview dripping. My shirt sleeves, where I’d draped my jacket, were soaked through and stuck to my arms. My hair was wet with sweat. My face was on fire from the razor burn. Oddly enough, my nerves were calm. I found a spot under a tree to cool off, without much success. Shade doesn’t relieve humidity.

But air conditioning does. A few minutes in the bathroom was enough to sponge off and become presentable. My suit jacket would cover my soaked shirt; I’d be fine as long as I kept it on. The interview seemed to go well from that point. The ride home was also infinitely more pleasant. I grabbed a downtown bus to avoid a sweaty backtrack, and transferred to a Queens-bound train at 59th St. without waiting. And then I was home, to bask in the coolness.

Today was sort of an extreme example. I don’t generally wear a suit in the summer, or at any time of year. But when working, I still have to wear slacks or khakis, a button down or polo shirt with an undershirt (can’t have those giant sweat marks) and shoes that cover my feet. Imagine how much more comfortable a breezy skirt and a light blouse would be. Maybe you don’t have to. Some sandals that let the air dance across my toes would be just divine. I’d happily paint my toenails if I could get away with flip-flops in a business environment. And what about capri pants? Aren’t these just shorts by another name? A friend from a previous job and I used to joke about wearing shorts to work and claiming they were capri pants. They’re becoming all the rage in urban areas, so maybe I’ll get my chance, under the guise of “fashion.” Until then, I’ll just have to deal with my sweaty manliness, all the while wishing I could just dress like a woman.

[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.

Share your job search experiences in the unemployment forums…

I had today what might be the shortest job interview ever. Final determination from the Guinness World Record people is still pending; the Sarah Palin vetting committee may still have me beat. To give you a better sense of time elapsed, here are some things I did today that took longer…

• Cleaned up cat barf. It was as if the cat exploded, moved to another spot in the apartment and exploded again.
• Waited for the grocery store clerk to accept my money and give me change. In her defense, the cell phone conversation she was having did sound really interesting.
• Took the train in a spiffy suit from Queens to downtown Manhattan.
• Took the train in the same spiffy suit from downtown Manhattan to Queens.

The interview started and ended with a review of my experience. I gave a quick rundown of my last three jobs, highlighting the responsibilities that seemed applicable to this job. The interviewer asked in turn why I left the company. My answer was the same for each (I’ll give you a hint… the word has six letters and rhymes with smayoff).

Then he paused and concentrated on my application – probably the ‘salary requested’ line. Making eye contact with me again, he explained what the position payed, and asked if I were okay with that. I said something to the effect of…

We live in New York City, you cheap bastard! How can you possibly expect me to live off of that?

I slapped him with the back of my hand, sending him sprawling across the floor. Then I flipped the table on top of him and stormed out in a flurry of curses too vulgar for this site. Halfway to the elevator I remembered my pen, so I retrieved it.

Maybe I just said the job didn’t pay enough for me to pursue it, shook his hand, referenced the nice weather and left. Yeah, that’s probably what happened, now that I think about it.

I didn’t do anything wrong in the interview, except state on the application a salary commensurate with my education and experience. The job paid a lot less than that, even though my services come relatively cheap. The salary was not conveyed when I was invited in. To be fair, I didn’t ask either. My assumption was that a company would only invite a person to interview who appeared to be right for the job, both in skill set and pay range. Shame on me. And while it’s a buyer’s market, and I’m unemployed, I’m not desperate… yet.

Maybe it turned out for the best, as I was only lukewarm on the job. I was pretty jazzed about the paycheck part though… and the free bad coffee. Mmm, bitter.