I'm sitting in a Starbucks this morning waiting for my meeting to show up, and this flush-faced kid in an badly fitted blue blazer and "designer" WalMart tie comes and stands near my table, looking at me. After a few seconds, he walks over to the other side of the room, making himself obvious. I think: He's meeting someone he doesn't know.
After walking around the room he sits at the table next to mine, carefully positioning himeslf so his bad blazer and khaki pants and soft-soled brown shoes will look just right, and he'll look casual, like he does this every day.
I read the NYT and keep my eye on the kid. A few minutes later, a guy walks in wearing one of those too-nice suits that just screams "Sales Manager," looks around, spots the kid, and comes over. They introduce each other and get down to business: A job interview.
I eavesdrop. The kid has nothing on his resume but a brand-new college degree and a series of McJobs. He tries to make a big deal out of the responsibility he's had ("I was crew chief when the regular crew chief was on vacation...") but he's got nothing and he knows it. The guy interviewing him knows it, too, and doesn't really care, because he's looking for an entry-level hire and all he really wants is someone who will show up and not drool.
I remember interviews like that. I remember starting out with a bunch of almost-made-up accomplishments and a $49 sportcoat. I remember hoping to the point of physical pain that I would get jobs that I wouldn't take now if they were the last job on Earth, begging to work for people who were stupid and arrogant and incompetent.
Some days I feel really old and wish I were younger; this morning I felt like maybe being middle-aged isn't that bad. All of that is behind me, and I have no desire to go back.
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