Hey everybody! What's good? There's nothing going on with me. I got a rejection letter from Baltimore, I'm waiting on what Raleigh has to say, so in the meantime I am where I am. Satan's Anus is horrible still, but at least I don't have to LIVE and work here. One out of two ain't bad.
The interview I had in Raleigh right before Thanksgiving was interesting. Interesting in the fact that the guy I interviewed with reminds me of my current boss (bad) , and one of the people who would possibly be under me tried to compliment me by calling me "articulate". He better hope I don't get the gig. I'm watching his ass already.
Otherwise I'm just trying to cope with Sucker Time and not get suckered too badly by fake deals, mall related scams, thievery, debauchery, and/or general chicanery. We really do spend too much fucking money on worthless shit during this time of year. I genuinely can't remember what I got for Christmas last year, though I'm sure I was pleased with it at the time. That means I likely didn't need it. I'm not 6, it's ok to pass on my gift, I'll survive. I have yet to talk to another person in my family that feels that same. So I'm out here at Sucker Time trying to do my best, just like everyone else.
Peace,
KZ
Showing posts with label interview. Show all posts
Showing posts with label interview. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
A Friend To Hip Hop and Animals and Such
What up folks? It's me, Zed. Zed Zednanreh. I'm chillin' in the office today after spending yesterday driving back and forth to Detroit. I had a job interview, for the first time in many months, in a suburb of the D. It's far from my ideal gig, but it'll do in a pinch.
At the interview, they asked me several questions that I bullshitted and answered half assedly. If they offer me the job, I'll know they are quite stupid. I gave it my best shot, but I really wasn't all that prepared. You ask me specific questions about your specific problems and I have little insight to the information at hand, and you got yourself a half assed guess.
After the interview I got to eat lunch with TAD in one of my old stomping grounds. The food was good, the company was better. After that, I had to go get measured for my tux. The good news is that I went down a suit size after 10 1/2 weeks of working out 6 days a week and dieting I finally saw some tangible results.
Once again, I got to drive home and clear my head. It's not such a bad drive if gas was cheaper. It's not that bad at all.
KZ
At the interview, they asked me several questions that I bullshitted and answered half assedly. If they offer me the job, I'll know they are quite stupid. I gave it my best shot, but I really wasn't all that prepared. You ask me specific questions about your specific problems and I have little insight to the information at hand, and you got yourself a half assed guess.
After the interview I got to eat lunch with TAD in one of my old stomping grounds. The food was good, the company was better. After that, I had to go get measured for my tux. The good news is that I went down a suit size after 10 1/2 weeks of working out 6 days a week and dieting I finally saw some tangible results.
Once again, I got to drive home and clear my head. It's not such a bad drive if gas was cheaper. It's not that bad at all.
KZ
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Jolts And Dolts
Well, I had my interview yesterday in the outer regions of Chicagoland. It was excruciatingly painful. Bad interview, my Africans. Bad interview.
I drove around the city for a few hours prior to the interview trying to familiarize myself with a few of the environs. All the while I kept this stinging sensation through my clavicle every few minutes. Everytime I thought about going into the interview, these sensations would run through me like a jolt. I'm the cat with the recurring dreams (fist fights, report card is coming home, sitting in class for a final exam) about lack of preparation. I was deathly afraid because I knew I was unprepared. I always count on my bullshittery to get me by, so I tend to do impromptu speeches and presentations. So far, pretty mediocre results. But I'm too lazy to prepare properly so I must not care enough to do better.
When it was finally time for the interview, they give me a written evaluation beforehand. I was supposed to write a solution to a specific problem they had in the city, based on my knowledge of the city. Hell, if it wasn't for Garmin I wouldn't even know where the city was. Now they were asking for my evaluation of one of their specific problems? Fuck this place. I wrote a flowery, bullshit filled narrative of my experience in similar situations and a rose colored guideline on how I'd get around this problem if it were mine.
When the actual interview was conducted, I was at the head of the table with seven people lobbing grenades at me. This has really been par for the course, so this didn't surprise me. This dude at the end of the table had a nervous twitch that made him blink a lot in a very distracting way, so I couldn't look at him. Then, this female homunculus who right off the bat didn't like me, started every follow up question with "So you didn't really...." "So you weren't really..." Bitch, I'm second in command of the department I'm in. No I didn't really do shit. I really delegated that shit. You are the deputy city manager. What did YOU really do? What do you really write?
When it ended they asked if I had any questions. I was just glad that shit was over. Seven people with about 10 questions each. All of 'em were basically "Can you remember an instance where you had to..." That shit is not insightful. It's grueling and fucked up. I didn't wanna ask them shit. I had a few canned responses, because at that point I really just wanted to leave. I'd be surprised if I got the job.
Be Cool,
KZ
I drove around the city for a few hours prior to the interview trying to familiarize myself with a few of the environs. All the while I kept this stinging sensation through my clavicle every few minutes. Everytime I thought about going into the interview, these sensations would run through me like a jolt. I'm the cat with the recurring dreams (fist fights, report card is coming home, sitting in class for a final exam) about lack of preparation. I was deathly afraid because I knew I was unprepared. I always count on my bullshittery to get me by, so I tend to do impromptu speeches and presentations. So far, pretty mediocre results. But I'm too lazy to prepare properly so I must not care enough to do better.
When it was finally time for the interview, they give me a written evaluation beforehand. I was supposed to write a solution to a specific problem they had in the city, based on my knowledge of the city. Hell, if it wasn't for Garmin I wouldn't even know where the city was. Now they were asking for my evaluation of one of their specific problems? Fuck this place. I wrote a flowery, bullshit filled narrative of my experience in similar situations and a rose colored guideline on how I'd get around this problem if it were mine.
When the actual interview was conducted, I was at the head of the table with seven people lobbing grenades at me. This has really been par for the course, so this didn't surprise me. This dude at the end of the table had a nervous twitch that made him blink a lot in a very distracting way, so I couldn't look at him. Then, this female homunculus who right off the bat didn't like me, started every follow up question with "So you didn't really...." "So you weren't really..." Bitch, I'm second in command of the department I'm in. No I didn't really do shit. I really delegated that shit. You are the deputy city manager. What did YOU really do? What do you really write?
When it ended they asked if I had any questions. I was just glad that shit was over. Seven people with about 10 questions each. All of 'em were basically "Can you remember an instance where you had to..." That shit is not insightful. It's grueling and fucked up. I didn't wanna ask them shit. I had a few canned responses, because at that point I really just wanted to leave. I'd be surprised if I got the job.
Be Cool,
KZ
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
The Choice Is Yours
I'm really job hunting now. I got two interviews coming up in the next two weeks, one in Detroit, the other in North Carolina. Detroit was definitely out of the picture a few months ago, but shit, things change. So now, it's actually back on the list. Probably because there is a perfect job for me available with the perfect salary in a familiar circumstance.
I know what you're thinking, but stop thinking it. I'm not looking at the "D"for love. Money muthafuckin' talks. If anything, I love my hometown, and the chance to do something to help improve it. But man does not live on love alone. They are gonna have to grease my palms.
The North Carolina gig is cool, but I'd be kinda isoloted. I'd be close to my Uncle Zed, but is that really a bonus? I mean, I hate everybody, especially family, because they didn't earn shit. They just expect shit.
One thing's for sure, if I get offered both jobs, I'll know immediately which one to take. Whichever gig doesn't make my dick itch when I talk about it is the winner. No ifs, ands, or buts. My dick is smarter than my brain, and if it gets itchy, then that's a tell-tale sign that I shouldn't take the job. My dick has only been wrong once, and I think that's because I was wearing tweed underwear.
In the meantime, I'm still looking at everything east of the Mississippi and north of South Carolina. Here's to hoping I don't get an itchy dick.
I know what you're thinking, but stop thinking it. I'm not looking at the "D"for love. Money muthafuckin' talks. If anything, I love my hometown, and the chance to do something to help improve it. But man does not live on love alone. They are gonna have to grease my palms.
The North Carolina gig is cool, but I'd be kinda isoloted. I'd be close to my Uncle Zed, but is that really a bonus? I mean, I hate everybody, especially family, because they didn't earn shit. They just expect shit.
One thing's for sure, if I get offered both jobs, I'll know immediately which one to take. Whichever gig doesn't make my dick itch when I talk about it is the winner. No ifs, ands, or buts. My dick is smarter than my brain, and if it gets itchy, then that's a tell-tale sign that I shouldn't take the job. My dick has only been wrong once, and I think that's because I was wearing tweed underwear.
In the meantime, I'm still looking at everything east of the Mississippi and north of South Carolina. Here's to hoping I don't get an itchy dick.
Cheers,
KZ
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