How to Not Get a Job You Don't Want

Well, today I had an interview for a job that, on the surface, sounded to good to be true.  The pay was great, the benefits full, and all sorts of other goodies.

I was so excited when I got the call last week to set up the interview that I could barely control myself as I sat on a bench in the L.L. Bean store at Ross Park Mall, quietly grinning from ear to ear.  That didn't last too long.

Like most things that sound too good, this job tuned out to be a real lulu.

I did my due diligence and, like any good job candidate, researched the firm, one of the leaders in online education.  What I found wasn't even not flattering... it was pure flashing red light that said, "RUN, DO NOT WALK!  THIS JOB IS POISONOUS!"

The facts are clear:  the company is under federal investigation for lying to prospective students; they fire people en masse and on a whim; the pay is based on quotas of students brought in; and their stock price has plunged from a high of about $30 to a current low under $4.

If that's not enough to signal "TOXIC", I even had friends affirm to me that it is a place they'd seen make friends miserable.

The sad thing is that the story goes how the place was once great... how they actually cared about students, how employees were happy, and how everything worked.  And then, like any fairy tale, a wicked factor enters.  In this case, Goldman Sachs bought a controlling interest.  Since then, it's been all profits and damn the rest.

That was made manifest when I pulled up across the street this morning to park.  Outside the low-slung, long building was a group of at least thirty people on a smoke break... each with a look about them that said "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."

I went inside, signed in, and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  After arriving at 10:45 for an 11 a.m. interview, I wasn't seen by anyone until nearly 11:30.  The young lady who met with me answered basically nothing I asked.  She spoke in a tone that I always equate with a person who is trying to mollify you with their softened, condescending voice.

When I was asked if I had any questions, I was completely clear:  I had read the negative opinion of them online and hoped that they (she) could convince me that those dozens of opinions from a great many people and many reports from individual news outlets were all false.

Clearly, she couldn't.

The interview that was slated to last about two hours lasted less than one.  In total, I probably spent less than fifteen minutes of the hour I was there actually speaking to a human being.

I exited the building shortly before 11:50 a.m. knowing I'd never walk back in.

Shortly before 5 p.m., I received the speediest rejection email I've ever known.  It was the usual fare:  how upon further review and consideration (all five hours of it, am I right?) they'd decided not to move forward with me as a candidate.  I was wished good luck, etcetera.

And then, I don't know where it came from, but I actually sent a reply.

I said, quite plainly, "I'm guessing that was because I questioned the company's bad PR, the federal investigations, the pay matrix, and other things.  Good luck to you all, too!"

No shrinking violet, I...

Actually, I thought of Violet - specifically, the Dowager Countess of Grantham - as I sat alone in the interview room.  I contemplated leaving repeatedly.  Suddenly, Maggie Smith, in all of her resplendent Dowager Countess-ness, popped into my head, saying, "Don't be defeatist, dear, it's very middle-class."

And, with that, I knew I'd be fine.  I stayed, I listened, I conquered.  I didn't play along just to get a job that I knew would destroy me.

The journey continues.  This was just a pothole in the road, one I'm glad I didn't let cause me any real damage.  It was just a temporary inconvenience on the way to where I need to go.

A Day (Off) In the Life

A day off in the life of Bill begins, post-shower, with the carefully chosen ensemble of sage green.

We add to that the Barbour jacket and Ray-Bans.  It's completely grey out today in Pittsburgh, but it's the bright kind of grey that demands glasses.  The jacket is completely necessary!  It's chilly out.

First stop:  The recycling center to drop off the bottles and cans we've accumulated since I last went.

Yay for doing the environmentally sound - and easy as pie - thing!

 Never neglect your lips on a cold day!  Spring's coming, but it's not here yet.  Moisturizer and SPF are a must.

 You can do this while sitting in inexplicably backed up, stupid-ass Pittsburgh traffic...

 I am glamour embodied, no?

Like I said... traffic.  

 The time is passing and I'm getting older while the stop lights keep changing colors...

 This guy outside of Children's Hospital probably makes some pretty good cash, but I wouldn't trade jobs with him.  Out of 365 days in a year, we don't get that many that fall into the "just right" category in these parts.

 Stop Two:  Strip District!  Lotus Foods to get some teriyaki buns.

 Yup, it's a Lenten Friday and the line for fish sandwiches at Wholey's is about fifty people deep... figures.

 Forget Jesus... innocent fish died for your lunch.

 The Strip was, like the rest of Pittsburgh, completely maddening today with people everywhere.

 I wanted tea.  The only place to consider is Prestogeorge.

 Nope, not mine.  I'm learning to tolerate coffee, but I'm still a tea drinker at heart.

 There's my order!  A half-pound of blood orange black tea!

 The best bread - bar none - in the Strip!

 Making the next batch of dough.

 Looking towards Downtown with St. Stan's in the foreground.

 A quick stop at the restaurant supply for cake rounds also yielded a dirt cheap bird-beak paring knife!

 They'll find what you need in a jiff!

 Heading back up Penn:  the Doughboy at the split between Butler and Penn.

 The ONLY place in Pittsburgh your knives should visit!  Maturi's at 39th and Penn.

 They've got you covered.

 Just go around the back and head on in...

 Sales and service - all in one stop.

 This place is the real deal.  Old school, personal service to both industry and individuals.

 Nothing fancy, but they'll get your knives back to better than brand new condition for next to no money.

 All sharpened and ready to go back to their restaurants!

 Giving my 8" Wusthof Ikon chef's knife and the 7" santoku a great edge!

 Things are usually bustling, but this was lunchtime and lots of the guys were on their break.

 My best all ready to go home with me.  I wasn't even there 10 minutes!

Thousands of knives waiting to go home to their owners.

 One thing you can say for Pittsburgh:  we've got some great street names...

 Oh yeah:  It's pretty freaking cool to match your L.L. Bean Boat 'n Tote to your outfit...  it's how we roll ;-)

 Matt and I both had a minor hankering for amaretto sours last night, only it was too late to go get any.  I fixed that today!

 Visions of amaretto sours dancing in my head... ;-)

 Hundreds of gorgeous daffodils in Whole Foods waiting to be bought up!  Wordsworth was right... they brighten up the world - even a grey day in the city.

 I resisted... they were gorgeous, but I resisted.

 Seriously, I'm so ready for Spring.

 The AAA headquarters just across the street from Whole Foods.  It's an incredible space inside.

 Final destination:  Trader Joe's for a couple life necessities.  Well, mac and cheese is pretty necessary to me...

 Oh why not?  A good way to end a day out and about:  A shamrock shake:

The cherry on top of a fun blog to put together.  :-)

Review: "Chess" the Musical at Point Park University

Assuming that you're reading this blog, you know me already.  (If not, wilkommen...)  Therefore, you know that I am a musician and lover of the theatre.  However, above all, I have a slightly and obsessively encyclopedic knowledge of some works of musical theatre.  This blog entry will, I'm afraid, center wholly upon that last factor.

On Friday night, Matt and I went to the Pittsburgh Playhouse in the Oakland neighborhood of Pittsburgh to see Point Park University's presentation of the 1980s musical, "Chess."  Written by Benny and Bjorn, the male members of ABBA, and with lyrics from frequent Andrew Lloyd Webber collaborator Tim Rice, "Chess" is the definition of a problem musical.

That problem?  On disc, the musical is perfect.  It is, as it were, trapping lightning in a bottle and having it there for all time.  On stage, however, multiple iterations, changes, and other assorted complications have shrouded that elemental energy in issue upon issue of people, places, and the eternal heartbreak of a flop.

When it was recorded in 1984, "Chess" was issued on 2 LPs.  No dialogue was included on those records.  Instead, the songs drove the story and told you all you needed to know as a listener.  Stars of stage Elaine Paige and Barbara Dickson played, respectively, Florence, an American woman who assists the American chess champion, and Svetlana, the woman married to the Soviet chess champion.  Swedish singer Tommy Korberg played the Soviet chess player who was matched against Murray Head's American.

The records are thrilling.  As a work of art firmly rooted in its moment, the score written for "Chess" is a mix of synth-pop, soaring power ballads, and a pastiche of theatre styles.  In fact, you probably know a song from "Chess" without knowing you do... If you've ever heard "One Night in Bangkok" you're listening to the last song from a theatre musical to reach the tops of the Billboard charts.

The problem with "Chess" isn't the score or the lyrics.  The problem is the book.  In order to put the work on stage as a piece of theatre rather than a concert, a story was constructed and, in the decades hence, changed entirely, reconstructed repeatedly, and in spite of that always seems to fail to nail down that perfection exhibited in the original concept album.

Chief among the problems onstage last night was the book, written for the 1988 original Broadway production, which failed quickly and spectacularly at a cost of $6 million.  That story line changed locations, characters, motivations, added new people who didn't matter to the story's progress, and more or less changed a fast, slick show into one firmly stuck in frozen mud.  That version, unfortunately, is the only one currently licensed for performance in the U.S.

The young man singing the role of the Soviet chess player, Anatoly Sergievsky, gave an inspired performance with his soaring tenor voice.  His American counterpart, singing chess champion Freddie Trumper, was woefully miscast.  The role demands a rock tenor.  This young man brought moments of good singing, but his voice wasn't anywhere up to the level of songs he was given.

The same went for the women.  The young lady in the role of Florence, the American's chess second who becomes the Soviet champion's lover, was very good.  Her director got in her way more than her own talent.  The same could not be said for the young lady singing Svetlana.  She fell well short of her role's demanded characteristics:  i.e. someone who can belt with both chest and head voices.

Point Park's production was, at times, perfunctorily ugly.  Elements of the stage design, namely the clear plastic towers you see, got in the way of well-designed video projections.  As the "gimmick" they rose up as the characters' world was falling apart and spewed out all of the trash held inside them.  An enormous set of risers was totally wasted upon a Greek chorus of CIA and KGB members who did little except stand about or move the occasional piece of furniture.  The dull nature of the stage set, however, didn't obfuscate the quality of some performances.

And even though the split between first acts is a few months and thousands of miles (Bangkok to Budapest) - and though most characters got costume changes - poor Florence remained in the same dowdy "power suit" the entire time, clinging onto the same cross-body purse.

Such unevenness is to be expected in any sort of amateur production.  What is inexcusable is changing a character from male to female and then neglecting to change script references to the male character's name.  Such was the case of the male CIA officer / Freddie's agent, Walter de Courcey.  Inexplicably - and quite in violation of the contract signed to obtain performance rights - Walter became a black woman with the last name "Anderson."

However, at least twice in the second act, she was referred to as Walter and, in a third instance, called "a son of a bitch" instead of simply "a bitch."  This sloppiness is unforgivable, even in the most amateur productions.  It feels lazy and, above all, ignorant of your audience's intelligence.

I guess what I'm trying to nail down here is this fact:  None of the young men and women performing on that stage were "the problem."  Professionals - the scenic designer who holds an MFA, the director who has many local credits listed in his bio, and whoever directed the Soviets to sing in terrible dialect - made the decisions that hampered a good college level production from being, perhaps, a great one.

Finally, a few Hall of Shame moments:

First, they need to have a seating chart posted at the box office.  We decided to sit in the balcony.  Upon arriving there, we had A.) a limited view; B.) poor sound; and C.) rude college students surrounding us.  All this with a half-empty orchestra.  If not criminal, it's at least incredibly rude to put customers paying full price in the worst seats in the house without their knowledge.

Second, they need to tell their spotlight man to NOT SING ALONG WITH THE CAST.  This should go without saying when your light booth doesn't have walls.  During Florence's big first act song "Nobody's Side" this young man thought it was his right to sing along with her, much to my chagrin.

Moving downstairs at the intermission solved both of those problems.

All in all, Point Park's "Chess" wasn't a total failure.  It was fettered by the poor 1988 book more than anything, but some terrible design and directing choices truly hampered the proceedings.  Was I glad to have seen the show again and for Matt to see it a first time?  Yes.  Was I happier to be able to come home after, crack open a bottle of champagne and explain to him how it was supposed to go while playing him tracks from various professional recordings?  You bet.

That, all in one, is the heartbreak of live theatre.  There are moments of greatness that exhibit to the audience what could be and a few glaring errors that keep it from being so much better.

2.5 Stars out of 5.