Friday, September 07, 2007
I’m a brand. I have a reputation. These days I have a public image. I’m marketing myself. I’m hawking a product. The product is Me. I’m out there. Looking for something new. I’m selling myself. I’m trying to survive.
Reliable. Dependable. Clever. Smart. An asset. That’s me. That’s who I want them to think I am. It’s all about presentation. It’s all about brand recognition. White shirt, unobtrusive tie. Fresh jacket and flat trousers. That’s who I am.
Worker bees die. The drones fly away. The queen is their slave.
Trying to iron out the bumps in my personality. Trying to take all the edges off. It’s all about presentation. Remove all traces of anything that could possibly influence them not to hire me.
Dance Monkey Boy, Dance. Pay the piper. Call the tune.
They ask “Why do you want to work here?”
I think “Because I want to earn money to pay the mortgage.”
I say something else.
It’s all about coded signals and signifiers. What does it mean to wear a white shirt? What does it mean to wear a cornflower blue tie? What does it mean to scratch your nose? What do people think?
I think about brand recognition. About perception alignment. I think about a company ethos. About it’s values and reputation. I want to align myself with a firm that represents, and stands for, what I value as professional standards to be proud of.
I wouldn’t want Enron on my CV.
I want someone new on my CV. I need a new job. Like a junkie needs crack, I need a new job.
I’m selling a product. Who wants to buy me?
Arrrgghhh, you and me both - I have one next Friday. When they ask me why I want the job, my instinct's going to be to say that unless I get it, I clearly don't have a future with the company, and that the extra £10K a year would be very handy indeed. Instead I'll go on about new challenges and other rubbish.Post a Comment