Puff the Magic Asshole

I had a job interview early Saturday morning. It lasted all of 10 minutes, less time than I spent picking out the suit, shirt and tie to wear to it. In retrospect, the suit probably did me in from the get-go.

The interview was for a Community Organizer position with Acorn (of the voter registration fraud Acorns). I only half-heartedly sent my resume when I saw the job posting, so I was surprised when I received a response. And I wasn’t exactly excited about the opportunity. After all, Acorn has a reputation for being, um, how do I say this gently, an odd bunch of militant soap-dodgery freaks with self righteous hearts of faux gold. Still, an interview is an interview, and if nothing else, it was a chance to remind myself that I used to be someone who was a professional and wore suits.

As I left my car and walked towards the building, a man not unlike myself (wearing a suit and overcoat) approached and asked if I could help jump his car. He was on his way to an interview too. I thought maybe it was the universe telling me that my new career as someone who helps others was starting today. Plus, his car was sitting right in front of Acorn’s office, so this would make a great first impression when the hiring manager looked out the window and saw me helping a fellow citizen.

If only Acorn had windows.

I’m not sure why the front of the office was boarded up; I don’t know, I’m not a building inspector. But my first thought upon entering was that the space had been condemned and Acorn was squatting. When I had to avoid the holes in the floor created by the missing steps and floorboards, I was sure of it.

I knew from “hello, my name is…” that I was not getting this job. The man, dressed in grease-stained jeans, socks, sandals, and a torn sweatshirt with some sort of cutesy appliqué I wish I’d made a mental note of, eyed me from head to toe and passed judgment so obviously that I could see the thought bubble above his head.

He led me to two chairs, where he sat back into his, but I didn’t sit back in mine because I wasn’t about to spend $15 having my suit dry cleaned afterwards. He forgot to bring a copy of my resume, and then acted surprised when I produced one from my bag. He scanned it briefly and then put it down.

Him: It looks like you’ve worked a lot of different places?

Me: Actually, I was with my previous employer for 11 years.
Him: Yeah? I guess I didn’t see that.
Me: Maybe you’re referring to the volunteer experience with several organizations listed on my resume?
Him: Oh, have you volunteered? I didn't know that.

At this point, my thought bubble was that I could wrap this up and get home in time for a nap before I had to go to work at the coffee shop.

He was thinking something similar.

Him: Well, let me tell you what a Community Organizer at Acorn does. A Community Organizer is someone who can rally 50-60 people to storm the sheriff’s office and stop people from being evicted from their homes due to foreclosure.

Me: Well, I’m not sure I’m the person to do that. I believe I can organize 50-60 people to come together to rationally discuss an issue and agree on a responsible course of action to address a problem or inequity, but I don’t think I want to lead a charge of fired-up folks into the office of an armed man.

Him: Yeah, I didn’t think so. I mean, no offense, but you’re very clean cut and well groomed, and we need someone who isn't afraid to take risks for "the cause" (he even air quoted). Maybe you should go work for an organization that doesn’t require grassroots activism, like Komen or Planned Parenthood.

Oh, so he’s an asshole and a misogynist.

In my head, I eviscerated him in words before stomping out of his office, but I wasn’t sure the floor would support a good exit scene and so just thanked him for his time.

As I shook his hand and said goodbye, I decided to end things on a positive note. After all, you never know who someone else knows, especially in this town.

Me: I’m going to keep your number, because I may need to call you in a few months and ask for 50-60 people to meet on my front lawn to stop my own home foreclosure.
Him: Well, you’d have to do a lot of work beforehand. Acorn only hopes those who help themselves.

Yeah, all those dead people were so relieved when you helped them register to vote last November, pretentious hippie fuckwad.

So a bar of soap and a nicely tailored side vent suit had foiled my plan to get a job. That’s fine. I’ll be the first to admit that I’d show up to a revolution perfectly coiffed with top notes in the air. That’s just me.

Speaking of a revolution, I love the French.