I went on a job interview this week. Even though I'm headed back to work at Mulletville Corp in the next few weeks I thought I'd dust off my suit and see how my interview skills are faring.
They're poor. Yowsers are they poor.
For one, I've lost serious brain cells with kid #2 (see previous post). The only thing I can liken it to is being near-sighted. I know there's a lot going on in the distance, but even with glasses scotch-taped to my face I can't focus on it. I can see every line and cranny immediately in front of me but 100 feet away? Forget about it.
In interview speak, this translates into "We just interviewed someone who appears to have a huffing problem."
The position was Director of New Media. I thought because I tweet (admittedly sporadically) and blog, I rock new media. Hah! The more the interviewer droned on about clouds and tech bubbles and butterscotch.com and http://mashable.com the further I slunk into my chair.
She told me she liked me but that I should spend 2-3 hours a night on new media sites honing my new media skills and then I should come back for a second interview.
Now that's funny. I don't have time to file the rice cereal out of my hair follicles never mind online research.
Never mind absorption of said research.
As I slithered out into the parking lot and collapsed into my car, I realized that I am technologied out. From all of it. Facebook. LinkedIn. Twitter. Google. Google+. Blogger. Texting. IChat. Youtube. ITunes. Twitter parties. RSS feeds. CSS.
Even Pandora. Sweet, free Pandora has given me a techie twitch.
My head feels like it's going to explode and I'm probably not even familiar with half the new media sites out there.
Needless to say, I will not be going back for a second interview. In fact, I'm contemplating buying a crickety shack in Alaska and licking some twigs just to verify that I am in fact still a human being with living, breathing cells and that I can sever my connection to technology and still be ok.
Seriously, are Generation Yers half cyborg?
Now, admittedly, the factors contributing to the I-won't-become-assimilated nature of this post are: 1) Chuck found out his grandmother died because of his sister's post on Facebook. Facebook! As a way to see what relatives have clocked out and 2) I had Junior sing a Happy Birthday message to his 5-year-old cousin and his mother—instead of returning the call—posted a note on my Facebook page saying we should cyber chat
so I may have an anti-technology bias this week
am I alone?
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.