Hello Seattle, I'm Listening. Hello? Helllllooo?

A few months ago I was courted by a headhunter from a global corporation based in Seattle. Even after 34 years of marriage it is fun to be courted, so I played along, answering the questions and giving them the information they were after. Then they set up the first phone interview...and the interviewer forgot to call me. Yep, there I sat, with my party dress on and corsage wilting, and my date never got there. So I sent them an e-mail. “I am so sorry! Did I misunderstand the wildly simple instructions you sent me?”

Waves of apologies. We are So Sorry!!! A technical glitch. How about this date and time? SORRY!!! At the appointed hour I ducked into the dining room for the call. Nothing, nothing. If Dan had stood me up like this he’d still be single. Another “Am I that silly?” e-mail and another “We are soooooooo sorry” response. The appointment didn’t get to the manager’s e-mail schedule. Whatever.

This is a global internet company that you have heard of more than five times today. They ship anything and everything all over the world, and it must get there. How do you botch this twice? The interview eventually happens, and all goes well. So does the next one.

They ask how much money it will take to get me to Seattle. On Monday night I send them a number. On Tuesday morning they ask how soon I can be there… Then it’s time to fly me out to Seattle for a face-to-face.

Already underimpressed, it is no surprise that the travel arm of this company is unaware that it is attached to anything—my God—where did this torso come from? I am sent two options for travel, but no way to acknowledge either one. An internet search for the travel firm gives a telephone number. Eventually (about 24 hours before I need to be there) the trip is confirmed. Dan finds a semi-deal on tickets, just so he can be there to see this all go down.

Seattle is a fun and beautiful city. We were enveloped in warm air, saw sunny skies and met friendly people. No matter what, we got a great trip out of the deal.

They put us up at the Fairmont Hotel. VERY fancy! Dan pointed out that this is the name of Henry Ford’s home in Michigan, and the name of our first new car. He’s always good for color commentary—I‘m here for an interview.

The next morning Dan drives me over to the unmarked office. As a good Midwesterner, I am early to the interview, which starts the hilarity. They didn’t know I was coming. I was not on the schedule. This is a company you trust to deliver your shit on time, and they flew me across the country, and DIDN’T FRACKIN KNOW I WAS COMING. I’m asked to have a seat. Eventually someone showed up who had borrowed a clue, and the interview process began.

I am a mom. No matter what the rest of my life holds, I will always be a mom. This company needs a mom. And, as teenagers, they don’t know it. I am in (as prescribed) business casual, while I am surrounded by interviewers in shorts and flip flops. No issue there, but in interviews with seven different people, no one talked about the job I had applied for or provided any details about what they wanted me to do. “So, you have rolled out new HR platforms to a bazillion countries in half a bazillion languages. But are you OK with casual and do you have flip flops?” Do I smell a joint?

Dan picks me up at 5 and whisks me back to the hotel for a fresh crab and shrimp cocktail, and glass (bottle) of wine. He spent five hours walking around Seattle and drinking beer. He is in a great mood. I am more introspective. The company I work for is over 100 years old and highly regarded in each of its market segments. I am in HR, and know we would never treat a candidate the way I was treated.

Hello Seattle? I’m listening. But I won’t be moving. Thanks for calling! B bye now. B bye!