Now, I'm no stranger to corporations. I don't fear big companies. I don't even fear talking a few numbers - witness my presentation just last Tuesday in which I outlined the economic viability of a title for which I built the Profit and Loss spreadsheet myself, line by line. These things don't frighten me like they do a large number of English majors. And English majors, as one would expect, make up a lot of the publishing industry.
Now, I had a job interview last week. It was a one-hour phone call with an editor from a company which is better known for being big than for its publishing. The concept sounded great - crossing borders, commissioning translations, international writers, etc. - but there was something about it that threw me off.
"Tell me about how you analyse data," they asked.
Data? That's no problem. We use past sales data to project whether a book will sell or not in future.
"Tell me about what goals were set for you in a previous company and how you met them."
So I outlined my previous work experience. They said: "No. What targets were you given, and did you make those targets."
Oh. Well, fine, but I liked my first answer better.
"Now, when you went to India, what were your stated goals there?"
Blah blah blah, best practices, new processes, exchanging core competencies, blah blah blah. They said: "No. What were your targets, and how did you meet them."
Oh. Well, I guess if you care about those rather than the important breakthroughs we had honing the development process for complicated projects. . . .
It was a shame, almost. Even after it was my turn to ask questions and I was given answers which matched almost exactly the spirit of my own responses, I quickly realised what was going on with this interview: they were collecting data. On me.
That data will be fed back into the corporate machine and will determine whether I'm fit for Round 2. (Don't worry. I'm probably not.)
It's a little disheartening to come back to the real world after having been a student and praising these high ideals of internationalism and innovation. In the end, you get in the door with your numbers. But really? When working internationally, when crossing boundaries like that, is it possible to really use numbers to make all of your decisions? If that were true, literal translations would be a piece of cake. You could use exactly the format of Eurovision or Jersey Shore and bring it to the other side of the ocean and it would absolutely work.
If you've lived internationally, you know what rubbish that is. There's a reason people can differentiate between The Office in the US and The Office in the UK, and it's not because Steve Carrell is slimmer than Ricky Gervais. Imagine Bollywood in Canada. It's just not one to one.
Anyways. I tried to follow up to send a thank you note to my interviewer, but was politely but firmly told I was not allowed to receive their personal information. I suppose that's about right. They didn't seem to have collected any about me, either.
Now, I had a job interview last week. It was a one-hour phone call with an editor from a company which is better known for being big than for its publishing. The concept sounded great - crossing borders, commissioning translations, international writers, etc. - but there was something about it that threw me off.
"Tell me about how you analyse data," they asked.
Data? That's no problem. We use past sales data to project whether a book will sell or not in future.
"Tell me about what goals were set for you in a previous company and how you met them."
So I outlined my previous work experience. They said: "No. What targets were you given, and did you make those targets."
Oh. Well, fine, but I liked my first answer better.
"Now, when you went to India, what were your stated goals there?"
Blah blah blah, best practices, new processes, exchanging core competencies, blah blah blah. They said: "No. What were your targets, and how did you meet them."
Oh. Well, I guess if you care about those rather than the important breakthroughs we had honing the development process for complicated projects. . . .
It was a shame, almost. Even after it was my turn to ask questions and I was given answers which matched almost exactly the spirit of my own responses, I quickly realised what was going on with this interview: they were collecting data. On me.
That data will be fed back into the corporate machine and will determine whether I'm fit for Round 2. (Don't worry. I'm probably not.)
It's a little disheartening to come back to the real world after having been a student and praising these high ideals of internationalism and innovation. In the end, you get in the door with your numbers. But really? When working internationally, when crossing boundaries like that, is it possible to really use numbers to make all of your decisions? If that were true, literal translations would be a piece of cake. You could use exactly the format of Eurovision or Jersey Shore and bring it to the other side of the ocean and it would absolutely work.
If you've lived internationally, you know what rubbish that is. There's a reason people can differentiate between The Office in the US and The Office in the UK, and it's not because Steve Carrell is slimmer than Ricky Gervais. Imagine Bollywood in Canada. It's just not one to one.
Anyways. I tried to follow up to send a thank you note to my interviewer, but was politely but firmly told I was not allowed to receive their personal information. I suppose that's about right. They didn't seem to have collected any about me, either.
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