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I love technology. I love computers, email, fax machines,
automatic car washes, ATMs. I love that when I call the electric
company I never hear a live human voice. However, it is screwing
me. As one advisor said, "He does not have a stellar academic
record." Lump into that a lack of an impressive resume also.
My interpersonal communication skills are good, or in other
words, I give a kick-ass interview. With technology, though,
I have a small chance of ever demonstrating my abilities through
such interaction. This places me in the precarious position
of having no chance to get into grad school or—at the moment—acquiring
employment. So I fax 30 resumes a week to jobs that routinely
say, "Please, no walk-ins."
If I do have the opportunity to belly up face-to-face with a
potential employer it is usually to the personnel receptionist
who kindly accepts my resume with a smile and by the end of
our six-minute conversation wants to help me take over the planet
and have my children in the process. Three days later I have
received no call for an interview. So I continue my resume sending
and job searching, while camping out at the local college. In
this instance it is University of Chicago, where I would enjoy
being branded a genius by simple admission. This will never
happen, but since my next-door neighbor landlord is under the
impression that I already work in the library at the University
of Chicago I have till 5 p.m. to burn. I spend this post-Kinkos
time smoking in front of the philosophy building and slumbering
on the Fermi Nuclear Reaction Memorial. My hope is that at some
point a crisis will happen. The philosophy department secretary
will come running out and the following exchange will occur:
"Oh my God, where is Dr. Smith?"
"I don't know."
"Do you know anything about Kant's categorical imperative?"
"Sure."
"Get in here right now; we have a crisis situation."
At which point I will save the day using my knowledge of philosophy,
be introduced to the department professors, and quickly and
neatly be admitted to the philosophy program the following semester.
Let me make it clear that I am competent and intelligent, or
at least in the eyes of Chicago's Human Resources receptionists
I am. The point is: I am not trying to con myself into a job
or school where I will not be able to perform. An opportunity
to discuss my qualifications and expertise in a live face-to-face
forum is all I request. It is simply that technology is creating
a barrier between these possibilities and me. If it was 1912,
I would walk into the World's Fair, speak with the manager,
get him to trust me, and then show him I can operate the merry-go-round.
Today I don't even see the horses unless I have five years'
experience and a 4.0 in park amusement engineering. I tried
submitting a small novella for a florist delivery job, explaining
my multi-tasking dimensions in reading a map and driving a van
at the same time. They emailed me that the position was filled.
It is impossible to interview everybody in the world for every
job so shortcuts must be installed. Technology, however, has
taken this to a refined art of absolute isolationism. We should
be trying to keep the personal element in the job application
or the student admission request whenever possible. Ability
should be a Gestalt theory based on hard scores but also on
refined social nuances such as dependability, drive, and creativity.
This is an old debate, but one that technology is making more
obsolete and disturbing each day. I am a human being and despite
my poorly faxed resume, my email submission in the wrong format,
or my genetic code not looking very promising, it is possible,
just maybe, that I am the greatest cabinetmaker the world has
ever seen.
Copyright © 2001 Charles Hageman Frey.
All Rights Reserved.
Charles Hageman Frey is an unemployed vagrant
napping at the University of Chicago; he lives nearby in Chicago,
Illinois.
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