Culture Fit
He told me I write well in Spanish and then he recounted an anecdote that suggested I was pronouncing my name incorrectly. I had known I was pregnant for maybe two weeks; I was trying not to appear nauseated or out of breath. My blazer was overdue for a cleaning and it was making my eyes itch, and I was the only one wearing a mask. His HR manager was a relative, maybe a son or a nephew, and the open-plan office was populated by the same specifically feminine women in skintight pants and beautiful shoes with nearly identical features who make up half the city.
Sure I can write, I can articulate a series of interrelated facts logically and clearly, probably because I’ve done it before, but my Spanish will always be limited by the fixity of my English. I will never fully assimilate the vast range and subtlety of Spanish verbs, even if I study conscientiously, which I don’t. I felt like I should be a bit self-deprecating and maybe that was the wrong thing to do, why I didn’t get the job, or maybe I am simply not there to be chosen, more a source of curiosity.
Just yesterday I didn’t get a job I have already been doing in a slightly different form for over a decade. I don’t know why, they don’t tell you why. They seem to believe it’s a great honor to tell you anything. The manager said it was very important that the new hire fit into their team. I never talked to anyone besides her. I could see that a lot more people than usual were looking at my LinkedIn page but something I said or didn’t must’ve been all wrong, maybe my job history looked too eclectic, maybe it was because I don’t have a PhD, I could speculate all day.
My dad was a really smart guy but he never reached the success he was expected to have or even the stability of adjusted expectations. He had a ton of education but, I thought, the reason things went wrong was that he didn’t get along or go along. I would be different. Being female already made it a necessary antecedent. But that didn’t work, either. My dad died without enough years of contentment, and when I helped my mom close out his e-mail address, he was still getting job postings even though he hadn’t really worked in a while. I vowed I would change my life so I wouldn’t end up like that, but it hasn’t been possible, yet. I’d like to pose as if success is completely uninteresting, but I still hope to do something quietly necessary in a corner, which is a type of success I suppose.
I was a junior in high school and it was the last day of marching band for the year and it was really fucking hot out and yeah, our uniforms were polyester and immediately rendered us into molten slags of teen. A senior who lived in a housing development south of town invited a bunch of people over to swim at the development’s private beach. Nobody invited me. I probably could’ve shown up and no one would’ve said anything but I went home and fell asleep in my polyester uniform and felt bad.
In grad school I knew a woman who later became very successful in academia. For her 40th birthday she was traveling through my area for a special occasion trip and she messaged me on social media to invite herself to stay at my apartment. I cleaned the place really well and tried to get in touch to nail down her plans repeatedly, and eventually she consented to meet at a bakery for a coffee on Friday, before my work day was done. She had changed plans, without ever saying so, and I was expected to figure it out, I guess. She asked me when rush hour would start a few minutes after we drank our tea and said we would keep in touch. That was 4 years ago, and obviously I haven’t heard from her. I could continue but you get the idea.
When I was going to therapy, the social worker kept asking me if there are want ads where I live. If there is InfoJobs. I tried to tell her there is no lack of trying here, but rather, there is some fundamental thing about me that people don’t like. My c.v. is extensive and substantial and yet I’ll never be born here, I don’t know anyone important, my butt is too big, I have funny hair I should try harder to style, I have an accent that is just the other side of acceptable, something. I can’t figure it out and I wanted her to tell me what it is and how to repair it, to fix all the things. She never addressed that idea and instead told me that I should decide what work I would do for free and do that. So yeah, I have no idea either.
That is not to say my life is actually bad, that I’m without any social contacts or means, but every time my circumstances change I seem to be further away from where I thought I’d be, watching. I thought with time I would figure out how to make it better but I am still being toyed with by those who won’t make me an offer, who won’t cut me in, who won’t pay a basic courtesy.
Please be honest, what is it?
