I went digging in my personal archives and decided that this one needed to see the light of the Internet. It was written in June of 2002.

Automated Forces conspiring against me

They called my name. I walked across the stage, shook hands with the appropriate officials and accepted my diploma cover. A few weeks later the proof of my 16 completed years of education would come in the mail. My ticket to anywhere had arrived. Where would I go? What would I do? The world was mine for the taking. Only it wasn’t. Options seemed to disappear faster than I could dream them up. Jobs weren’t to be found under the usual rocks and they certainly weren’t falling from the sky.

The sky. Freedom. Maybe I could work for an airline; at least until it rained employment again. I could be a baggage handler. I’m not a large man, but I can handle my baggage. I managed to get an interview with UnNamed Air (to protect the ridiculous). It was automated. A gentle recorded voice instructed me to Press 1 for yes and Press 2 for no. I answered questions abut my education, my past employment, and my skills. The gentle woman quizzed me relentlessly, but I used my keypad like a pro. I think she could detect my confidence. So she pulled out all the stops.

“I will read a statement. Using a scale of 1 to 5 decide how you feel about the statement. Press 1 if you strongly agree and 5 if you strongly disagree.”

I was ready. I even wrote it down, 1-I strongly agree;stronglyronlgy disagree. She wasnÂ’t going to fool me. I was a college graduate after all. The questions were straight-forward. The desirable answers were obvious. “I’ve always liked to kick suitcases,” she’d say. And I’d press my response. I was honest. I could see no sense in lying. I knew this was just a formality. Question after question I strongly agreed or disagreed with my automated interviewer. By now I knew she had to be impressed with my abilities. I’d handled myself so well over the phone. I was certain I would handle baggage even more skillfully.

Then things turned sour. “Thank you,” the gentle recording told me. “You’re not what we’re looking for at this time. You may try again in 6 months. Thanks for your interest in UnNamed Air.” --Click.

What!?!

I just bombed an automated interview? I have a college degree. I’m responsible, ethical, and I can lift up to 75 pounds. You’re kidding me, right?

But no one was there to hear my plea. It was true, my ticket to anywhere couldn’t even get me into the local airport. I called Time and Temperature just to make sure automated systems weren’t out to get me. “88 degrees at 3:45 PM,” the aging gentleman told me. It seems hotter than 88 degrees, doesn’t it?