Feb. 14; "New York LIfe: The company you (don't) keep''

OK. Happy Valentine’s Day. There. That oughta hold ya.

I do not mean to be dismissive on this festive occasion. It’s just that present circumstances have made me something of a spectator to the event this year. Given my situation, I liken the holiday to Kwanza: it’s not that I’m opposed to it; I just don’t find it particularly relevant.

Now it’s on to matters that I do have a personal stake in.

As you may recall from my last post, I wrote that I had “knocked ‘em dead’’ during my interview with New York Life on Tuesday. Of 20 candidates, I was one of four the recruiter – Shanan is her name – invited back for a second interview. In fact, she told me about 10 minutes into my interview that I was going to be one of the four.

Near the end of the interview, she mentioned that she would be sending me a questionnaire the company would be using to do a background check. This was a moment I knew would come eventually, so I was prepared.

I told her that there would be something significant on my background check – a felony DUI charge from 2007. We talked about that for a while; the circumstances around the charge, the four months in prison, how I had responded in the four years since. She seemed satisfied. “It’s not like you robbed a bank, is it?’’ she said.

She said she would send me the questionnaire the next day. I thanked her and walked out of the interview feeling pretty good.

But I didn’t get the questionnaire the next day. I didn’t get it the day after that, either.

So I emailed her, asking her if something had come up.

Here is her email in response:

Slim

So sorry. I have been out sick the last two days. I asked our contracting lady to send you the background check after she checked with her boss concerning the felony charge. She sent me an email saying that we could not proceed since it’s a felony charge in the last 10 years. I apologize for the inconvenience and hate that we cannot go any further.

Thanks,

Shanan

My first reaction: Well, that’s sucks! Is this what I’m going to run into with every decent job I pursue? Do I have to wait until 2017 to even be considered for a job? Was it a waste of time to return to school to finish my degree? Should I just go back to being a janitor and forget the whole business?

It seemed, for a moment, that this was simply the latest in an endless string of disappointments that I could trace back to that awful, awful night when I got that DUI that downward spiral.

Typically, I would fall into a deep depression and my thought would be consumed with self-loathing, quickly followed by self-pity. Nothing good ever happens because I don’t deserve anything good – that sort of thing.

But strangely, it didn’t happen this time. At least, it didn’t happen to the degree that marked previous disappointment.
Now, after that first wave of disappointment, I found a new emotion began to course through my veins. I was angry and determined. “Fine. I’ll show you!’’

I laughed a little at my own reaction and remembered something from long, long ago.

I was 19 years old at the time. The Florence Times Daily in Alabama had come to campus to talk to me about a job. One of their two sports writers had left the paper to do PR at a nearby racetrack and they needed somebody quick.

So, at the tender age of 19, I had my first full-time newspaper job, a dream I had held since I was about 12.

I got to Florence, Ala., on Jan. 3, 1979 and discovered that a 20-year-old named Russ had just landed his first full-time newspaper job, too. In fact, Russ and I had landed the SAME JOB! I don't mean a SIMILAR job. I mean the SAME job! The editor of the paper had decided to hire us both, and see which one they wanted to keep after three months. Only, the editor didn’t bother to inform either of us about that arrangement prior to offering us the job (singular).

So it was a pretty awkward three months. Funny, though, Russ and I became pretty good friends, despite the job situation.

When three months ended, I survived. Russ left and went back to school. He’s probably a CEO of a Fortune 500 Company. At least I hope he is.

It was a short-lived victory for me, though. A month later, the sportswriter who had left for the PR job decided he wanted to come back to the paper. Out I went.

I remember crying in the editor’s office when he gave me the news. I was just a kid, after all. I also remember telling him that I would show him what a terrible mistake he had made in firing me.

Modesty aside, I think I made good on that vow. I was absolutely determined to succeed, not only because I had a real passion for newspapers, but because I had a burning desire to prove that the editor was, in fact, an idiot and a jerk.

I went on to have a reasonably successful career in the newspaper business, far better than the editor in Florence would have ever dreamed. Of course, that editor probably forgot my name about 10 minutes after I walked out the door that day. So, as much as I would like to think otherwise, I doubt he ever lie awake at night, cursing himself for such a horrible mistake, I probably never crossed his mind.

But the fire he put in my belly served me well.

So, now, all these years later I find myself saying, "Thanks, New York Life.''

Maybe the odds are still against me. Maybe there will be more disappointments – luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure, as they say. Maybe there is still a long, hard road in front of me.


But I’ll get there. I’m stubborn that way.

You just wait...