The corporate package, T-shirt included

The Kitchen Sink
    By Karen Abravanel

I left my first job recruitment meeting last weekend with free T-shirt, a glossy brochure, and a bad aftertaste. The meeting was sponsored by some computer company from Texas, and as far as I know, I did not win their resumé-based raffle for a ski trip in Steamboat, Col. Since my computer and business skills are about as limited as my command of the slopes, losing the raffle wasn't too disappointing. Rather, I was disheartened that the company packaged its employment opportunities in the same way as it marketed its products.

Under the direction of its head of recruitment, the company had sent a few of its recent hires to staff a plush private gathering at a local bar. A few friends and I, baited by free food and drinks, had decided at the last minute to attend. At the very least, as one friend pointed out, I could say that I had begun to explore my post-graduate options.

As it turned out, the meeting was well-timed. Never before had I felt less certain about my future plans. My uncertainty forced me to keep open as many options as possible. Although previously content with my ignorance of recruitment events, it now made sense to try at least one.

At some point during that evening, I must have had some window of interest in the computer company. I had spent the 15 minutes prior to the meeting updating my resumé, desperately seeking synonyms for "conducted" and "contributed." I had considered enhancing my "Computer Skills" section, deeming Microsoft Office and Lexis/Nexis insufficient components of comparative advantage. I had even printed my resumé on the special, premium inkjet paper that I reserved for final essays and momentous correspondence.

Still, I wanted to leave the meeting as soon I saw its attached strings. Neat piles of thick brochures boasted detailed descriptions of the staff outing to the X-Files premiere. A chrome bowl of resumés anchored the end of the bar. Payrolled minglers hawked their company in shallow conversations. The recruiter who intercepted my path seemed painfully aware of the challenge before him.

"Hi there, I'm Cyrus," he said, sparking a circle of introductions. "So, like, did you guys just come for the kick-ass ski trip, or are you actually interested in learning about our company?"

I wish I could have told him, "None of the above." I wish I could have said, "I'm applying to law school, and I'm definitely going to go, so I just came to get some free stuff." This is all true, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. In my new resolve to explore new options, I smiled politely and adopted my cohorts' unspoken policy of appeasement.

So I stayed at the meeting, despite my initial discomfort. After a few moments of frightened hesitation, although I carefully folded the paper in half to cover my name, I released my resumé to the chrome bowl. Perhaps neither of us realized it, but Cyrus had reason to be encouraged. Unfortunately, he missed his opportunity.

"Yeah, well this ski trip is nothing!" he exclaimed, focusing on the company's package rather than its prospectus. "Our CEO likes to go all out, you know, for the flashy stuff. So one time we had this kick-ass recruitment presentation at a convention where we gave away a Porsche. We had such an awesome crowd that the rest of the people at the convention hated us. Then, we, like, had to have our own convention, and our CEO spent like a million dollars and gave away five Porsches. I've never seen so many people. It was awesome."

I laughed politely. Did working for this company involve anything more than ski trips and sports cars?

"So anyway, I just graduated from Penn, where I majored in blah blah blah management," Cyrus said, conspicuously shifting from small talk to big sell. "What are you majoring in?"

"History," I said.

"Okay, so I'm looking at a consultant," he quickly replied. And there it was--the inevitable C word, which signifies the position presented as my best and only option in the corporate world. This option concerns me. A company that offers so many types of perks should offer me more than one type of position. Besides, I have no idea what a consultant actually does, beyond spending interminable hours in a carpeted cubicle.

My window of interest was already closing when another recruiter tried to slip a vague job description through the remaining crack. "Basically, I go into the room with the client and say this is why our software package is awesome, this is why it rocks, and then I go back and figure out how we can make it better for what they want. I also get to travel three days a week. It's really fun."

"Yeah," Cyrus agreed. "Our company offers a lot of kick-ass things."

The window finally closed. Unimpressed by the recruiters nor the company's packaged deal, I offered a final polite nod, and left.

My dissatisfaction, though, made the recruitment meeting more productive than I had anticipated. I remain unsure about my future plans, but last weekend I exchanged the security of choosing one option for the relief of elim-
inating another. Lucky for me, this bit of certainty came with a free T-shirt.

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