Zero Net Worth When Networking

My professional network on LinkedIn has a decent amount of contacts but in Tipping Point terms, I would not label myself as a connector. LinkedIn is a world of career contacts, industries, and skill sets. It opens a gateway to people in the know and trending companies. My reluctance to use LinkedIn is a head scratcher. Not only due to lice but also because my own behavior baffles me. Job advancement is available. The power of networking is present. Despite all this, I shy away from being an active player in carving out my own career.

Maybe I am reluctant to use LinkedIn due to profile fear. The application itself is essentially a career dating service. It gives companies and recruiters a marketplace to review and connect with viable candidates for possible employment. It is highly similar to the Tinder app minus the random, drunk sex. There is always concern on how employers will perceive my profile. Some of my connections read as a “Who’s Who.” Whereas mine resembles, “Who the Hell is That?” I am weary of my own pint-sized job title and lack of career progression. On the flip side, I am also skeptical on the amount of success achieved by others. I question the motives of many LinkedIn invites. Do you really want to connect with me or is this a way to rub your job title in my face? In a few cases, the former, in the majority of cases, the latter.

I am on this business card. Otherwise, I am simply not there.

LinkedIn provides an outlet to professionally humblebrag. The true intent of the LinkedIn application is admirable and useful: connect with others in an environment that can showcase your talent and expertise. However, most invitations transpose the primary purpose with the humblebrag. A bait and switch technique to boast career achievements without any concern for new employment. It sends a message to the world that this individual has arrived to the big time…in the form of a paper tiger.

CEO? According to the D&B, the company has 3 employees. When shareholder meetings can be held in a pantry it is at best, “Small Business Owner.” Titles should be in sync with activity. If a candidate has been out of college for less than two years, it’s okay to be an “Analyst”. When I graduated, my title was not “Petroleum Transfer Specialist.” Instead, I was assigned “Pump my gas, dirt bag.” Not ideal, but honest. LinkedIn is a place where you are supposed to show off your skills. But the ante often increases to a level that would make Baron Munchausen blush. Contrived resumes can only live in the fabricated world of LinkedIn. Users unwittingly create a career dead end. Their own job inventions are so grand that it establishes an illusion of them never needing another job in the first place.

I must say, even by my own standards, that story sounds fishy.

I do not mean to insinuate that everyone on LinkedIn is lying. There are some people who are knocking it out of the park. The former teen nerds who are making bank have every right to gloat. More power to them. To the pimpled girl turned Account Executive, you go. To the bookworm boy that made partner, high-five. To the starting QB who banged the Homecoming Queen and threw the game winning touchdown, fuck off, you’re a dick.

Eventually a resume has to back up the job title. This is where the power of LinkedIn does not serve the career con artists well. The resume gains the interview, the interview wins the job. For those who are all sizzle and no steak, that fake job is going to last a long time. Trust me, my alter-ego is CEO of Galaxy Global Industries Corporation, he knows these kind of things.

Fat Ass on Fitbit

The latest emphasis at our company has been individual health and its contribution to corporate wellness. The underlying belief of this approach is that happy and healthy employees contribute to the bottom line. As with anything corporate, there must be metrics on success and failure. In terms of health, it can be measured by a wrist band that counts your steps. The Fitbit craze has kicked it with the crossover to Corporate America. In our company, personal health has translated into competition. What started as personal improvement has mutated into how an employee can beat their fellow colleague.

The idea itself is great. Monitor your own activity and shoot for personal records. An individual can actively audit their exercise levels and determine whether it is increasing, decreasing or maintaining at their own status quo. There are numerous metrics: steps, distance, floors climbed and calories burned. It even monitors your sleep patterns (or lack thereof.) The metrics are gentle reminders to get off the couch. The “Friends” option on the Fitbit setup is what introduces the rub. Tracking one’s own activity is fine. The problem is being coerced into supposed friendly corporate competition. Now my activity is viewable by others. Everyone into the pool, except this pool has sharks and I’m wearing a chum jacket.

Expected appearance based on steps.

All bets are off once overachieving, Type-A executives are introduced. They must excel at everything, and at any cost, including cheating. Fitbit is the perfect storm for them to succeed. It is an electronic dashboard that vindicates their level of exercise without having to directly account for it. When you are an overachieving sycophant executive, fitness is a luxury that few can afford. Exercise requires time and for the exec working 15 hours a day, time is scarce. What to do? There is no room for average. They have to game the system to be on top. This is evident when the total steps of top performers are disproportionate to their physical appearance.

Actual appearance based on Fitbit outsourcing.

Numbers may not lie but body mass definitely tells the truth. The top performers are often in shape…of a pear. Maybe they handed the Fitbit to their spouse and added it to the Honey Do list. Or they placed it under the sweatband of their overachieving child on the travel soccer team. Whatever the modus operandi, it is an obvious lie when comparing measured steps to body type.

Run, Levi, Run! Good dog.

It is hard to grin and bear it. Watching the highest echelon of the company smile at their empty victory while the expanding notches on their belt tell the real story of what transpired. Rather than sit on the sidelines I do my best to actively participate. Not in exercising but in cheating. I outsourced my Fitbit. It is on the collar of an Australian Shepherd named Levi. She works on a farm. Busy girl. Loves to run. She’s pushed me all the way to third place. Good dog.

The War On Talent

The unemployment rate coupled with the overeducated graduates of the world has started an interesting battle. The War on Talent is waged with finding the cream of the crop candidates. It is followed by promising them the moon. The final step is working their exempt ass so much that their hourly rate translates into minimum wage.

The War on Talent is born in the boardroom. Each silver spooned executive pushing their own alma mater. This usually consists of Ivy League and other regionally convenient top tier schools. They delegate the initiative to Talent Managers within the company who schedule the lifecycle of recruiting. It originates with a phone call, escalates to a campus interview, and culminates to an onsite in the lion’s den.

Mortimer, time to find some new candidates.

Soon to be graduates are weeded out in a pre-screening phone interview. This involves some background on the company, providing info on the position itself along with softball questions like, “Can you spell the name of our company” and “Tell me about your experience in retail?” The first question alone weeds out about 90% of the candidates. Think I’m kidding? You try spelling, “Takanami Hashimoto Consulting.”
 
The pruning continues in the form of face to face campus interviews. Personnel already head to their respective campuses and wear the recruiter hat for the trip. It gives them a reason to leave behind their spouses in exchange for young, spry co-eds. It is also a power trip. These same recruiters who were the victims of fraternity pranks now walk the campus in a power suit. And those same fraternities will be groveling at their feet for a job. The candidates need approval from the recruiters in order to proceed to the promise land.
 
The recruiters go through a marathon of interviews with all available candidates. They gather their notes and then decide who makes the first cut. For those candidates who showed up late, were chewing gum, or smelled like the inside of a bong: bye-bye. Easy decisions for the recruiters and also a way for them to score weed.  The next tier is filled with candidates that everyone liked or had strong references but whose accomplishments were related to how long they were able to stay away from home without crying. Good, not good enough: bye-bye. And then there are the A-listers: candidates who happen to be doing real work in college, have a solid internal recommendation, and shine in the interview. Polished and seasoned like a second chair in the National Symphony. The promise land, almost there.
 
The respective company pulls out all the stops for the on-site. The candidates are possibly entering their new home. They are being taken off their campus and placed in the lion’s den. No expense spared: boardroom is reserved, catering is provided, and the bathrooms are finally cleaned. Each candidate enters with wide eyes channeling the same uncertainty as a newborn trying to walk. It’s really happening. The last set of interviews is the final cut. The pruning hedges have turned into a machete. A one shot tryout where the slightest gesture, mannerism or word could put you in the outbox.

 

Yes, I'm here for the interview.

It’s a grind: detailed questions requiring detailed answers. Questions that prod at different angles involving behavior based traits, analytical capabilities, creative outlets and your favorite white-collar criminal. No one cares what the candidate has done at this point. It’s what can they do and how they will do it.

And if the candidate makes it through that final hoop, they are hired. Congratulations, you can now change the world. But first, let’s change the toner.