Communication

Communications Coordinator.

That’s my official title at my new job. My dream job. 

My unemployment/temporary employment/never-ending job search has ended. At least for the foreseeable future. 

I broke a lot of those interview rules that we polished so much in college. I dressed like myself — a creative, quirky 23-year-old housewife. I wore a pink jacket. A checkered scarf with a flower-patterned shirt. My hair was triple-barrel curled and quite large. 

I admitted to my interviewers the job was my dream job. I gushed about my passion for helping people and making a difference in my hometown. They asked how my best friend would describe me, and I admitted she would say I’m creative. And also weird. 

They asked how I deal with others. I openly revealed that I want everyone to like me. I work at relationships at a level and pace that is probably unhealthy. I love people from the moment I meet them and hate when people don’t like me. 

I told them I could never hold a corporate job.  I’m not a cookie cutter post-grad. I don’t wear pantsuits. Cubicle mazes make me dizzy and claustrophobic. I’m not going to cut my hair into a bob. Or curl it daily and keep up with perfect highlights. I wear leggings and skirts and boots. And scarves. 

They asked about my writing system. And I told them. I spin in my chair really fast until I shake loose the ideas that are stuck. In college, I’d lay on my dorm room floor or upside down on my couch to shift my perspective. I write several paragraphs of “wrong” to be able to find what’s “right.” I make list after list of what/when/how I’m going to accomplish everything I need to do. 

This was a panel interview. I was outnumbered and out aged. Though I kept them smiling and laughing throughout, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get the job.

But I did. 

I’ve spent the last eight months going on interviews and trying to convince employers that while I don’t have a lot of marketable skills, I can write. I can communicate. They looked at me like I’m crazy…like communication isn’t that important at all. Cut-throat sales skills, years of experience, a degree in business, math — those are the important things. 

Communication is so fundamental. What’s the highest degree of punishment in our prison system (besides death)? Solitary confinement. Not being allowed to communicate with anyone else.

It’s such a basic human need — the ability to talk to others, to share, to listen, to exchange information, to communicate. 

I got a job based on my crazy plea that communication is important — fundamental even — and I take that role seriously.  So maybe I’m not that crazy — or at least not alone. I’m going to be working in an office full of people that just want to help other people. My co-workers don’t want a corporate, meaningless job; they want to do something that matters. Make a difference in the community. 

And they’re letting me do it through communication. And wearing scarves.