So I Won’t Go To Macy’s Anymore-more-more
There’s a big bad policeman at the door-door-door
He pulled me the collar
And he made me pay a dollar
So I won’t go to Macy’s anymore-more-more
20th Century jump-rope rhyme
In late September 2010, with the end of my extended UI benefits looming like a black hole in the not-to-distant future, I decided to prepare for the worst and submit applications for seasonal work during the upcoming holidays. I spent a day completing online applications for a variety of retailers, the names and numbers of which I’ve lost count. I heard back from one. Macy’s. This, I thought, will be a shoo-in, which only goes to demonstrate just how little I’ve learned these many months pounding the pavement.
The automatic electronic reply from Macy’s indicated the availability of a single opening at my local outlet, for a “Merchandising Assistant/Warehousing.” The reply included a link to complete the application which I dutifully clicked. As with all these exhaustive online application processes, I was required to not only upload fully formatted text versions of my resume and cover letter, but also complete a 100% duplicative electronic version of that same resume by filling in scores of pull-down-menu and full-text fields with employer names and addresses, supervisory contact info, start and end dates, descriptions of responsibilities, education, and on and on an on—no mean feat when you’re dealing with 25+ years of work experience. After about 2 hours, I was done. Or so I thought.
After hitting a “submit” button, I was presented with a new screen informing me that my application would not be complete until I had a submitted an online personality profile. I had the option of completing it now or returning at a later date. Just kill me now, I thought, and launched the personality profile.
What started out as an amusing exercise in self-profiling turned into a mind-numbing, rage-inducing nightmare of redundancy and repetitiveness as I slogged through literally hundreds of statements to rate my degree of agreement or disagreement on a 7-point scale (disagree completely, strongly disagree, disagree somewhat, neutral, agree somewhat, strongly agree, agree completely). The statements were essentially the same five, repeated in different ways, over and over and over, ad infinitum, ad nauseaum:
- I can be trusted to work without constant close supervision and oversight.
- I would not steal.
- I would not attack co-workers.
- I would not attack customers.
- I would snitch when spying co-workers engaged in unauthorized activities related to items 1 through 4.
That’s it. Yet, somehow Macy’s managed to bloviate these 5 statements into a personality profile that ran a full 13 single-spaced pages – I know this because I printed it out—requiring almost an hour to complete.
I clicked “submit.”
The next day, to my great surprise, I received another automatic e-mail reply inviting me to set up an appointment for a face-to-face interview in the HR Department at the local outlet. I clicked through and set up the appointment for the next day.
At this point, I decided it might be a good idea to learn exactly what it is that a “Merchandising Assistant/Warehousing” does. So I called my niece who worked in merchandising before she was downsized about a month before I was. “It’s basically a receiver of deliveries,” she said. “Maybe even a truck unloader. It all depends.”
“Oh.”
Undeterred, I arrived for the interview at the appointed time. I wore my basic interview suit – not my best one, but a decent one. After all, I didn’t want to look too spiffy if I was going be unloading delivery trucks.
The HR reception area was a multi-purpose room dominated by 9 terminals used by new employees to view orientation videos and by job applicants to submit online applications like the ones I had submitted from home. The department seemed to be in high gear, revving up for the coming holiday season. Despite having an appointment, I sat for more than an hour as I watched folks arriving after me being called in by various interviewers. These people, I was told, had appointments with different interviewers. My interviewer was behind schedule due to some technical glitches.
When I was finally called, I was greeted by a friendly 30-ish man with a vaguely eastern European accent. He escorted me to an office, shut the door, and began to gush, about my resume, my professionalism, my patience, my appearance. “We don’t usually get people like you in here,” he said. He spent the next several minutes explaining that, by hook or by crook, he was not going to let me get away. I had a bright and promising future with Macy’s and he was going to get me into a management-track program as quickly as possible. As an example, he described one in which I would be assigned to shadow an experienced floor manager, serving as his or her assistant for a 3-month period. During that time, I would learn every aspect of floor and departmental management, from cash drawer balancing to scheduling assignments to inventory control. If all went well, I would then be enrolled in Macy’s formal management training courses with the eventual goal of being put in charge of my own department. He had two spots in mind: one in women’s shoes, the other in bridal housewares. He was pretty sure that shoes paid a higher hourly rate and commission. Further, he said, bridal housewares was not a big revenue generator in this particular branch and it was especially slow during the holiday season anyway, so shoes it is. With that, he said he was off to investigate and would be back shortly.
I sat in the room behind a closed door for what felt like an eternity. I don’t recall what I was thinking or what I was feeling. I’m sure I was numb. I do remember that at some point, my eyes began to wander around the little room, landing on various shabby details, like the crooked shelves piled with ancient dusty binders, the coffee-stained carpeting, the barren beaten desktop, and the broken side chair by the wall. I turned to see what was behind me, looked down, and there it was, propped against the wall, its cheap frame coming apart at the corners, the glass so dusty and dirty I could barely see it, but there it was, on the floor, not two feet behind me: Van Gogh’s Vase of Irises – the same print I stared at for so many years in a much larger, far more vibrant and beautifully framed version I had selected from the law practice’s art inventory and had installed facing me on the wall across from my desk. For countless hours of conference calls, that print had provided a soothing, peaceful spot to rest my eyes without distraction from the conversation at hand. Sometimes, especially when working late at night, I’d sit there with a cup of tea and loose myself in the blossoms and almost detect the movement of leaves in the air currents.
After a time, the interviewer returned and gave me the deal: I would have to return for an interview with the shoe department manager I would be assigned to follow. Well, actually he didn’t know for sure whether or not I would be assigned to follow a manager at all or simply be selling shoes. Hard to say. That would be her call, but someone would be in touch with me to make an appointment to meet her. With that, he escorted me out.
The next day, a Saturday, I received an e-mail from the HR Department asking me to complete my application for Merchandising Assistant/Warehousing. This e-mail contained a phone number and appeared to originate with a real human being. So I called. An HR Drone said I needed to complete my application. I explained that I had and then described yesterday’s conversation with the interviewer.
“Oh, that was you?” She said. “Yes. I heard all about that. So sorry. Ok, so now you need to submit an application for the women’s shoe department. Since you already submitted one, it will be very simple this time. I’ll send you the link.”
Within a few minutes, she did. I clicked the link, submitted the application, and within seconds received an automatic reply that no such job openings were currently available.
Now, I would have left it at that were if not for the next contact I received from Macy’s about a week later: another interviewer called to say that there was a part-time seasonal position available in women’s shoes and was wondering if I would be willing to come in again to discuss it. I was and I did.
This time my interviewer was a sweet young woman who described the opportunity as a 6-week, part-time stint in the woman’s shoe department. The hours would be Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, 10:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m., for $12.00/hour.
I’m thinking, as I’ve got nothing better going on, maybe I’ll give it a try, when I hear her say “drawn commission.”
“I’m sorry, did you say ‘drawn commission’? I don’t know what that means.”
“It’s draw on commission. It just means that you have certain sales targets to hit. Each week when you earn your commission, your salary differential will be deducted from your commissions. That way you get the higher salary up front and then it’s deducted from the commissions you earn.”
“Again, I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. What salary differential are we talking about?”
“The base salary is $7.50/hour but you will be earning $12.00/hour. That’s the differential and it will be deducted from the commission you earn when you hit your targets.”
“And what happens if I don’t hit my sales targets?”
“Oh, I don’t think that ever happens.”
“Well, what if it does? If I understand this correctly, it is possible that if I do not hit all my sales targets at the end of the 6-week period, I could conceivably end up owing you money? Because you are paying me $12.00/hour instead of $7.50? Is that right?”
“Well. Technically, I guess. Yes.”
“That’s what it sounds like to me.”
“Well, you think about it and let me know. If you’re interested, we’ll have you come in to meet the manager of the women’s shoe department.”
“I’ll think about it. Yes, thank you.”
Lesson learned: So far, I am still thinking about this and I am still flabbergasted.
