When Anticlimactic is a Great Thing

It's amazing how sometimes the buildup to asking for a favor can be so excruciatingly worse than asking for the favor. For instance, it seems that each of the times I ask for anything at work, my agonizing over the how and why and wherefore to is never worth the aggravation.

I should have realized that it's not worth stressing over approaching my boss when over a year ago, I had to ask for a raise. I had been under the impression that I wouldn't be stuck with a salary that was less than my last hourly rate for very long, and after seven months, was unhappy enough about it to try to do something about it. Well, after speaking to my supervisor about it, I went to my boss and, turning redder and stammering more than I ever have, attempted to tell him that I'd been working really hard and had been there for over half a year and wanted him to consider giving me a raise. Before I could progress into a deeper shade of red-violet and before my tongue swelled up to fill my entire mouth (what was coming out already sounded like 'bneah, bneah, nya'), my boss said, "You want a raise, right?" I nodded wordlessly. And that was it.

The second time I had to talk to my boss about doing something for me was something I will owe him forever for: my knee surgery. Again, this was simplicity itself. He asked me how long I'd be out for, who I was going to see, and what the proposed plan of action was to take the screw that's been plaguing me for almost a decade out of my knee. Showing that he really does care about his employees, he went out and found me not necessarily a "better" doctor, but the best doctor for the job, a traumatologist, who was an orthopedic surgeon that specialized in rods and screws. Even better, he trained under the guy that invented the procedure that got the rod in my femur in the first place. Then, to go even further, he gave me a week's paid medical leave to recover. Hurricane Gustav cut into that quite a bit, but it was great to have the support of my boss and my supervisor, who has knee problems of her own as a former athlete.

The last and most recent thing was this: I'm getting married in May, and I was very concerned about time off. My wedding date was pushed up from October of 2010 due to

1. the rapidly declining health of Boy's grandparents, who shouldn't be traveling but are already doing so for his graduation
2. the fact that everyone from Boy's side would already be here, again, due to his graduation
3. we weren't sure where we were going to be in 2010
4. and that he really wanted to do something huge for graduation and I already wanted to go to China

So now the big date is May, Tulane's graduation weekend (eep!). With the encouragement of my parents, we decided that our first choice in honeymoons would be a fantastic extravaganza of a trip, and what more exotic and once-in-a-lifetime destination than China? With the help of good ol' Mom and Dad, who found us a few options in tours and tour companies, we put ourselves on the list. And since it was a 24-hour flight, we figured we'd want to make it worth it, and make our honeymoon the vacation of our lives.

Now, in a recession like this, it's scary even thinking about a) spending that much money and b) asking for a huge amount of time off, paid or unpaid. I had broached the subject to my supervisor, who seemed very uncertain that it would be possible. Since the trip is not yet set in stone (these tour companies operate in a way that a certain amount of reservations need to be made in order for the trip to even occur; personalized city-by-city tours like this need a minimum to be met to even be profitable, and we certainly didn't want to go by ourselves!), I put off and put off speaking to my bosses about it, getting more and more nervous as I waited for a confirmation and thought of ways to make my case and the very real possibility of getting canned for having the audacity to request a 20-day honeymoon.

Well, all of it was for naught. My supervisor, as promised, spoke to my boss about it, and he, as a hopeless romantic and a bit of a self-proclaimed yenta, let me know when I bumped into him at the gym, that sure, I could have the unpaid time off and to have fun--I hopefully will only get married that once. Although this could all be a moot point if the two trips I'm on the list for don't become guaranteed, it still is great to know that if we get to do this, I have health insurance overseas and a job when I come back.

Whew!

What an anticlimax to all that anxious buildup! And it's things like this that make me appreciate a whole lot that even if the job itself kind of sucks, sometimes the most important thing is to be working for someone who doesn't suck. So cheers to that.

If Looks Could Kill

This blog is proving to be a therapeutic medium, but unfortunately, due to the fact that it's a public listing and all, not quite as therapeutic as it could be.

To start off, yesterday was just a day gone completely awry. A job for my fiance that we'd had our sights and hopes set on didn't pan out, which was just devastating. Then my dog was attacked by another dog, completely unprovoked, and has a hole in his face. But anyway, I understand that with the downturned economy and the fact that the finance industry is essentially bleeding jobs right now, it's hard to get an advance offer. But the company was actively recruiting, and the Boy was the most qualified. I mean, think of it this way: actual real life work/managerial experience vs. part-time student employment; 3.93 GPA vs. your standard 3.5 GPA; work for the Burkenroad Reports, a serious analyst publication and candidacy for the exclusive Darwin-Fenner program at Tulane's internationally acclaimed Freeman School vs. UMiami jocks.

So what gives?

My only conclusion is that Boy was indeed overqualified, and that worked against him. They probably figured that he would have bad habits they'd have to break, or that since he had significant experience, he'd be okay if they didn't offer the opportunity to him. And companies that recruit straight out of college look for blank slates. Young, pretty, brainwashable blank slates, so blank that they can be molded into anything at all. Lumps of colorful clay.

Unfortunately, although Boy is a malleable medium, he's not quite as colorful as the bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked fresh meat that is now his competition. A little older, more mature, heavier-set, and without a doubt shorter, aesthetic plays its part as well. I've always found it interesting in my psych classes that the better looking, more fit people of the world would receive preference, even if a sloppier candidate was more qualified. Obviously, you would want your future leader that you're taking the time to groom to exude authority and project a certain type of image, but how much more brains do you need to beat out beauty?

Don't get me wrong -- I think Boy is adorable, his eyes are the sweetest shade of brown, he's smarter than I give him credit for, and I just think it's funny I get to mess around with him about his height and weight. But objectively, I know he's no European Adonis or statuesque swimmer, and to some, consciously or subconsciously, that matters to some people. No one wants to introduce their CEO, the Hobbit. And though Boy is far from Hobbit-like, the principle is still the same. Everyone likes their figureheads pretty. Now where does that leave the average American? Beauty is a more lethal weapon in the arsenal than intelligence in a society that values aesthetic, connections, and power more so than qualifications. As we grow fatter and lazier, the powerful and/or wealthy people that have the leisure time to spend on their appearance and first impressions get yet another advantage of standing out. Zoolanders of the world, your time is now.