wigglewhiz | Britishness, Scottishness, And The World Stage (Reply)

As you know, I bought little notecards last week to send as Thank You cards to my Company E interviewers. They are BRIGHT PINK and reminded me of mehndi designs and Islamic art - I KNOW, I'm a bellydancer right down to my corporate core. I CAN'T HELP IT. (Side note 1 - does nobody write notecards or letters anymore? Because it was nearly BLOODY IMPOSSIBLE to buy nice, plain - i.e. blank - notelets or notecards in the shops.) Last night, I wrote the cards out. I kept it brief (the notecards are very little!), and just said thanks for your time, was lovely to meet you and to hear about your plan for this exciting new role, really keen, hope to hear from you soon kind of thing. I did NOT go for any of the lengthy suck-up letter bullshit advice from the Interview Assvice websites, because DUDE. It's bad enough that I'm having to WRITE A FUCKING NOTELET, I'm not essentially writing another (hate hate HATE) Cover Letter. (Side note 2 - how long has it been since you wrote, BY HAND, a little letter? Even a little notelet? I.e SOMETHING NOT TYPED? Because my hand fucking CRAMPED like a bastard after every two lines or so. OUCHIE.)

This morning, I popped round to Company E and handed the cards over to the Receptionist, who did seem a bit baffled by it but what the hell. She probably thinks I fancy them or something. *eyeroll eyeroll* But let's not get me into a Gender Politiks In The Workplace rant or we'll be here all day.

So anyway, got home and got onto Skype to chat with Ma about how the whole thing had gone - she texted me about it last night, but I was too tired to bother answering because I am a bad daughter. (Side Rant: How come whenever Oprah Bloody Winfrey uses Skype on her show it's all FABULOUS smooth clean pictures and perfect sound? And when I use it the picture looks VAGUELY like you COULD be looking at the right person [through a smearing of vaseline] and every now and then the speech g e t s d r a w n o u t l i k e t h i s a n d b e c o m e s a l l r o b o t y f o r a m i n u t e andthenspeedsuptocatchupandsoundslikesomekindofChipmunksOnSpeedWTF? Fucking favouritism, that's why. Goddamn Oprahism.) Anyway, my mum was NOT IMPRESSED with the Thank You Cards idea. Not impressed at all. And neither was I when I read the tip, and neither was Himself when I told him I was going to the shops to buy Thank You Cards for my interviewers. Because we are British. Even worse, we're both BRITISH and the subset thereof: SCOTTISH.

Non-British flisties may wonder why this is an issue, and if we Brits have some kind of ANTI-NOTELET POLICY or something, so I shall explain what the problem is, in a nutshell - Pride. The Great British Stiff Upper Lip. Tall Poppy Sydrome. There's something very British about not tooting one's own horn. Being a boastful, arrogant asshat is really anathema to the British personality (although perhaps less so nowadays) - to write a THANK YOU card after an interview seems like BEGGING. Or like some kind of underhanded attempt to get yourself to the front of the queue instead of getting there on your own merit. It's... it's downright unsportsmanlike or ungentlemanly conduct. So for me, countenancing buying that little notelet and writing some kind of greasy thank you note was a real step into heathen foreign territory.

And for the Scot in me? Just writing any kind of notelet was GAY. Possibly even using the WORD "notelet" is gay. We don't HAVE feelings of which to write! Bring me a small fluffy animal that I might BITE OFF IT'S HEAD and write threatening sweary words in it's blood! That'll show 'em who to hire! I jest (of course), but there's an element of that. Scots also have a PROFOUND case of Tall Poppy Syndrome - you are *not* meant to try to be "better" than you are. Salt of the earth is a good thing, overacheiving IS NOT. Pride comes before a fall. My father was perversely proud of being "Working Class" (even though he... didn't work. Hm.), and poured scorn aplenty on anyone who tried to have "grand ideas" or "get above their station" in life by... oh, you know, WORKING or GETTING AN EDUCATION or any of those filthy high-faloutin' things that GOOD PEOPLE shouldn't have any truck with. So going for an interview for a higher-status job was loaded enough for me, much less then write some kind of GROVELLY LETTER. It pressed all kinds of strange, guilty, "You KNOW you're not really good enough" buttons in my subconscious. Not a nice experience.

Anyway, once I'd written my notelets to MY standards (brief, no grovelly hoo-hah), I was happy enough to take a chance to deliver them. Himself, initially HORRIFIED by presumably the thought that I was going into a card shop to buy two overpriced "THANK YOU" cards featuring teddy bears and butterflies and dear GOD a POEM, warmed to the idea very much when I showed him the notecards, and more so when I showed him the wording. We both figured that there was nothing OFFENSIVE about them that would be shooting myself in the foot, and that if nothing else, reminding the interviewers of my name on Day Two of the interview schedule was probably useful.

And then, as mothers often have an uncanny knack for doing, Ma reached through Skype and punched a hole in the whole thing, making me completely doubt myself. AFTER I had already handed the fucking cards in and couldn't do a damn thing about it. Ma is a high-faloutin', managerial type, BTW, not like Evil Dad at all.

Says she: "Oh." *screws up little tiny face in disgust, although I'm not quite sure through the vaseliney film of Skype... she might just have been fighting a sneeze* "Oh, I'm not sure what I would have made of that when I was an interviewer."
Says I: "Well, I know. I'm not comfortable with it either. I think it's an American thing. It can't hurt though, right?"
Says she: "It just seems a bit... cheeky."
Says I: o_O *tries to convey "WTF, thanks muchly, Ma" through grainy poor quality webcam picture Evil Eye*
Says she: "I mean, I'm SURE it'll be OK, but I always thought thank you letters were more of a rejection thing, you know, 'Thanks for your time, such a shame to have missed out, keep me in mind' ? No?"
Says I: "It is, mum. But if it gets them thinking about me on day two of interviews it just kind of raises my profile a little."
Says she, in the terribly heavy, LOADED way that only a mother can: "Oh well. I guess it'll be interesting to see what they make of that."

*sigh*

Thanks, Ma. You always know just what to say to make me QUESTION EVERYTHING I JUST DID, ALAS AND ALACK, TOO FUCKING LATE. And you always manage to come down juuuuuuuust on the Other Person's side of the Devil Advocacy. You're just lucky that you're the only Good Parent I've got, or I would so trade you in for a puppy.

The Noo Zillunders that Himself works with thought it was an excellent idea - I'll just have to take some consolation in that. Who knows whether Operation Notecard will pay off? Or if Operation Stealth Awesomess Document will pay dividends. Or whether none of the above apply and some other awesome candidate is currently rocking the interviewers world. At the very least, I can say I tried my absolute best, even putting aside my British Awkwardness and everything.

(well... not TOTALLY aside. It's fish 'n' chips for tea. You can take the girl out of Britain, but you can't take the Brit out of the girl. More's the pity!)