Zero Degrees of Separation
My dad was always my biggest cheerleader. He worked as a labourer at our small town’s major employer after immigrating to Canada from Italy in the late 1940’s. While he was proud of me no matter what, he was especially proud when I landed a summer job in one of the offices at his company. I was enrolled at Algonquin College in Ottawa at the time and was studying to be a computer programmer. This job was related to my field and it paid well. The Human Resources manager I interviewed with even hired me to fill in during Christmas break when I was home for a few weeks. I hoped there might be an opening when I graduated the following year.
As my school year progressed, I started applying for full-time jobs. I was fortunate Algonquin’s computer studies program had an on-site recruitment arrangement with the federal government and I’d already had multiple interviews and job offers. Before I accepted, I reached out to the HR contact from my summer job, hoping I might be able to interview with them. I was surprised when she gave me an immediate no. She told me they only hired university graduates from one particular school. I reminded her of my summer work for her company but she was brusque and refused to budge. All I could think of was how hard I’d worked during the intense college program and how proud my dad would be if it meant a full-time position with the company he worked for. This also would have meant returning to my home town. Something inside my quiet non-confrontational self snapped and I responded, “Well, I may not be good enough for you but I’m good enough for the Government of Canada.” It was a good thing the call ended quickly so I didn’t say anything else I might regret.
I accepted one of the government jobs and a year later my fiancé and I drove home for his sister’s wedding. I didn’t know much about his sister and future brother-in-law’s circle of friends but one guy in particular, one of the groomsmen, kept coming up in discussion. When I asked my fiancé who he was, he told me his name and said, “I know he’s involved with the local Junior A hockey team and helps the players with their educational needs.”
I found myself sitting next to the mystery man at the rehearsal party and he asked what I did in Ottawa. When I told him I was a computer programmer for Statistics Canada, he said, “Hmm….we’re reaching out to England to recruit programmers. They’re in such high demand. Why didn’t you come back here for work after you graduated?” The pain of the HR person’s rejection came rushing back.
I turned to him and I’m sure the sting coloured my tone when I answered, “Well, I tried but I was told I wasn’t good enough because I hadn’t graduated from their preferred university.” When I told him the name of the company, he turned to me with an odd expression and a slight smile.
“Who did you speak to?” I thought this was an odd question but I was used to zero degrees of separation in my small home town where everyone knew everyone. I told him the woman’s name, my tone still filled with indignation, and his smile got bigger. I had a bad feeling about this but I’d gone this far so I braced myself for what came next. Holding back a chuckle, he said, “Oh, I must speak to her. She works for me.”
I’m sure my neck, face, and hair were ablaze with embarrassment. And I saw potential career opportunities in my home town flash before my eyes. Most of the programmer jobs were at his company and I may have torpedoed my chances of ever getting one. But I couldn’t take back what I said and he was still smiling, after all. I tried my best to smile back and managed to say, “Well, I had no idea who you were so you know I didn’t have a hidden agenda.”
“It’s fine,” he said, as his smile turned to a full chuckle. He was enjoying the moment much more than I was. I had a bad habit of babbling when I was nervous but I clamped my mouth shut and waited while he composed himself. Once he was done laughing, he said, “Well, if you’re ever interested in moving back here, I’ll get you an interview. The rest will be up to you.”
After the guests were gone, I told my sister-in-law about my exchange with the mystery man. She howled with laughter. I said, “I’m glad you find this amusing. Who is this guy? I thought he had something to do with the hockey team.” When she could breathe again, she told me he did volunteer work for the team but his day job was a senior vice president at the ten-thousand strong company my dad worked for. He oversaw HR and a number of other departments.
I went home to my parents’ house and couldn’t wait to tell my dad. Part of me was worried he might think I’d been too forward. As soon as I finished my story, he roared with laughter and smiled with pride. He knew who the guy was, as did half the city. My dad wanted me home more than anyone but he also wouldn’t stand for anyone telling his daughter she wasn’t good enough. He was proud of me for standing up for myself. He crossed paths with the VP from time to time and told me how he spoke to everyone as equals, from the lowest paid labourer to those in the highest ranks of the company. I felt better knowing this and hoped my candour wouldn’t cause me to loose out on a future job opportunity.
A few months later, my fiancé and I decided we were tired of living five hundred miles away from our families and we started exploring the job market back home. After taking the VP up on his offer, we got interviews, and the rest was up to us. We moved back home a few months later, fortunate to have jobs waiting for us. My father was thrilled. I often wonder how different our lives might have been if I hadn’t ended up sitting beside the mystery man that night and he hadn’t stirred up my indignation.
