reset 06/23/99
I had been interviewing on campus through the placement center the fall semester after getting married. I was able to see most of the recruiters who came to interview for chemical engineers with Ph.D.'s. Not many came. Silicon Valley was going through a correction period. The chemical industry was depressed. The Graham-Ruudman Bill was responsible for a freeze at all the national laboratories. The price of oil was taking the biggest nose dive in modern history. Then the call came from a government-affiliated laboratory out of Livermore, California, just a short drive from where Rose worked in the San Francisco Bay area. The job description was a perfect match. The puzzle pieces appeared to be falling into place.
I arranged for an interview trip, went, and returned, confident that I had made a good impression. In the next couple of weeks, I was left hanging. I had heard stories about companies wanting to see who was really interested in a job. Follow up conversations could certainly be construed as showing sincere interest, so I decided to call up the fellow that was responsible for bringing me out there. I mustered all the courage I could manage just to terminate the call with dignity after the person on the other end of the line said that they'd found a better match for the position. I wasn't worried, just depressed. I couldn't help thinking that God set things up for me, and I somehow with this free will thing blew my opportunity.
A few weeks passed before I received a call from a representative of a major oil company. I'd interviewed on campus with one of their representatives. I recall walking out of the campus interview thinking that was one of my most awkward experiences ever. The interview was frustrating, and seemingly pointless. I had little opportunity to discuss my qualifications, as the interviewer was interested in minute details of unimportant tasks. Despite, my own expectations, I received a follow-up telephone call. Another guy from the same company was coming into town and wanted to take me out to dinner. That evening, I was as relaxed as someone on the hot seat can get, I suppose.
Shortly thereafter, I was contacted by that company's employee relations staff about a possible interview trip. I really didn't want to work for an oil company. You see, I had plenty of exposure to oil company representatives who didn't paint a very attractive picture to a young, reserved, Christian engineer. Our university research program had sizable industrial sponsorship, mostly from oil companies. Each year, we'd put on a review of our progress and invite sponsors to come. The meetings had a loyal following. Although there were a few bright, articulate fellows, sensitive to the life and experiences of the graduate student and the need for mentoring relationships, there were a handful of rivals who delighted in placing themselves and their company logo centerstage. The ego battle often had graduate student casualties. These people with suits and ties would even enter shouting matches. I don't think I ever attended a meeting without hearing obscenities being traded, as if this were the mode to strengthen a technical position. I, too, had to make presentations to this audience -- something I was truly scared to do, but I survived. Oil companies had a tainted reputation in my books from the onset.
Alas, my job options were dwindling, so I made the trip. Over the next month, I made trips to Tulsa and Los Angeles, also to talk with oil companies. These weren't my only leads though, because I also went to Louisiana and Tennessee concerning positions with chemical companies. Meanwhile, the price of oil was sliding fast, and taking my job opportunities with it.
The people in California really wanted me. That felt good. They very quickly made me an offer of employment. I reflected back on my descent into the Los Angeles area on my on-site visit. I'd never seen brown air before. That image was difficult to shake. As it turns out, the offer was really low, sort of diffusing their verbal praise. I knew what a competitive salary was, and that wasn't close. With the California cost of living, I knew that I could not accept such an offer. Finally, I was forced to make a decision. The California company had instituted a hiring freeze. They called me to assure me that they could squeeze me under the wire, but I had to accept their offer pronto -- like during the same telephone conversation. I let the job go unfilled.
The people in Louisiana wanted me too. The job was more what I was trained to do as an undergraduate. The company appeared to want Ph.D. level people just to raise the caliber of personnel. That is an admirable position as an employer, but I simply wasn't impressed. I'd also never seen swampland before I was escorted from my hotel in town to the physical plant site. I was learning to appreciate Texas at record pace. The company wanted to send me to their headquarters for a follow-up interview with the upper management. I knew this meant that I was their prime candidate for the position. A couple of days after being given the name of the contact in North Carolina to call to set up the second trip, I dialed the number. I relayed the message that after some careful thought, I did not want the Louisiana job. I thought that there was no sense wasting the company's time and money any longer. Even though my options were thinning, my patience was not.
I then received an offer from the first oil company. In the end, this was my only card left on the table. I accepted the offer, and set a starting date. I informed Rose that she needed to pack her bags for a move back to Texas -- that is, when Uncle Sam was finished with her.
The day after I reported to work, my employer announced a hiring freeze. I started with an oil company under the worst economic conditions for that industry in modern times. Although I was naive about my circumstances, I knew that I wasn't in this city by accident. But was it the job or something else that brought me there? I'd spend years contemplating that one. Meanwhile, six months into my new job, the company announced it would undertake sizable layoffs. Ten years and three rounds of layoffs later, I'm still one of the employed. I remark to others that I'm the sole fixture in our organization. Everything just keeps changing around me. I've basically been in the same group, addressing the same R&D issues, but I've had five first line managers, I've seen six section managers, I've educated four division managers, and I've experienced three company name changes. Throughout it all, I've tried to do good work, since the Bible says we should work as unto the Lord, but I still wonder what I'm doing here. What great work awaits me here, if any? Perhaps, I've already done it. Who knows? God knows!
Jesus was 30 before initiating his 3 year public ministry that would lead him to a Roman cross. Like his earthly father, Jesus was a carpenter. Jesus was part of the work force just like you and me. Can you imagine the craftsmanship which must have gone into a piece of furniture or a home built by Jesus? Jesus knew about foundations, as evidenced by his parable found in Matthew 7:24-27.
Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.Jesus knew what is was like to put in a hard day's work. He knew what it was to put forth your best effort. One day Jesus exchanged his tool belt for a band of loyal followers. Jesus was a carpenter, a teacher, a poet, a priest, a doctor, a lawyer, an accountant, a judge. Jesus was a motivational speaker, a consultant, a cook, a waiter, a weatherman, a servant, a winemaker, a student, a fisherman, a caterer, and is now our mediator with God, the Father.
Does your present job honor God? Why do you do what you do? In this revolving door job climate, we need to stop and ask ourselves:
Please visit another workbench:
Randy's e-mail connection
reset 06/23/99