Friday, August 11, 2017

Fashion forward, with roomy pockets

This Craigslist job posting for a “personal assistant” came across my Twitter feed Wednesday, and it’s taken me all this time to plumb the depths of its narcissism and oblivion.


Here was the original posting (since amended, which I’ll get to in a bit). I broke it down into chunks; if you click on each, and then click on the resulting screen, it should enlarge so you can actually read it. I can't believe these people got all this verbiage in a Craigslist ad:






A few thoughts:

They have nothing against sloths, but no dry senses of humor need apply? Are they fearful that someone might be mocking them if they think something funny was said, but they have no visual or auditory clues to that effect? I think they might be…

Happy to clean up dog shit and diarrhea; that seems a little unreasonable. Willing, I understand, but if I came across someone who was happy to do that, I’d frankly steer clear of him/her. As for the ability to lift a 40-pound dog up several flights of stairs, that seems like a red flag. There’s not an elevator in their SoMa abode?

It’s okay to be fashion forward, but leave room for the dog’s potty bags in your pocket. Huh. I guess that means that a fanny pack wouldn’t do it? Because there’d be room for the potty bags, but that’s totes not fashionable, y’know? I also wonder about the single hour a day scheduled for cleaning. Maybe their fifth-floor walk-up is very, very tiny?

(Someone on Twitter also called out the one hour per day that was Doodle-the-dog time:)


Also, their limit of five drinks per week seems unrealistic, given the list of duties and expected requirements. As everyone on Twitter pointed out, you work for these whackjobs, you need to drink.

Not quite getting most of the “bonus” characteristics, like:

Multilingual—what languages would these be, I wonder?

Knowledge of how to brush tangled hair without causing pain, starts down to Creepy Town, but it shifted into overdrive with “enjoy giving mani/pedis”.

The full spectrum of cookery seems quite ambitious for someone only being paid around $20/hour (the scale kept going down, and then up, but even the top end is below what a good cook gets), especially when that person is also cleaning, dog rescuing, providing personal protection, running errands, detangling hair, negotiating contracts, and a manicurist. Also, who’s up to date on GoT and Silicon Valley.

As you read through this Russian-novel-long posting, it’s interesting the number of times the writers insist that an applicant be willing to admit s/he is “not perfect”, “can own up to mistakes”, etc. And by “interesting” I mean “pathological”. At no time is there mention that they themselves might not be capable of doing the same.

Well, of course you have to jump through a serious of mindless hoops to apply for this job (including making a five-minute video explaining how you meet 100% of the requirements; yes, 100%), but the good news is they’re interviewing daily.

Now, here are a few interesting nuggets:

The original posting listed an hourly rate of $25-$35/hour. Which is certainly more than minimum wage, even in San Francisco. But it’s nowhere near what a top-notch PA gets, much less the dog wrangler, cook, meal planner, contract negotiator, body guard and all the rest of it.

And there is no mention of PTO or health insurance.

But throughout yesterday, the ad was apparently amended a couple of times, lowering the wage twice before raising it to a wider range.




And the last time I looked at the posting, they’d also included a very interesting datum about what they do that makes them unable to have a life:


They’re in biotech, folks. They’re #PharmaBro, x 2.
 ,
We can only hope that whoever takes this job doesn't give them enough time to reproduce.

And someone should rescue that dog. From them.



Thursday, August 10, 2017

Birds of a feather

A funny thing happened on the way to nuclear Armageddon: a guy bought a large,  inflatable chicken with Klepto-like hair for $1300, and installed it behind the White House. No word on whether it's associated with Klepto's love of KFC, but I like to hope.



You know—some days, you just put your inflatable chickens in the win column and close the door behind you.

But also: Special Counsel Robert Mueller’s team staged a pre-dawn raid on Paul Manafort’s home and seized a shedload of records. That and the White House chicken make it a good day, all in all.




Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Off pitch

Okay, campers. The good news is that the pitch is over. We had a number of very good, business-viable ideas, with an interesting mix of old tech, new tech and new business models, and the double conference room was chockablock with people who came to watch.

So, hurrah.

The bad news is that I am, once again, a “finalist”, which means I once again have to make a [expletive modifier] video.

I think my mistake was in using an attention-getting visual aid, in the form of Alex, here:


Alex was one of the similarly-clad spokesmodels that Dice.com used on billboards around the Bay Area. Dice.com was proud of Alex. So they put him as a mural across an entire wall in their headquarters, in an open office, where everyone could not help but see him.

I should have just told my story without trying to doll it up.

Oh, well—live and learn.



Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Don't call me...

Sorry folks, but yesterday I was in full-on pitch panic mode, so this is all you get today.


I just thought it was funny.

Perhaps by tomorrow I’ll be capable of being amusing on my own. But perhaps not.



Monday, August 7, 2017

Gratitude Monday: Spirit of the pitch

I’ve been dodging the knowledge that, come tomorrow, I’m going to have to once again  Pitch an Idea as the culmination of the ideation course we’re running at work. As I (as always) would rather swallow ground glass than go through this, I’ve just been doing my Scarlet O’Hara imitation and putting off thinking about it until the next day, and the next.

Look: I have an idea—a good one—but the challenge is to make your case to a panel of judges inside two minutes. I can’t even set the stage for the problem to be solved in two minutes.

But on Friday I just couldn’t put it off any more, and the enormity of my shortcoming hit me, and my commute home was not uplifting.

So imagine my delight at finding a package on my doorstep, and picture my happy dance when I unwrapped the contents, an amazing give from one of my spirituous advisers:


Point of origin, from left, Ireland, Scotland, North Carolina.

(I opened the latter during my biweekly call with the giver, and let me just say, it was mighty, mighty fine. The aroma filled my living room, even with the windows open, and it went down a treat.)

So mega gratitude today for friends with superb taste, for unexpected gifts, and for getting this bloody pitch over with.