The Career Fair Farce
I only play this dreadful game because I have nothing better to do.
I hate career fairs. They’re probably the dumbest goddam thing ever invented as it relates to job hunting—at least since the resume.
If you’ve never been to one, it’s basically speed dating without even the possibility of sex. In other words, it’s a worthless and inhumane exercise. Avoid career fairs at all costs (to your career and livelihood).
Let me describe my typical job fair experience in a rambling, stream-of-thought manner that encapsulates what you’d be getting yourself into should you foolishly decide to ignore my warning—especially if you’re as neurotic as I am.
I start by panicking 30 minutes before I have to leave for the job fair. My mind is flooded with questions about preparation and logistics: Do I shower? Comb and gel my hair? Put on a suit? But it’s hot out—why should I put on a suit? It’s not like it’s an actual job interview. The listed employers don’t deserve my A-game anyway. Fuck them. They don’t pay enough—or have opportunities I really want anyway. So why put on a suit? But why go at all if I’m not going to take it seriously? Speaking of serious, it’s time to go. What are you waiting for, stupid? You want to avoid traffic, don’t you? And what about parking? Parking is always a pain in the ass at these things given the masses of unemployed people—most of whom are taking this a lot more seriously than you are. God, you suck.
When the madness dies down, I usually put on a collared shirt and some decent slacks. I comb (and gel) my hair if it truly needs it and hop in the car. I cruise over to the career fair thinking of smooth elevator pitches that perfectly sum up my experience. (Just kidding. I drive at top speed and play loud rock music to pump myself up—knowing that appearing confident is at least half the battle.)
Once I park and find my way to the venue, I greet the host and take a nametag. If my name isn’t already printed on said name tag, I usually ask said host to write it for me because I have shitty handwriting—and wouldn’t want to be judged for that.
Then, as I gaze at down aisle after aisle of employers, with their decorated tables, free swag, and phony smiles, my dreaded internal voice returns: Don’t talk to the hot ones first! Talk to the most relevant! Start with the shorter lines—you don’t have all day! Stop playing with your hair and glasses when you speak. And don’t take a free hand sanitizer from every table because you’re too cheap to buy them yourself! God, you’re stupid. This is why you don’t have a job: You’re hopeless. And don’t talk to the other candidates! They’re your competition! Fight them for a better place in line! Why didn’t you print your resume? If you send it via email, you don’t know that they’ll ever see it. They probably just gave you their card to get rid of you. And so on.
Almost every conversation with a potential employer at a career fair goes like this:
Candidate: “Hi, nice to meet you. My name is ________.”
Recruiter: “Welcome, my name is _________.” (Recruiter points to professional nametag)
Candidate: “What positions are you looking to fill?”
Recruiter: “Oh, well, we have them listed on our website. What’s your background? What are you looking for?”
(Candidate hands recruiter a resume if candidate bothered to print it. If not, candidate summarizes work experience. Of course, it’s a lot faster if candidate summarizes experience in the first scenario rather than expecting recruiter to read off resume.)
Recruiter: “Great, well, you should look into _________. Send me an email if you have any questions. Good luck!”
End of (pointless) conversation.
I don’t just mean that my conversations with recruiters are like this—I’ve eavesdropped enough to know that just about all of them are. If you can’t handle the same exchange at least ten times, you’re better off hunting for jobs online like a typical 21st century sucker.
Once I’ve played my part, I inevitably get tired and hungry. If there aren’t enough free snacks provided, I duck out after two hours.
Rinse. Recycle. Repeat.
Why do we do this to ourselves?