Head Hunted

Ambitious Stacey leaves her comfy job in recruitment when she is head hunted to manage an employability centre.

“Unemployment, that’s where the real money is these days,” her voice rose and fell like bubbles in pop.

Like a hopeful fish chasing a worm that phrase hooked me right in. It was so implausible, how could it work? Unemployment was the big bad. It was the enemy of the press; a plague on our hard working society. How could it make me rich?

“Wow! That sounds like a great move for me. I’d love to meet them.”

Was I greedy for money or ambitious for success when I swallowed that maggot?

I remember that day like it was yesterday. The air conditioning whirred and clanked. It was a bright summer day and I sat in my big squashy chair in my modern office. I’d been working in recruitment for the past five years and made my way up the career ladder to managing a small team. I can’t remember being particularly unhappy with my work. Sure, I got bored at times, most people do. I knew I wasn’t making much of a difference to the world and I certainly wasn’t about to win any good citizen awards, but it was a good job and I had a comfortable life. Things could have been a lot worse.

So what possessed me to do what I did next? I blame the weather. British people do crazy things when the sun comes out, Londoners especially. The weather rises above thirty degrees and we all start acting like, well, like we aren’t from London. From my office I could see Clapham Common and all those happy bodies baking in the sun, stretched out on the grass without a care in the world. The air conditioning was cold enough I still had to wear my suit jacket throughout the day. I longed to be outside in the fresh air, eating ice cream and stretching my legs out; wiggling my bare feet in the grass. To be fair I think I dreamt of unemployment, rather than working in unemployment.

I’d never have done it, not off my own back. Without her intervention I’d still be plodding along in Clapham. I guess that’s what they all say.

“Good afternoon, am I speaking to Stacey Knight?” sang the voice on the other end of the phone. I narrowed my eyes. She didn’t sound like a candidate or a client.

 I should have known it was a salesperson, considering I sold for a living too. You can always tell when someone’s been trained to sell with a smile.

I sat up straight. “That’s correct. What can I do for you?”

“My name is Amy Watson and I’m a head hunter for the agency Power Placements. I’ve been asked to find someone with bags of energy, a friendly down-to-earth management style, and a lust for success. Does that sound like you?”

I’ll be honest with you here and now, it didn’t sound like me. It sounded like the kind of person I tried to avoid; someone who tried hard but got nowhere because their motivations were all in the wrong place. In retrospect, maybe I should have listened to myself. Instead, I turned up the charm.

I plastered on my own fake smile. “Well now, it certainly does sound like me. I’m a great manager, and I’m ruthlessly ambitious.” It’s laughable, it wasn’t an audition for The Apprentice, and besides, I had no idea what the job even was at that point. I was selling myself into a job I knew nothing about. That’s how desperate I was to make a success of my life.

“Right now, my client is the leading welfare to work provider in the UK. They don’t just make targets; they draw up the government targets for unemployment.”

I raised my eyebrows. Although welfare to work had a lot of similarities with the recruitment industry, the two remained poles apart. Sure, they were both about selling your services and gaining jobs, but recruitment was by far the more commercially respectable. Nevertheless, welfare to work was just more worthy. And worthy was what I longed to be.

“However, they do have a team in North London which is currently underperforming. They think it’s because they’re missing that commercial touch. They’re looking for someone with exactly your background to be a branch manager. You’ll be leading a team finding work for people on Jobseeker’s Allowance. What do you think? Exciting, hey?”

I started to formulate my response, but Amy didn’t let me get a word in edgeways.

“I’m telling you, no one gets the big bonuses in recruitment anymore. Are you making the same amount as you did last year? I bet you aren’t. I know I’m not. But these guys, oh my god, I’m telling you they’re raking it in! Unemployment, that’s where the real money is these days.”

And there it was. Instead of asking why she wasn’t applying for the best job in the world herself, instead of asking why she thought I wasn’t making big bonuses if she’d heard how good I was, I agreed to an interview. In fact I didn’t just agree I jumped at the chance and told her to put my CV forward right away.

The next evening I dressed in my best skirt suit and left the office on time to get into Central London for my six o’ clock interview. As you can imagine there were a few raised eyebrows as I sauntered to the lifts on time wearing my Hobbs pinstripe number with its nipped in waist. In fact, it might have been less obvious if I’d finished work early, feigning a headache or something.

The GoFAR offices were on the top floor of a looming tower block. The lift had mirrors so I used the opportunity to check I still looked presentable. As the doors opened unveiling the office, a cheery yellow sign greeted me.

“How far can you go with GoFAR?”

If the slogan itself wasn’t cheesy enough the GoFAR emblem featured a grinning man, teeth bared and a thumb stuck up in celebration. I hoped the company would take me very far and my stomach turned flip-flops at the thought. I readied myself to meet the people who might become my new employers. This was my one opportunity to make something of my career. There were many middle managers in recruitment and in my mind they all plodded along and did passably well. They made their targets and paid their mortgages. Their teams may even have hit the top of the ‘biggest biller’ league tables, but what were they achieving? No one outside of their own agencies knew who they were, and no one cared. That wasn’t success, was it? It certainly wasn’t the success I craved. The success I was willing to change my whole life to achieve.

Just think, I told myself, the difference I’ll be making if I’m the one responsible for getting people off benefits. I’ll be changing lives! I could be part of an industry that lowers the unemployment rates. What an achievement that would be.

At the reception desk I was greeted by a short man in a far too shiny grey suit. He grinned at me, gums showing above his teeth. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. It reminded me of the snarl a dog gives before it attacks. He shook my hand with the enthusiasm of an overgrown puppy.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Stacey.”

I guessed this must be Derek Smythe, one half of the husband and wife director team who owned GoFAR. Amy Watson had described them in great detail. His jaw was square and his nose misshapen, as though it had been broken at some point and hadn’t been allowed to heal.

He led me down the corridor to the meeting room. I followed the back of his head with its close cropped hair showing the outline of his skull. In my smart high-heeled shoes I was a couple of inches taller than him, that was awkward. His footsteps echoed as he bounded along in front of me.

Celia Smythe, Derek’s wife and the other half of the team, stepped out from behind the table as I entered the office. The smile she gave me did reach her eyes, but seemed as fake as Derek’s had been; only hers was better practised. She was a slim woman, and the same height as her husband.

She held out a hand, “How wonderful to meet you, Stacey.” Her accent was unmistakably Australian, with her sentence rising at the end as though it were a question.

“Pleased to meet you too,” I said but my face fell into a slight wince as she gripped my hand hard. I mentally chastised myself for giving a bad first impression to this formidable woman.

She tossed her light brown hair, its pinstripe highlights flickering. It landed in the same place it started like a stay-puffed marshmallow. Her suit was the same shade of grey as Derek’s and just as shiny.

“Now Stacey, what do you know about the welfare to work industry?”

My shoulders relaxed. I had researched this. “I know the Government has put billions of pounds into programs to help the long-term unemployed back into work. I realise the big companies have most of the money but that smaller providers like GoFAR…”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call GoFAR a smaller provider,” said Derek and I winced again, telling myself I could do better than this.

Celia crossed her bare legs. Her tanned calves were as shiny as her suit and at the bottom of her shapely ankles were black pointed shoes with ridiculously high heels and tell-tale red soles. “We’re only paid on results. We get half when a candidate starts work and half when they stay there a year.”

I wondered whether that meant staying in the same job for the year or simply staying in work that long.

Celia continued, “We have an excellent reputation. We’re exceptional at getting people back to work. Our Tower Hamlets centre has in fact won awards.” She looked at me, waiting for my response.

I managed a small, “ooh”.

Satisfied she continued, “Unfortunately one of the GoFAR centres is lagging behind quite considerably. The Camden centre in North London has been terribly mismanaged; it’s in real danger of not meeting any of its targets for the year. We have two choices. We cut our losses and close the centre, or we bring in a super manager to troubleshoot and turn it around. I don’t like failure Stacy, as I’m sure you can understand. I like losing money even less.”

“I can imagine,” I said making a big show of nodding and frowning. “What are the team like?” My current team was amazing. I hoped my new team would be too, if I got the job of course. A shiver of anticipation ran through me.

“Well. They’re all very experienced and capable and a credit to our recruitment methods. Very different characters of course, and they’ve got completely different backgrounds, but they gel just fine. The thing they all have in common though is they work hard and want to succeed.”

I frowned. Surely that should have been expected? I pushed my concern away and instead asked, “What kind of backgrounds do they have?”

“Oh, all kinds,” Derek said wrinkling his wonky nose, “you know…” He looked at Celia, a blush forming across his cheeks.

I didn’t know - that was why I asked. I fingered the button on my jacket as I considered Derek’s blasé attitude to his staff. I waited for the next question. It didn’t come. Silence reigned. I shuffled in my seat.

I gave in and broke the tension myself. “What employers do you work with in Camden?” I felt like I was interviewing them now.

“We have big name employers all across London,” Derek said proceeding to give a few household names. None of the companies he gave were specific to North London. I guessed that meant none of them were specific to the Camden centre. I wondered if they had any of their own employers but didn’t let it bother me. I’d live to regret that.

“Stacey,” Celia said fixing me with her stare and cutting into my thoughts. “How do you motivate your team to make sure you’re getting the best out of them?”

I grinned. This was where I could finally shine! “Firstly, I make sure each person understands their targets, and then I ask them to break them down and create their own list of soft targets…” I glanced over at Derek and Celia. They weren’t making any notes. That was a bad sign. But they didn’t have any paper and pens to make notes. My mouth was dry. “…I encourage my team members to be excited about the achievements they’ve made and to champion each others’ wins, however small they may be.”

Frantically scribbling interviewers liked you. They liked your answers. They were gathering evidence to prove you were the best. It was one of my secret tips. When the writing stops so should your answer. The Smythes just sat there. Were they even listening? I’d lost my ability to read the interview. My palms were sweating. They were leaning forward, waiting, so I continued.

 “I have a budget for nights out and find socialising as a team outside of work really helps them understand each other and work together. Is that something I could look at replicating at GoFAR?” It was my secret weapon, I raised my eyebrows.

Derek and Celia exchanged a look.

Celia wrinkled her nose. “You can try. The Camden team never come to GoFAR social events. They don’t socialise.”

I stared. “Maybe it’s because they live too far out.” I was making excuses for them even though I’d never met them. There was no rapport between me and the Smythes. I was torn between desperately wanting to make a good impression and be offered the job and wanting to make my excuses and leave.

Celia rubbed her hands. “Look Stacey,” she said eyes narrowing, “let’s not beat around the bush here. We’ve wasted a lot of time up in Camden and I don’t want to waste any more.”

Celia obviously felt the same way I did. She wanted the interview over too. They hated me. I’d been too pushy. Or maybe I’d been too weak? Maybe I should have worn trousers.

 Celia’s face hardened. “We’re here to make a profit and we aren’t even breaking even at that centre. There’s a lot of work to be done and morale is low. It’s going to be a tough job for you.”

I braced myself for the next line. Here it came; rejection. So what if I didn’t like them. So what if I knew in my heart it was a terrible job. No one wants to be told their face doesn’t fit. I decided then and there I was going to make the welfare to work sector want me. I was going to get my dream job if it was the last thing I did.