Shhhh. Don’t bother me now; I’m studying my Candidate Profile Results, one of two psychological tests that I took today. I think they used to be called IQ tests once when I was a small child but they found the name "intelligence quotient" too unfair to certain ethnic and social classes. Either that or nobody knew what the word quotient meant.  So now they changed the name to include topics like emotional intelligence, motivational needs, and decision making style.  

They start off by telling you that there is no right or wrong answer and to go with your first gut reaction. Let’s see what my summary says: "Your responses indicate that you are very outgoing, warm and friendly in a non-aggressive manner. While you are remarkably good at influencing people to adopt your viewpoint, you also rely strongly upon your motivational ability to urge people into action." I’m impressed.  You know when you’re really bored and you start drawing little circles without really thinking? That’s pretty much what I did and yet they were able to analyze me in such a concise manner that the interview becomes anti-climatic.  

It's a beautiful morning. The date is June 12th and the sun is out so that means that winter my finally be coming to a close here in Calgary. I was looking forward to a wonderful day of mountain biking, but I promised my wife I’d at least look for a real job while clinging to the idea of being an "aspiring writer." So today I am going downtown to write an exam for the CCRA. That’s the agency that used to be Revenue Canada but in the interest of service decided that they needed to become an "agency." I was curious what this means exactly so I visited their Web site. Like countless other Canadians, you may have not even known that they changed their name or their mission. So in the interest of education, I offer the following quote from the section of their site titled, "Who We Are":  

"In many cases, the Government has to change its organizational structures to make them less bureaucratic, more efficient, and more transparent. One way to do this is to change from a department to an agency. Agencies have more freedom to develop new ways of doing business and to tailor their services to meet the unique needs and expectations of their clients." And you thought they just sent your tax refund.  

Before we go any further, I should clarify something about federal government jobs. In America, they suck. Nobody wants them. They hire immigrants who you can’t understand, they’re understaffed and located in the crappiest parts of town usually in the oldest building. It truly reflects the dregs of the employment circle. So imagine my surprise to learn that in Canada, federal government jobs are highly coveted, well paying, and filled with so many benefits that even Sweden, the bastion of pure socialism, couldn’t match. What better way could there be to live my American Dream in Canada? Alas, this is the second time I have been called for this position. About eight months ago, I wrote a test and eventually received a rejection letter.  

Which brings me to the similarities between the two governments. Bureaucracy is as stupid here as it is in America. See if you can figure out the job’s purpose from its official title: "Selection Process Number 2002-0024-PRA-1224-2007; Advertisement number 00000024; Trust Accounts Compliance/Collections Contact Officer, Calgary, Alberta, English." I have absolutely no idea what I applied for I’m but happy that somebody replied to one of the 12,000 Monster.com job offers I answered.

I make my way to the train armed with my No. 2 pencil and two pieces of photo ID. Downtown is booming today. The world’s largest petroleum show is here this week and people are marching every which way. I notice that the only thing different about the job description is that the salary has been increased by about $5,000 annually. Must be all those petroleum profits. In fact, the test is not being written in the government building. It’s in the Delta Hotel in a fancy conference room right next to a seminar on how to allocate your RRSP.  

While I wait, I think about the irony of the situation. Being the dumb American that I am, I expected the written test to have something even remotely close to do with the position even though I don’t really know what it is. Instead, it asks two essay questions that have nothing to do with collections, trust or even creative writing for that matter. I was ecstatic the first time, figuring that I could probably articulate better than most of the other candidates. After all, my occupation is "aspiring writer," right? Wrong. Perhaps you have to express yourself as an idiot.  

I keep that thought in my mind as I read my copy of  "Travel Writing" by L. Peat O’ Neill which, I must say, is a very inspiring book. Maybe some day in my next life my wife will let me travel around on trains in far away nations like Paul Theroux and call myself an aspiring "travel" writer. Not likely. As 10:30 approaches, I come out of my little travel writing fantasy. One of the visiting petroleum guys in the lobby makes a call on his cell phone. "Good morning. Oh, it’s afternoon? I guess Toronto must be on a different time or something." And then he proceeds to bark out orders about profit and loss reports that must be on his desk by tomorrow morning. If the key to success includes any sense of your surroundings, I can’t see how this guy made it.  

The first time I wrote this government test I wore jeans. Good thing I'm wearing my Haggars today. Wouldn’t want to look unprofessional to the CCRA since I haven’t received my tax refund yet. As I enter the room, it’s filled with that tenseness in the air. For someone as analytical as myself, I’ve somehow always had trouble deciding where to sit when I walk into a room full of strangers. Should I sit next to the attractive redhead? Better not, it might take away my concentration. I decide to sit next to the very average looking middle aged man who is slightly overweight but dressed in a really nice tie and suit. This crowd is very different from the first one. I can’t help but wonder if one of these people will be chosen to be the person who takes a coffee break right when it’s my turn to come to their window.  

I start doodling as we wait for the test. Damn. My pencil broke. Good thing they provide two. Remember how I told you I took two psychological tests today? Let me tell you about the test they call the Wunderlich Personnel Examination. This is truly the most ludicrous and out of touch test ever given. You have 12 minutes to answer as many questions as you can, and they tell you that you probably can’t answer them all. It starts off simple enough. Basic math; word association. Then it gets really stupid. They give you five proverbs, of which you might know one, depending upon your religious or ethnic background. Then they ask you which two mean the same thing. What the hell could that possibly have to do with my qualifications for taking coffee breaks?  

Worse yet, when you’re done, they ask you to fill out an evaluation asking you if feel that comparing  "A Rolling Stone Gathers No Moss" to "A Stitch In Time Saves Nine" is discriminatory in any way. It’s a voluntary question and I refuse to answer on the theory that I may get sent back to America for slanderous statements if I give my true opinion of how stupid this entire process is. By the way, the copyright on the test is 1959. Boy, am I glad that they spent their time and effort revising their website to reflect the changing times.    

The test ends and I’m greeted by a gentleman of East Indian descent in the washroom who asks me my opinion of the test. My exciting quest for a real job is half over. I proceed across the street to my favorite place to eat downtown for under five bucks, Ban-Mi-Thi-Thi Vietnamese Submarine shop. Who would’ve thunk it? This guy has them lined up 10 deep before 11:30 putting the nearby Subway to shame. For only $3.50 you get Satay Beef on a heated 12-inch sub complete with lettuce, onions, and an array of Vietnamese spices that I can’t identify. What a multi-cultural treat.  

My next appointment is with The Nameless Employment Agency. (I haven’t yet mastered the business side of publishing and freelancing so I figured I’d be better off safe than sued).  The building is only three blocks away and I enter the elevator. Perhaps I’m easily irritated or just have too much free time on my hands, but don’t you hate those elevators with buttons to every single floor all the way to 24? Inevitably, six people always enter with floors lower than yours before you can find the "door close" button. Fortunately, my appointment is on the fourth floor.  

The receptionist greets me with the usual pleasantries. For those of you unfamiliar with the employment agency process, you need to come prepared to fill out six or seven useless forms asking you the exact same information that’s on your resume. Then another one asking you for at least three professional references along with their name, address, phone number and sexual preference (oops, they only asked me that one when I lived in San Francisco). Next they give you a choice of software you’ve used that is so extensive you couldn’t know it all it if you were the president of DeVry. Soon after you get to sit down with the other professionally dressed but unemployed people and take a Microsoft [blank] test (Fill in the blank according to your experience).   

Eventually, you may actually get to meet the person who asked you to be there ninety minutes ago but had no intentions of seeing you at that time.  

With my candidate profile exam completed, I proceed into the little closet sized office which is featured in every employment agency. Since my arrival in Canada, I have met with every possible type of counselor there is. I collect their business cards every time they entice me with an offer that they never really had. I’m thinking about including them as clips when sending my queries. Perhaps I can convince an editor that I’m a skilled ghostwriter of job titles such as Recruitment Specialist, Personnel Consultant, or my personal favorite, Marketing Account Executive.  

My first impression of the counselor-du-jour is quite different from my previous encounters. She is tall and slender wearing an artsy summer dress. Her hair is stringy and not very well combed. She’s wearing sandals even though every other woman has dress shoes. The conversation goes well but has very little to do with my prospect for an employment offer. She is originally from Ontario, like half of Alberta these days. After hearing the story of how she misses the foliage, we start exchanging really cool hockey stories. I tell her how tomorrow is the anniversary of the second best day of my life (June 14th, 1994 , the day the New York Rangers won the Stanley Cup). It used to be first, but how was I to know I’d get married someday?  

She proceeds to tell me about the time she and four other people were the only Vancouver Canucks fans at a game they drove to in . Painted her face and everything. Apparently, Trevor Linden was her hero. I guess it’s pointless to try to convince her that Mark Messier was better in 1994. This follows with a story about how they had to drive from Guelph to Buffalo to see hockey because only Bay Street executives have tickets to the Maple Leafs. And how Calgary is such a good hockey town (OK, her judgment is obviously clouded on this one. Must be the lack of smog in this city).  

Finally, the discussion turns to all six pages of evaluations on my candidate profile. I walk out with no promise of a job but a wonderful contact to interview for my next freelance assignment on fanatical hockey fans.  

By now it’s too late to enjoy that late day bike ride I was hoping for. My wife will soon return from her 12-hour shift at the hospital anxiously awaiting the daily employment search story. On my way, I stop at the park downtown to enjoy the sun. There’s a real sense of satisfaction sitting among the university students in the post lunch-hour midday sun. I’m a writer, damn it. I make my own hours. Until I get a real job that is. I hear one of them ask why all these people are lying in the sun instead of working. Maybe it’s because they didn’t score a Dominance Trait of Minus 12 on their Candidate Profile Examination.  

Author's Biography

The author, Rob Kaplan, is an American citizen originally from Brooklyn, New York. He lived in San Francisco, California, for 12 years and was previously employed as a financial administrator. 

He met his wife, a Canadian registered nurse, via the Internet as a result of her intrigue with his writing on a hockey mailing list.

E-mail Rob at rkap@shaw.ca

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