Taking The Long View
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It was a beautiful afternoon on the Pacific coast, and we had some time to explore a little town before heading to a show. We decided to check out the local art museum.
"I applied for a job here when I first moved to this area," I told my girlfriend. "I never heard back from them. That was 19 years ago, and I still remember it. And that's not good."
"Why don't you write about that?" she replied.
So I'm writing about it.
It's not unusual to never hear back when applying for a job, especially in the online era. Many people apply using generic job websites, hitting up multiple hirers because certain key words match their wide criteria. When I have reviewed these types of applications, as I often did when hiring educators for non-profit cultural institutions, it was clear that the applicant had little idea of what they were applying for, and may not have cared. I guessed they were applying for every possible listing in the hope that they'd land something.
Did all of these people deserve a personal reply? I felt that they did.
I believe that cultural institutions are unlike other businesses. We're not just there to hire people. The applicants are also our constituency. They are potential customers. If a teacher is interested enough to apply for a job at a museum, they are probably the kind of teacher who is going to be an advocate for what the museum offers. They might book a field trip. They might talk to their fellow educators about us. And, perhaps most importantly: if they have a negative experience, they are likely to spread the word around.
This is one of those intangibles that places looking to attract visitors have to take seriously. A good experience is expected. Visitors may not bother to tell others about it. But a bad experience – oh boy, they'll tell everyone. It's the same with restaurant reviews, and pretty much anything else that involves customer service. It's vital that people experience what they perceive to be quality. A positive impression must be earned, and is priceless. It's hard, because it can't be bought. It can't be faked. It has to be a deep inner philosophy that pervades everything you do. Visitors are smart, and know when they are being tricked. If you're looking to trick people by, for example, overinflating the wonder of a mediocre exhibition in your advertising, you should probably pick a different profession.
Therefore, I gave every application I received a personal reply. Once I had created a template for an emailed response, it took very little time to modify it to each application. When a position was filled, I was sure to tell the unsuccessful applicants that we'd received a high volume of very impressive candidates (as that was always true) and we appreciated their interest. I'd add a link where they could sign up for future education updates, including an invite to teacher evening events.
For people who made it a little further in the application process, especially those who had interviewed, I decided to invest a little more time in my personal replies. In a field where everyone knows everyone, people move around jobs but generally remain in the same non-profit world. The same faces pop up at city-wide meetings, with new job titles. The people I was interviewing sometimes worked at those partnering institutions, and were discreetly looking to advance their careers. Others might reapply the next time we had an open position. They were people who would naturally be disappointed not to have received a job offer. I wanted to ensure their feelings were not negative. Considering I'd often end up sitting opposite them in a meeting a few weeks after informing them they had been unsuccessful in their application, this could directly affect the partnerships I was building and maintaining.
It took very little time. And it was certainly worth it. Many of the applicants became customers. I received at least one message telling me it was the nicest rejection letter they'd ever received. They came to education evening events. They booked programs. And some applied for other positions better suited to them the next time around, and got the job.
Some wanted to know what they could have done differently. Of course, I was working under some strict Human Resources guidelines about what can and cannot be said to unsuccessful applicants. But there was nothing to say I could not encourage people who wanted to be in my chosen professional field. I have always felt that is a responsibility, especially to those who are beginning their careers. I reviewed resumes, conversed via email, and in a few cases met them at the museum for a discussion, at their request, about the field in general. Many were frustrated, saying "I have applied everywhere, and I can't get a single interview. What am I doing wrong?" Most were doing nothing wrong at all, they were simply applying for positions where hundreds of others also applied. The odds were not good. But I had been in their shoes when I left college, knew how it felt, and remembered the people and places that took the time to meet and advise me. Sometimes it helped me decide what I didn't want to do in my career, as much as what I did.
I strongly believe that the people who reach out after a job position has closed and ask for advice on their careers, or those who cold-call out of the blue asking for the same thing, should not automatically be seen as irritants. Our time is valuable, and we can't spend enormous amounts of it mentoring. We should, however, make time when we can. I've always found that the people who ask me for some advice are the go-getters. They are the proactive, forward-thinking, open-minded people I want to work with. They are the future of our profession.
I don't hold it against the little art museum that I'd applied to. They probably received a huge number of applications and didn't feel it was worth the time to tell everyone who applied that another candidate was eventually picked. But I never want to be in the position of being responsible, two decades later, for someone remembering that their only interaction with the place I work at was disappointing. I want everyone to think, "I love that place. I need to tell others about it."