Space Whore

“Would you like to buy a house in the next 5 years?”, the interviewer asked her.

One of my very best friends in the world, a woman I’ll call Amy (not her real name), was very excited when, after weeks of searching for a job, an Internet company finally contacted her for a pre-employment phone interview.

Amy is a sufferer of IBS, she is very tech savvy, and she’s one of the most genuine, caring, helpful people I know. This being the case, when she spotted the Craiglist ad seeking a Customer Service Rep for an IBS support company, I figured it was right up her alley, and so did she. What neither of us expected, however, was the type of questions she would be expected to answer.

“Well, sure, I’d love to own a house within the next 5 years”, she replied, “if I could afford to.”

“What price range will you be looking in?”, the man quickly shot back.

“I don’t know”, Amy said, “maybe $300,000. I don’t need anything big, or fancy.”

“Where do you live now?”, the interviewer asked her.

“Capitol Hill”, she replied.

“Where do you want to live?”, he continued, “Assuming your goal is to buy a house in the next 5 years, where would you want that house to be located? In what neighborhood?”

“Here”, she replied, “I love The Hill.”

“I would never buy anything on Capitol Hill”, the man responded, “I rented there years ago, and I saw drug deals every day and all kinds of street crime. It was terrible. Then, I bought a house on the East Side, and now I don’t have to deal with any of that. Do you mean to tell me that if you had the chance to live in a place like Bellevue or Kirkland, you wouldn’t? You would stay on Capitol Hill instead?”

By this point in the interview, Amy was confused. The interviewer’s questions had nothing to do with Irritable Bowel Syndrome, had nothing to do with the Internet, and had nothing to do with customer service.

Growing suspicious, Amy paused before finally asking “Are you trying to sell me a house?”

Her potential-employer chuckled, and then said, “No, no, nothing like that. You see, this position will involve some sales, and I ask these questions to find out how ambitious you are. I’ve found that people who set high goals for themselves tend to do better in this position … people who want large houses in nice neighborhoods.”

Needless to say, Amy didn’t get the job.

“That’s all employers want anymore.”, she told me the next day, “Sales, sales, sales, marketing, marketing, marketing … kindness, sincerity, ethics, talent … forget it … those traits no longer matter. Now, employers just want to know if you can sell, sell, and sell some more.”

She has a point.

If you fire up Craiglist right now and do a search for “Sales”, you get 104 results just for today. If you do a search for “Talent”, however, you get only 9 results, and 5 of those are for “talented salespeople”.

Once upon a time, America made stuff. All kinds of stuff. Cars, machines, clothing, toys, you name it, we made it. The stuff was good, too. Certainly better than the crap made in places like, say, China.

Now, we predominately sell stuff made elsewhere. In places like, say, China. Instead of hiring the best and the brightest to make a better mousetrap — we now hire the average to advertise, tweet, and ‘like’ the current ones. He who procures the most followers gets job security for one more month and, more importantly, the title of ‘Rockstar Salesman’.

Not even the information and arts endeavors have escaped this massive shift to pure marketing. Now, “sponsored tweets” from your favorite artists are status-quo, local news is thinly disguised marketing (King 5 News often plays like an Apple infomercial), and your favorite blogger … well, he/she is probably in on it too.

In the past couple of years, I’ve done a fair bit of paid writing, but the only gigs that haven’t demanded a marketing tie-in are the non-American companies I have written for. The U.S.-based companies care little about quality, only about promotion, and believe me when I tell you, it’s only getting worse.

About a month ago, I had an offer come my way. All I had to do was mention that I used a certain service, rave about it a couple of times per week, and … here was the caveat … I could not mention that I was being paid in any way. In fact, the contract forbid using the words “sponsored” or “paid”.

I was assured that the clause was very standard, and that I was, in fact, the only person who had objected to it. I was even mildly ridiculed for my hesitance.

“You’re making too big a deal of this. We’re not curing cancer here, Rex. People aren’t as offended by this type of thing as you think they are. They expect that the people who they read make money, and they don’t hold it against them. After all, everybody has bills, and if you don’t make money, how can you afford to write?”

I’ve got to be honest with you, it made perfect sense. It certainly soothed my guilt. They made something so wrong seem so very, very right, and they told me EXACTLY what I wanted to hear. They, quite literally, sold me on an idea that I was staunchly opposed to. Hell, at one point, I even remember apologizing for being so concerned with the ethical implications. I felt bad for being so difficult.

After some time alone, however, I realized that I just couldn’t go through with it. I was sure that they were right in principal, since it’s true that I wasn’t curing cancer, hell, I wasn’t even curing the common cold. I was sure that nobody cared if I got paid to lie to them or not. After all, who would be the wiser?

I just wasn’t ready, though. “I’m sure it’s all related to the economy”, I thought, “Most people have to sell out just to make a living. To put food on the table. If they had a real choice, though, I’m sure they’d choose integrity.”

Days like today make me realize that I was wrong. Oh so wrong.

About three hours ago, I stood at the foot of the Space Needle in silence, staring up in what I can only describe as a mix of awe, horror, and disappointment.

The iconic structure had been hijacked by a gigantic T-Mobile/Angry Birds marketing gimmick, and I simply couldn’t find words to express what I was thinking. All I had were thoughts. Lots and lots of thoughts.

“The owners of the Space Needle … are they starving?”, I wondered, “Does a dying family member need a heart transplant?”

In my mind, it’s the only way I could reconcile it. I mean … this is the Space Needle … the fucking Space Needle. It’s an international, instantly-recognizable symbol of goodwill.

And there’s a goddamn inflatable bird hanging from the side.

Why?

I don’t know.

Unless you were literally desperate for money, why on earth would you allow someone or something to do this to your building?

I just don’t understand it.

I mean, I know that it’s for money, but when you already have a house, already have two cars, already have food and clothes and everything else … why would you take it? What are you going to buy with the bird money?

Buy another iPhone? A better reputation? Just how much does integrity cost, anyway?

Try as I might, I couldn’t formulate any answers that made sense.

Not that it matters, I suppose. The folks at the Space Needle, well, they’re not curing cancer either.

Enjoy the bird, Seattle.

Oh, and be sure to get the new MyTouch 4G, available at a T-Mobile store near you, and don’t forget to check out the new release of Angry Birds, too. As products go, they’re the best I’ve ever used.

Anyone know how much a house in Kirkland costs?