right.”
“There sure are a lot of you out there, aren’t there?”
Sarah looked him squarely in the eye. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Nothing. I don’t mean anything.” His smile appeared forced. “Just … there seem to be more accounting majors every year.”
Sarah shrugged, wishing she could find a polite way to get out of the conversation. “I guess so. It’s an interesting field, I guess, and it’s a pretty stable career choice—”
“Stable?” a stocky man seated across from them interrupted. “Haven’t you ever heard of downsizing?”
“Bill, is that necessary?” the dark-haired man asked. He turned back to Sarah. “Don’t mind him. He gets cranky if he has to go five minutes without a cigarette.”
The stocky man glowered and raised his newspaper to block their view of him.
“Sounds like you know him,” Sarah murmured.
“We worked a temp job together during tax season. Bill smokes like a chimney, all right. I quit six months ago, myself. Did you know that corporate insurance rates are higher for smokers than for nonsmokers?”
Sarah shook her head.
“Well, it’s true. That’s why I quit. Why hire a smoker when you can save money by hiring a nonsmoker?”
“Can they really do that? Isn’t that discrimination?”
“Strictly speaking, they probably aren’t allowed to, but they can always find some other excuse to write down. ‘You’re overqualified.’ Or ‘The new owners like to hire their own teams.’ Some such nonsense.” He sighed. “The point is, why risk it?”
“I see what you mean.”
“I worked for the largest corporate insurance company in Pittsburgh for twenty years, and I know what I’m talking about.”
Everyone looked up as a tall woman in an elegant tailored dress appeared at the door. “Thomas Wilson?” she announced.
The dark-haired man picked up his leather briefcase and stood. “Nice talking with you. Good luck.” He extended his hand.
Sarah shook it. “Thanks. Good luck to you, too.” He followed the woman out of the room.
Her nervousness suddenly returned in full force. She selected a magazine from the pile on a nearby table and tried to concentrate on an article about HMOs. Occasionally the elegant woman would return and call out the name of another applicant, who would rise and follow her out of the room.
Finally, it was Sarah’s turn.
When they left the waiting room, the woman greeted Sarah with a firm handshake and a pleasant smile. “It’s good to meet you, Sarah. I’m Marcia Welsh, Director of Personnel.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too.” Sarah was surprised to hear that her voice sounded far more confident than she felt.
Marcia stopped at a door bearing a sign that read C ONFERENCE R OOM. She opened the door and let Sarah enter before her.
The conference room was roughly the same size as the waiting room, but it was almost completely filled by a large table. The four men and the woman sitting on the other side wore conservative business attire and stern expressions. Marcia closed the door and took a seat between two of the men. She gestured to a lone chair on Sarah’s side of the table. As Sarah sat down, the man closest to her poured a glass of water from a crystal pitcher and pushed it across the table to her.
“Thank you,” Sarah said. He ignored her.
“Well, let’s get started,” the man in the center began. “I’m Brian Turnbull, owner and CEO of PennCellular Corporation.” He reeled off the others’ names and titles so quickly that Sarah had no hope of catching them. She did get the impression that the group included the company’s top executives and representatives from the accounting department, but no one, it seemed, from public relations.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Sarah stood and tried to reach across the table to shake their hands, but she couldn’t quite make it. Embarrassed, she quickly sat down. Marcia smiled understandingly, but the others showed no reaction.
Brian
“There sure are a lot of you out there, aren’t there?”
Sarah looked him squarely in the eye. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Nothing. I don’t mean anything.” His smile appeared forced. “Just … there seem to be more accounting majors every year.”
Sarah shrugged, wishing she could find a polite way to get out of the conversation. “I guess so. It’s an interesting field, I guess, and it’s a pretty stable career choice—”
“Stable?” a stocky man seated across from them interrupted. “Haven’t you ever heard of downsizing?”
“Bill, is that necessary?” the dark-haired man asked. He turned back to Sarah. “Don’t mind him. He gets cranky if he has to go five minutes without a cigarette.”
The stocky man glowered and raised his newspaper to block their view of him.
“Sounds like you know him,” Sarah murmured.
“We worked a temp job together during tax season. Bill smokes like a chimney, all right. I quit six months ago, myself. Did you know that corporate insurance rates are higher for smokers than for nonsmokers?”
Sarah shook her head.
“Well, it’s true. That’s why I quit. Why hire a smoker when you can save money by hiring a nonsmoker?”
“Can they really do that? Isn’t that discrimination?”
“Strictly speaking, they probably aren’t allowed to, but they can always find some other excuse to write down. ‘You’re overqualified.’ Or ‘The new owners like to hire their own teams.’ Some such nonsense.” He sighed. “The point is, why risk it?”
“I see what you mean.”
“I worked for the largest corporate insurance company in Pittsburgh for twenty years, and I know what I’m talking about.”
Everyone looked up as a tall woman in an elegant tailored dress appeared at the door. “Thomas Wilson?” she announced.
The dark-haired man picked up his leather briefcase and stood. “Nice talking with you. Good luck.” He extended his hand.
Sarah shook it. “Thanks. Good luck to you, too.” He followed the woman out of the room.
Her nervousness suddenly returned in full force. She selected a magazine from the pile on a nearby table and tried to concentrate on an article about HMOs. Occasionally the elegant woman would return and call out the name of another applicant, who would rise and follow her out of the room.
Finally, it was Sarah’s turn.
When they left the waiting room, the woman greeted Sarah with a firm handshake and a pleasant smile. “It’s good to meet you, Sarah. I’m Marcia Welsh, Director of Personnel.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too.” Sarah was surprised to hear that her voice sounded far more confident than she felt.
Marcia stopped at a door bearing a sign that read C ONFERENCE R OOM. She opened the door and let Sarah enter before her.
The conference room was roughly the same size as the waiting room, but it was almost completely filled by a large table. The four men and the woman sitting on the other side wore conservative business attire and stern expressions. Marcia closed the door and took a seat between two of the men. She gestured to a lone chair on Sarah’s side of the table. As Sarah sat down, the man closest to her poured a glass of water from a crystal pitcher and pushed it across the table to her.
“Thank you,” Sarah said. He ignored her.
“Well, let’s get started,” the man in the center began. “I’m Brian Turnbull, owner and CEO of PennCellular Corporation.” He reeled off the others’ names and titles so quickly that Sarah had no hope of catching them. She did get the impression that the group included the company’s top executives and representatives from the accounting department, but no one, it seemed, from public relations.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Sarah stood and tried to reach across the table to shake their hands, but she couldn’t quite make it. Embarrassed, she quickly sat down. Marcia smiled understandingly, but the others showed no reaction.
Brian
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