pot luck

All in all, [the drug] is a good thing to stay away from unless you are looking for trouble.  If it's a thrill you're after, you'd better stick to roller coasters and detective yarns.
--"What [The Drug] Can Do To You," The Woman (with Woman's Digest), February 1942

I start my new job on Tuesday at a drug policy organization that has rejected me for two positions and that I, in turn, have rejected for one. Finally, we are on the same page. At least, it seems. I hope.

I first heard of this organization in May 2005, when I was poking around on craig's list and idealist for jobs in the D.C. area. It had a need for a Legislative Analyst, responsible for monitoring initiatives in 10-15 states as well as writing all the member correspondence for those states. I was very interested in the position (it actually sounded perfect to me), but I thought that my lack of experience in the field would disqualify me. However, I ran across the same advertisement three months later, in August, decided it was a sign, and applied.

Now this organization, while fighting to minimize the harm associated with a drug that is stereotypically used by a chill, laid-back, hippie crowd, is populated exclusively by first child, Type A, anal-retentive personalities. (So yes, it's a perfect fit for me.) "Fastidiousness" is actually cited on the website as the paramount trait valued by the organization. The application process, then, is extremely specific and intensive; the parameters dictate (step 1) five parts for a cover letter (no more than one page) and resume (no more than two pages), (step 2) an additional writing sample, (step 3) a phone interview, and (step 4) an in-person interview. The philosophy, as far as I can tell, is that the organization can teach the ins-and-outs of drug policy to an inexperienced but motivated go-getter but cannot instill professionalism in a passionate but inarticulate slacker.

The organization's HR director in August was--in addition to being efficient, meticulous, and detailed oriented--also rather humorless and hard to warm up. In other words, maybe not the person you would want as the face of the organization for potential candidates. (I'll call her "bird," the meaning of her German last name.) I truly believed that I had blown the phone interview because all of my witticisms and clever comments fell completely flat, and damn it, I know I can be quite charming! But I nevertheless made it, as one of three final candidates, to the in-person interview, and I knew when I left the organization's Capitol Hill offices on the afternoon of my birthday that I had kicked ass. I believe my exact words to my mom were, "If I don't get this job, it's not because I didn't do everything I possibly could."

Well, a few weeks later I was informed that I didn't get the job (I lost out to a man with 10 years of drug policy experience) but that they were very impressed with me and wanted to find a way for me to be involved in the organization. I was very disappointed but wanted to entertain their counteroffer, Volunteer Coordinator for a "tax-and-regulate" state initiative. The catch? The state was Nevada, and the campaign was based in Las Vegas. Thus began the research into and soul-searching over whether I could stomach a life in Sin City. I ultimately decided--thanks in large part to llschoolj's reporter friend who works for the Las Vegas Sun--that I just couldn't (although I was surprised to discover that reportedly there is an active Jewish community there). So I turned the position down, and bird responded in a manner that made me certain that I had just burned all bridges with the organization.

Fall turned into a long, hard winter of elusive jobs just out of reach, and when I saw in late December that the same organization was again looking for a Legislative Analyst, I decided to write bird to ask if she would consider my application again. I figured the worst she could do would be to laugh off icily dismiss my request. She informed me that she was no longer in charge of hiring but that she would forward my email to the woman who was; the organization doesn't reactivate applications, she added, but I was welcome to reapply. Encouraged by this response, I nonetheless decided not to do so because I didn't want to go through all that mischegas again. But then late last month the organization posted a notice for an Executive Assistant--not a policy job, and therefore not an ideal job, but one for which I knew that I was imminently qualified. After completing step one of the application process, I received a highly encouraging email response from the new HR director (whom I will call "color" since her last name is one): bird had passed along my name as someone she was "very impressed with," and color was "very pleased" that I had chosen to apply for another position.

And once again, we were off. Writing sample, phone interview, in-person interview (processes made much more pleasant this time around because color, like her nickname, is lively and personable). And once again, I knew I had done my absolute best. And once again, I was crushed to find out that I had been one of the top two picks and that the decision had been "agonizing." The counteroffer this time, however, was in the D.C. office, but in a temporary, entry-level, hourly-wage position with no benefits. Again, the research and soul-searching. This time, I decided it was a foot in the door. I called to accept the position, and I had to talk to bird instead of color (the latter was on vacation), but my informing her of my decision was followed by a brief silence, then, "Did [the director] call you?"

Oh, G-d, I thought. Now what? Are they reneging on the offer? "No," I replied slowly. "I haven't talked to him." "Hmmm. Well, there may be another, better position for you, but he wasn't sure of the timeline, and he said he was going to call you," she explained. "Let me talk to him and get back to you." Five days later, bird called again. "Okay, the timeline is still unclear, but if and when the position comes up, we will consider you for it. This is a significant break from our policy of requiring those in temporary positions to complete them," she reminded me. "See you on Tuesday. Welcome to [the organization]!"

Here goes nothing.