HEADHUNTER HARDBALL (OR, THE END OF ACME ) Published June 2, 1997 Previous columns by Harry Goldstein	I've been looking for a job, more and less vigorously, for a year. I've written about looking for a job online. About résumés and cover letters and interviews gone bizarrely awry. I've talked about how most of the good jobs aren't advertised. About how important it is to network, to call up complete strangers and beg for a moment of their time so you can discuss your future, your job dreams, your hopes and desires. About how my current job search was going to be different this time around. Did I follow any of my own advice? Not really. But I ended up with a sweet new gig despite myself. Sure, I did a lot of surfing at my top ten online job sources. And I asked friends to keep their ears open for job prospects. I got a couple of leads to nowhere from the Web and one friend tried to set me up writing direct mail garbage for a huge record company. It was beginning to look like I wasn't going to find a job before Christmas '97. Then inspiration — or desperation — struck. Pervis, my friend in the cubicle next to mine, landed a new job. My survival instincts kicked in and next thing I knew, I was completely devoted to the job hunt, determined not to be the last rat on the quickly sinking Das Boot. I took stock of my situation. My résumé looked like crap both in terms of format and content. First, I've been out of college for 8 years — it was time to take some old things off and emphasize my more recent experience. Then it was time to find a suitable format — easy enough to do, as my word processing program gave me a range of attractive résumé templates from which to choose. With fresh laser printed copies of my résumé at my disposal, it was time for me to review the New York Times classifieds, matching the skills that I've emphasized in my résumé with ads that ask for the particular experience I have — the more specific, the better. It wasn't obvious to me for months before, but I hadn't been playing to my strengths. I'd been looking for a dream job — a general assignment news reporter for a major New York City daily or maybe a staff writer for a consumer magazine. Nice dreams, but not only are those jobs are few and far between, I also felt that I needed some more intense reporting experience before I could make the leap. I had to radically shift my strategy and find a stepping stone job, one that will broaden and deepen my experience so that my career options increase over time.
Parts of my job hunting strategy worked, and parts of it didn't make a damn bit of difference.	As I narrowed my search to fit my experience, I was able to do a much better job presenting myself to these potential employers. No longer using the old shotgun method — when you fax or e-mail a form-cover letter and résumé to every job that you're even vaguely qualified for — I found that a laser-like focus took some pressure off me. Less volume translated to more quality. I started sending responses to ads via snail mail. I junked my generic cover letter and spent more time crafting a letter that emphasized my relevant experience for each specific job, something that would make my potential employer (PE) say, "Seems like this job might be right up his alley." And that new résumé spoke for itself. Clean and mean. This was my new job hunting strategy, and as you'll see, parts of it worked and parts of it didn't make a damn bit of difference. One Monday morning, I was going through the Sunday New York Times want ads and found one that looked like a perfect fit. The ad was placed by an employment agency — or as these flesh peddlers are more affectionately known — a headhunter. I've worked with headhunters before and never had any success. The jobs always either paid well to make up for being mind-numbingly boring or paid practically nothing but were with semi-prestigious companies. But this job seemed relatively interesting and paid well. Since the headhunter was only the first of many layers of scrutiny that I'd have to pass through, I decided in favor of speed over thoroughness and instead of mailing off my regular packet of cover letter, résumé and clips, I knocked out a concise cover letter stating why I thought my experience was exactly what the advertised job called for and faxed it along with my new résumé. Ten minutes later I got a call from the headhunter. I was exactly who the client was looking for. Could I come in for an interview tomorrow? The next day, wearing the only suit I own and carrying an envelope full of clips, I went in to talk turkey with the headhunter. He was nice enough and seemed willing to listen to what I had to say, about the job I was applying for, about my relevant experience, and about where I wanted to be five years from now and how this position might further my goals. He showed me the publications I might work on and admitted that it wasn't clear yet which one I would be responsible for if I got the job. That made me nervous, because while certain publications looked appealing, others made me think bad thoughts — bad wrist-slitting thoughts. Sensing my hesitation to move forward in the interview process, the headhunter played his trump card and started talking salary.
I couldn't tell if the interviewer was impressed by my credentials or if she was just checking me out to make sure I wasn't an ax killer.	"$XX,XXX! he said. "Quite a hunk of change," I replied, instantly thinking that I could hack any job for a year that would help me get out of debt and help my career. "The benefits are great and the parent company of this publisher — the people who are going to sign your checks and the company you put on your résumé— is quite prestigious," he added, "so that should make up for the commute you're going to have deal with." "Sure," I said, uneasy at the thought hauling ass to New Jersey five days a week. "So I'm going to forward this on to their parent company HR people," he said, "handing me his card and offering me his hand, I'm sure they're going to want to see you." And they did. The next day. I wore the same black suit with a different tie. The interview was cordial, the interviewer inscrutable. I couldn't tell if she was impressed by my credentials or if she was just checking me out to make sure I wasn't an ax killer. I was pretty relaxed and crushed all the soft-pitch questions she threw at me out of the park. I left her office excited at the prospect of working for a stable, reputable company for decent pay at a job that would eventually help me realize my ultimate career goals. It was a couple of days before the headhunter called me to set up an interview with the people in New Jersey — and a couple of days more before I actually had to go out there. I wasn't totally convinced that I wanted this job — especially since I didn't yet know what it was going to be, specifically — but I wanted to give myself a chance of the job being offered to me. Unlike other interviews where I've self-destructed out of some warped sense of self-preservation, I went into this interview prepared to tell these people exactly what they wanted to hear. The first man I interviewed with, the editor, was affable and self-effacing. He's an engineer by training who's opted to work as an editor. I'm a writer and editor by training who's opted to work with engineers. He has an earring. I have an earring. We clicked pretty well, a feeling substantiated by his gradual introduction of cuss words into the general flow of our conversation, a kind of bonding that I took as a very good sign.
I inconspicuously brushed my hand over my lips to make sure I wasn't visibly drooling.	After chatting about my relevant work experience, the specific parameters of the job, and which publication I would be working on, he took me to meet the publisher. The three of us talked a bit about the job and the office culture, about what kind of writing I like to do (why, I like to write about exactly what you'd have me write about!), the commute (for which they had many time-saving tips), and finally salary and benefits. Oh, and the year-end bonus. Bonus? On top of that substantial salary! I inconspicuously brushed my hand over my lips to make sure I wasn't visibly drooling. If they would have offered me the job on the spot, I would have started that day. They didn't, but I got a call from the headhunter later that same day asking for my references. They were serious, he said. We'd know something by the end of the week. I didn't sleep for two nights. Had my references not been around to tell the HR woman what a terrific guy I was? Had they not told her I was great? Was someone else in the running? Maybe they thought I couldn't hack it. Doubt gave birth to more doubt, until I was visualizing myself two years down the road, looking back at this job hunt episode and breathing a sigh of relief, happy none of this had worked out. I was paralyzed at work, except when the phone rang and I lunged for the receiver, my heart racing to Coronary City. Yes or no. Just put me out of my misery. Three days later, the headhunter finally called. They wanted to hire me. He outlined the benefits package, the 401(k) plan, the gym membership, vacation, sick days, health insurance, the whole nine yards. Finally, the salary. Plus, the year end bonus! "Wait a second," I said, pulling out my calculator and doing some quicky number crunching. "That base salary they're offering is almost $10,000 LESS than what you told me it would be!" "Well," he said, "you do get this bonus at the end of the year. Last year the bonus was $X,XXX. That should make up for it."
Whether or not the headhunter deliberately misquoted the salary was almost besides the point — it was up to him to make things right.	"But that's not what you told me the base was when I went into this process," I answered, trying to keep my voice under control. Now I knew he had added the bonus into the base when he had first quoted me what the salary would be. Whether he did this deliberately or not was almost besides the point. If he misquoted the salary deliberately, then he was just a fishy flesh peddler trying to lure me into his honey-laden, uh, money-laden trap. If he misquoted the salary because he was genuinely confused, then he was just plain incompetent. Either way, it was up to him to make things right, to get me closer to what I thought I'd be making. It was up to me to tell him so, to force him to negotiate on my behalf, to make the headhunter earn his scratch. "A bonus isn't a for-sure kind of thing, I said after a few uncomfortable seconds of silence. It's the base that's important to me." "Well, more money for you is more money for me," he said. "I just don't want to price you out of the job. Can I tell them $XX,XXX and it's a done deal?" I told him to add about 2K to that and it was a done deal. "You won't do it for less than that?" he asked, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. "I didn't say that. But $XX,XXX plus 2K is what you quoted me as the bottom range of the base. I might take less than that, because even what they're offering now is more than I'm making now, but I didn't just go through this whole song and dance to settle for less than I was lead to believe I was going to get. Ask them and see what they say." He agreed and said he expected we should have this whole thing ironed out by the end of the day — the longest day, it turned out, of my working life. I began to seriously consider how my potential employer (PE) would view this situation. Since headhunters usually get anywhere from 10% to 30% of your first year's salary, any increase in my base would have to be reflected in the headhunter's fee, meaning that my demand for a higher base was higher than what I had actually asked for because I hadn't accounted for the headhunter's cut. It might turn out that my PE would split the difference, maybe meet me half way and give the rest to the headhunter. It made me wonder what my base would have been had I not gone through a headhunter. Then again, how else would I have found out about this job? And wasn't it easier having a professional negotiate on my behalf than doing it myself? On the other hand, I wouldn't have had any illusions about the base if I'd have asked the HR woman outright during my first interview.
Harry's Favorite Job Sites: JobBank USA Career Mosaic e-span Editor & Publisher JobWeb Journalism Jobs JobTrak JobHunt Net Temps CareerSite	All moot points, essentially. Five hours, three Diet Pepsis, and seven cigarettes later, I decided that I would take the job for whatever they offered me, even if they didn't budge on the base. Just before quitting time, I got the call. My PE really wanted me on board, the headhunter said, and they were willing to meet me more than halfway, a good faith gesture on their part. Would I accept? "Hell yes," I said, stunned that this hardball tactic had actually worked — that my PE was willing to fork over what I thought I was worth — and happy that I stood firm when it counted. We set a start date. My last day at ACME would be two weeks hence, when this two-year occupational odyssey will end and the next chapter of the Working Life begins. Harry Goldstein is a writer and editor living in Manhattan. His work has appeared in Utne Reader, American Book Review, Promethean, AltX, word.com, and other periodicals. ©; 1997 Harry Goldstein, All Rights Reserved