A Jövő Mérnöke, 1995 (42. évfolyam, 1-32. szám)

1995-12-07 / 31. szám

a jöv­ő T he View from the Other Side “Why,” I asked for the fifth time that day, “do you want this job?” The young man’s eyes searched the ceiling for the answer. After a few seconds of consideration he started to speak, cautiously and nervously. For the fifth time that day, I watched some­one try to look and sound sincere, and to say what they thought I wanted to hear. Meanwhile, I kept looking at the suit jacket he was obviously uncomfortable in, which didn’t go well with his necktie. Every now and then my eyes wandered down to his canvas basketball shoes, and up to his long black ponytail. A little more than a month ago, my friend and colleague informed me that he was leaving town because his girlfriend had gotten a job in Prague. That meant that we had to find a replacement for him at MTI Econews. We’re copy editors, which in this case means we are native English speakers who polish texts that have either been translated from Hungarian or were written in English by Hungarians. Since its creation in the late 1980s, Econews has always relied on the native­speaking editors to find their own replace­ments when they leave. This Hungarian practice of finding employees through per­sonal connections has always struck me as rather “Asian”, since the first time I ever came across the practice was when I worked in a Chinese restaurant in my stu­dent days. The dishwashers in the restau­rant were the only Americans working there. When a dishwasher quit the job, the owner would never think of putting a clas­sified ad in the newspaper, which is the way all jobs are filled in America. You had to find an appropriate replacement. My colleagues and I tried for days to think of someone who could take the job, but nobody came to mind. We also realised that we were thinking too much about who needed a job as much as we were about who would be the right person for the job. That’s when it struck me it was time to re­form the system. I convinced the boss to take out classified ads in the English-lan­guage press, requesting applicants to fax us their CVs. In the first two days after the ad came out we only got two CVs, both from jour­nalists I already knew. I was afraid the boss wouldn’t be too impressed with the results of the money he spent on the ad. But on the third day, the fax machine started spitting out CVs every hour. And, Good Lord, were they impressive. People from all cor­ners of the English-speaking world with good educations (American University, Duquesne University, University of Syd­ney), impressive work experience (Life Magazine, Citibank) and powerful refer­ences. We called people and set up appoint­ments for interviews the following day. That evening, as I went over the faxes again, I found that it disturbed me. Though I know I’m an educated and intel­ligent man, I’ve somehow come to terms with the fact that I’ve been underem­ployed most of my life. But these people all looked like folks who should have good jobs already. I thanked the fates many times that I already have a decent job and that my CV wasn’t sandwiched in between these. The next day, as I mentally prepared my­self for the interviews, the CVs kept rolling out of the fax machine: good CVs, qualified people. I wondered if I shouldn’t, perhaps, schedule more interviews for the next day. Meeting the faces that went with the faxes was a learning experience. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been interviewed for jobs, but this was the first time I was the interviewer. They were all charming, intel­ligent, competent individuals. I wanted to give them all jobs. The same thought kept To be continued on page TV. In July 19951 moved from Holland to Hun­gary. The reason why I did so was simple: my girlfriend is Hungarian. After having been here in Budapest for four months I had to go back to Holland for business. And connecting pleasure to business, I could also visit my parents and some of my friends. At 9 in the morning we went to see our airplane. For me and one of my colleagues this would be the first flight in our lives and we were discussing who would sit next to the window. Finally my colleague decided he would rather not see the earth from an airplane-window, so I could sit next to the window and enjoy the marvelous view from such a height. I was excited to see our landing in Amsterdam, but the clouds and the rainy weather prevented me from hav­ing this experience. When we went to get our suitcases, a customs officer asked my Hungarian colleagues what they wanted to G oing H ome do in Holland - something I believed is only asked in films. During our travel to a place nearby The Hague my colleges remarked that they liked Holland because it was so organized and peacefully here, while I was thinking of how much I liked the chaos in Budapest. Especially the first day I felt like a tourist in my own country. Everything was strange for me, except for the language. I never thought that someone could be a stranger in his own country after being away for a mere four months. My colleagues, who were constantly talking about this free trip to Holland since the time they knew about it, decided to have a real good time. Al­ready after our first dinner my boss started calculating how long we could stay in Hol­land without going bankrupt. In the res­taurants the staff took out their biggest plates and they could not believe their eyes when the Hungarians ordered appetizers and the biggest menus of the menucard. The next two days I could go home, while the others were sightseeing Holland. Going home was great, although I still felt a little like a stranger. When I arrived here in Budapest four months ago, I couldn’t sleep because of all the noise. Now I was back in my village in the countryside and I couldn’t sleep of the silence. In Budapest there are always people in the streets, while the streets of my village are deserted after 6 in the evening. The reaction of To be continued on page TV. -------- 1995. DECEMBER 7.--------­

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