cubicles and financial tests...

I remember, about a year ago, writing about motherhood and the fact that I'm really only good at that job. I mentioned how amazed I was by women who can pull off a career and motherhood, because I was crazy busy with the mom bit, and was fairly certain it was all I could do. Funny, how when you say things like that out loud (or in print, as the case may be), you find yourself walking into the very thing you thought you couldn't do.

Oddly enough, now I find myself in the market for a job. Dave has enrolled in school full-time (YAY!) and I have been officially looking for a job for the past two months. I've spent several hours -- many several hours -- writing resumes, cover letters, and applying online for I don't know how many positions. That's okay, it's all part of the process, right?

Part of the process for businesses apparently sometimes includes a measure of weeding out the "lesser" applicants, in the form of a test. In my case, I've been searching for a receptionist/secretarial position, and for one position, was required to take a financial test. Okay, I thought. How bad could it be? I've been running payroll and doing the taxes for the last 2 and a half years. There's probably just a few little math problems, maybe a pretend payroll sheet, and we're good.

Silly me. I arrived at the testing site (which was also my potential workplace) and entered a sea of cubicles. Cubicles. Could I work in a cubicle? The place was deadly silent: No elevator music overhead, no happy chatting around the water cooler, no water cooler, come to think of it. I was greeted with blank stares from the 4 women in their glass cubicles nearest the door. "Hello?" I ventured. Usually hello doesn't require a question mark, unless one is answering a phone, or one is met with mindless gazing from people who, you would think, should be friendly and encouraging. "I'm here to take the financial test?" A question again, met with expressionless gaping. Is there a CubicleLand language I'm unfamiliar with? Perhaps some breach of conduct I've committed? If the financial test doesn't weed me out, my lack of cubicle-etiquette certainly will.

A second later, the cubicles seemed to part like the Red Sea as a woman walked through them with a stack of tests in hand. She handed me a stapled, 5-page test, and told me to take it to room 314 when I had completed it. I pulled out my pencil and calculator (don't worry, that was allowed) and prepared to amaze the world... Or at least the person correcting my test.

"Page 1," I read. "Using the principles of Accounting, please answer the following true/false questions. 20 points."

Hello. Principles of accounting? I can tell you that cash is an asset, does that count for anything? To my horror, the entire 1st page was filled with accounting terms and odd things like, "True or False: If you make a payment on a loan account, it will be reconciled as a deposit." What? I'd just call it a payment on a loan, why do we have to give it a name? So I flubbed my way through page one, thinking, hey, it's a 50-50 chance on all of these, how bad could this turn out?

Ha. "Page Two. Using the Principles of Accounting" (those keep turning up!), "determine which category each of the following fall into: Asset, Liability, or Owner's Equity. For example: Cash on hand -- Asset" (told you). "20 Points."

Great, they used the one I knew for sure as the example. Down the page I went, assuming that anything that was a loan was a liability, and anything that was paid for was an asset. But then I came across "Office buildings." Office buildings? I don't know, do we own them? Suddenly I pictured myself sitting in one of the cubicles, looking through the glass at the back of the brown-haired woman in the next cubicle and wishing there was a dang radio in this place, when my supervisor (in my mind, a friendly, balding, somewhat harried man) rushes to my cubicle and says, "Quick! Marianne! Are our office buildings an asset or a liability??" I could see how this part of the test would be extremely relevant at work. Apparently I don't know anything about accounting.

Page 3 brought the easy math questions, at least until number 32: "Compound Interest. On December 1, so and so deposits $500 into an account that is compounded annually at 5% interest. How much will be in the account on July 1? November 31?Blah blah blah and such and such..."

Okay, let's be honest. This is how the question should have read: "Compound Interest. Do you know how to search the Internet for equations or websites that could provide you information on compound interest, and likely even allow you to punch in the appropriate numbers, whereupon you will receive the correct answers and provide them to your friendly, balding, somewhat harried supervisor?"

Alas, what should have been was not, so I did my best (which I'm certain was wrong anyway), and flipped to the last two pages. "Using the following balance worksheet, reconcile this account." Finally. Easy. But irrelevant. If this company is still reconciling their accounts by hand and hasn't joined the rest of the world in utilizing financial software, I don't want to work here. Plus they don't have a water cooler.

I was one of the first ones done (probably because I aced all the accounting terms), turned my test in and thought, "Well that was interesting." A cute, blond girl turned her test in right after me, and we were asked to sit down and wait while they were corrected. I complimented the cute girl on her on her fantastic pedicure, which you could see because of her smart-yet-stylish shoes. She heaved a little sigh of relief and said, "Well that was easier than I thought." Sure, if you're an accountant. I smiled. Weakly.

After a few minutes, the woman correcting the tests called Fantastic Pedicure's name and they huddled in front of me. In order to be considered for the job, you had to get at least 75 on the test. They would be administering the test the next day as well, just in case anyone wanted to retake it. I heard the testing lady tell Fantastic Pedicure, "Okay, you got an 85, so put that on your application." She handed Pedicure her test and called my name. "So you got a 55," she began, and looked as if she were going to continue. "Okay," I said as I turned tail and tried to look dignified as I walked out. I walked down the long hallway, smiling to myself --smiling, I suppose because that was a total flop. Sure, I could take the test again, but could my dignity handle it? And if I passed it the next time, would I pass the Cubicle Etiquette Test?

I caught up to Pedicure on the way out. "Howdja do?" she asked.

"Oh, I got a 55," I said, hoping I sounded like I was talking about something clever.

"Psh," she snorted. "Sure."

Awkward.

"Uh, no, I really got a 55, they held onto my test and everything."

"Oh," she said. It's what I'd have said. I wished her luck with the job and climbed into my car, grateful to have had a glimpse of CubicleLand, at least to see that I didn't really want it. Sure, I could say I failed on purpose, but we'd all know how true that was.

PS. The formula for compound interest is M = P(1 + i) to the nth power, by the way. You know, in case you're ever stuck in a financial test in CubicleLand.