I’ve been doing everything I can think of to find writing and editing jobs. One thing that I did last week was blast resumes to 1.5 million recruiters and prospective employers. In return I got a number of invitations to become an insurance salesman. I responded to one of the offers and went to an informational seminar with about 15 others, most of whom were young ghetto women dressed to the nines.
The speaker leading the meeting was a little off-putting–a pot-bellied 35-year old. He was blunt, plain-spoken and had trouble articulating distinct Ts and Ds. He wore a blue suit with the jacket open, revealing a worn belt below his protuberant gut, a dark shirt and an ugly tie. He spoke mostly about his career path: He hadn’t attended college and had already worked at three careers–construction, aviation operations and, lately, insurance sales. In just three years on the job, he’d worked up to a management position.
He also provided some visibility into business proposition at hand. Actually, the work and the deal didn’t seem bad–selling Medicare-supplement and long-term health insurance policies to seniors–that is, people who really want and need them. The company provides the leads.
At the end of the session we all had to fill out a questionnaire, basically a response to the session telling why the company would be good for us and why we’d be good for the company. I said that I was highly motivated to move to a new career, that I believed the products and services were truly worthwhile and that I could identify with the customers. I also said that with my background as a writer, I was good at simplifying and explaining technical matters.
After turning in the form, we were told that if the company was still interested after reviewing our resumes and responses, we’d be contacted and invited to another, next-step session to occur mid-week. By Thursday I hadn’t been contacted. Maybe my fatal flaw here was that I had worn a turtleneck instead of an ugly tie.