CV Musings
Oct. 21st, 2011 10:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
damigellaGen, no warnings, post 8.03, ~600 words.
Chi opened the attachment to the job application she had forwarded, and all kinds of information about Adams scrolled before her eyes.
High school valedictorian in a small, expensive private school: piano, theater, ballet, girl scouts.
Undergraduate at Yale: average good but not great, a tendency to avoid the heavy weight courses, and lots of volunteering (including modeling for a benefit fashion show and two fundraising calendars).
Med school at Johns Hopkins: no grant, not even in the form of reduced interest student loan. She probably didn't even apply. And she took two years longer than Chi herself did, with final evaluations that wouldn't make her eligible for an internship in any good place (and make her a hard sell in a decorous one). Not that there was any trace of internship application in the vita.
The first job, after a decent interval that was probably spend vacationing, was nine months at Planned Parenthood, followed by three carefully concealed months of doing nothing. Chi had done a little research; apparently Adams left PP in a hurry when the fundies started burning cars and leaving threats in home mailboxes.
Almost one year at the correction facility, and another sudden resolution of contract.
And now... she had to laugh at the expression "Diagnostic Department Adjunct Fellow". As if any interviewer worth their salt wouldn't discover immediately she was an unpaid volunteer, working with a paroled con at minimum wages and a young intern.
Chi looked at the vita again, noting that there was only one point in which it was better than hers: the picture, showing a woman who could have modeled for lingerie or dieting products or plastic surgery.
And then she understood. She looked at the photo better. Recognized in the pretty nose the signature curvature of a famous plastic surgeon, from her surgery handbook. Realized how much of Adams' time and energy must have been spent, still was spent, in grooming and increasing that seemingly effortless beauty.
She looked again at the long list of commitments, clubs and social duties. No wonder Adams had had no time to learn properly.
She pulled open her own CV nearby. It included no picture and no mention of her gender, which often gave her a nice edge in the first minute of an interview.
Her looks required only minimal care: her mother fixed her haircut once a month, and the blow-drying took five minutes at most since the hair was naturally straight. She had even chosen glasses over contacts to save time - it also hid the fact her make up was often carelessly applied. Maybe now that she was close to thirty she could stop using it, no one would take her for a teen anymore.
She looked at the curricula again. Thought of her parents' pride in her achievements. Their shining eyes at graduation, the first in the family. The way they had said she was an adult and could do anything, choose any career path she wanted, so long as she kept honest and worked hard. She remembered the long working nights they had pulled so she could concentrate on her studies without contributing to the family budget.
She wondered whether Adams had really wanted to be a doctor, or liked sports, or music. How she felt at having failed yet another interview, while hearing that she had turned down Chicago's prestigious offer. Soon she would find out that the car whose repairs she had paid was actually House's, not hers. She was sure House would find a way to let her know.
As she taped the box with the red shoes closed and put it in the plastic bag with the veterans' association logo, she felt weirdly sorry for her team mate.
Chi opened the attachment to the job application she had forwarded, and all kinds of information about Adams scrolled before her eyes.
High school valedictorian in a small, expensive private school: piano, theater, ballet, girl scouts.
Undergraduate at Yale: average good but not great, a tendency to avoid the heavy weight courses, and lots of volunteering (including modeling for a benefit fashion show and two fundraising calendars).
Med school at Johns Hopkins: no grant, not even in the form of reduced interest student loan. She probably didn't even apply. And she took two years longer than Chi herself did, with final evaluations that wouldn't make her eligible for an internship in any good place (and make her a hard sell in a decorous one). Not that there was any trace of internship application in the vita.
The first job, after a decent interval that was probably spend vacationing, was nine months at Planned Parenthood, followed by three carefully concealed months of doing nothing. Chi had done a little research; apparently Adams left PP in a hurry when the fundies started burning cars and leaving threats in home mailboxes.
Almost one year at the correction facility, and another sudden resolution of contract.
And now... she had to laugh at the expression "Diagnostic Department Adjunct Fellow". As if any interviewer worth their salt wouldn't discover immediately she was an unpaid volunteer, working with a paroled con at minimum wages and a young intern.
Chi looked at the vita again, noting that there was only one point in which it was better than hers: the picture, showing a woman who could have modeled for lingerie or dieting products or plastic surgery.
And then she understood. She looked at the photo better. Recognized in the pretty nose the signature curvature of a famous plastic surgeon, from her surgery handbook. Realized how much of Adams' time and energy must have been spent, still was spent, in grooming and increasing that seemingly effortless beauty.
She looked again at the long list of commitments, clubs and social duties. No wonder Adams had had no time to learn properly.
She pulled open her own CV nearby. It included no picture and no mention of her gender, which often gave her a nice edge in the first minute of an interview.
Her looks required only minimal care: her mother fixed her haircut once a month, and the blow-drying took five minutes at most since the hair was naturally straight. She had even chosen glasses over contacts to save time - it also hid the fact her make up was often carelessly applied. Maybe now that she was close to thirty she could stop using it, no one would take her for a teen anymore.
She looked at the curricula again. Thought of her parents' pride in her achievements. Their shining eyes at graduation, the first in the family. The way they had said she was an adult and could do anything, choose any career path she wanted, so long as she kept honest and worked hard. She remembered the long working nights they had pulled so she could concentrate on her studies without contributing to the family budget.
She wondered whether Adams had really wanted to be a doctor, or liked sports, or music. How she felt at having failed yet another interview, while hearing that she had turned down Chicago's prestigious offer. Soon she would find out that the car whose repairs she had paid was actually House's, not hers. She was sure House would find a way to let her know.
As she taped the box with the red shoes closed and put it in the plastic bag with the veterans' association logo, she felt weirdly sorry for her team mate.
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no subject
Date: 2011-10-23 01:36 pm (UTC)Thank you!