44 Scotland Street Episode 12 Male networking
Stuart’s interview was scheduled for ten o’clock. When he arrived at nine-thirty, Faith was in the waiting room.
“I decided to come early,” said Faith. “Elaine’s been in five minutes already.”
“It’s always best to be early,” said Stuart, lowering himself into one of the government-issue chairs.
“Oh yes,” said Faith. “The early bird catches the worm etcetera etcetera.”
Stuart had long been aware of Faith’s annoying habit of adding several etceteras to any observation. In his state of anxiety, and with the awareness that nothing he could do now would affect the outcome of the selection procedure, he added his own etcetera out of sheer recklessness. “I suppose they’re going to ask us our view on various things etcetera,” he said.
Faith did not appear to notice the obvious mimicry. “Yes, they can ask anything at all. Except for things that are not allowed, of course, such as where you went to university and so on. Things that used to carry ridiculous weight.”
“Yes,” said Stuart, and then added, “Mcgill in your case, I believe.”
Faith looked at him sideways, unable to decide whether he was being sarcastic or not. “Anyway,” she said. “One of the reasons I came early was so that she’d be able to tell me what questions they asked. She can tell me while you’re inside for your interview.”
Stuart narrowed his eyes. ‘But that’s not fair,” he said. “You’ll have an advantage. I won’t be able to ask her what to expect.”
Faith thought for a moment. “Well, you’ve had other advantages. All we want is a level playing field.”
Stuart mentally counted to ten before he responded. “All right,” he said. “Tell me what those advantages are. Just tell me.” “Male networking, for one.” Stuart stared at her. “What networking?” he asked. “And how? How do I network?” Faith smiled. “How do I know?” “But you’ve just accused me of something; you’ve just accused me of networking. Tell me how I network. When? Where? How? With whom? Tell me.”
“You can’t expect me to know the details,” said Faith. “Secret societies probably. I imagine that you belong to a couple of secret societies – most men in Edinburgh do.”
“Name them,” said Stuart.
“How can you expect me to name them?” answered Faith. “They’re secret, aren’t they? A secret society that lets people know its name would be a pretty weak secret society.”
“So how do you know they exist?” pressed Stuart.
“Oh, they exist all right,” Faith said. “They exist to help men get an advantage over women.” She paused. “Do you have lunch with your friends?” Stuart shrugged. “Yes, sometimes.” “Well, there you are. That’s networking. Men who have lunch with one another network. That’s how they do it.”
“So, men can’t have lunch with one another. Can women have lunch?” “Of course they can.” “But men can’t?” “That’s different. Women don’t network when they have lunch etcetera etcetera.”
Stuart looked incredulous. “I see.” But then he thought: Yes, it’s true men have excluded women from so much in the past; they have been massively unjust. And if women were doing the same things now that men used to do – and still do in many cases – then he had no grounds to be indignant. Men could hardly complain after such a long history of discrimination.
He looked down at the ground. He realised that what he was now feeling – this sense of being excluded, this sense of being treated unfairly – was exactly what women had been obliged to put up with for years. And it was painful, just as it had been painful for them.
They sat in silence for the next twenty minutes. Then the door opened and Elaine emerged. She was smiling, and she winked conspiratorially at Faith. She did not look at Stuart.
Stuart was called in. There was the Board, all three of them, seated on the other side of a large square table, facing the candidate’s seat. In the chair was the Supreme Head of Personnel herself, flanked on one side by the Deputy Supreme Head of Personnel, and on the other by a thin woman with grey hair who was introduced as the external assessor. After Stuart was seated, the Supreme Head of Personnel said, “Well, Mr Pollock, you’re applying for this very senior post – may I ask you: what makes you think you’re the right person for this job?”
Stuart felt his heart beating hard within him. “If you want an honest answer, then it’s this: I think I’m the best person for this post because the other two candidates are, well, not very impressive.”
The Supreme Head of Personnel drew in her breath sharply. “Really, Mr Pollock, it’s not for you to judge other applicants. That’s quite out of line.”
“Is it?” said Stuart. “Well, is it out of line to point out that one of the other applicants can’t do long division? Or that the other is a classic operator? Yes? Is that out of line? I suspect it is. But I don’t really care, you see, because I know that you’ve already decided whom you’re going to appoint.” He paused. “No, don’t look so outraged. You have. And I have absolutely no chance at all of appointment because this isn’t about merit any more. We’ve given up on merit and it’s all a question of who you are or where you’re from. Just like the old days! Isn’t that amazing – we spent a long time trying to overcome that sort of thing – appointing people on the basis of where they came from – and now, hey presto, we’re back doing exactly that. But with a different set of beneficiaries this time.”
The Supreme Head of Personnel seemed to be struggling for breath. “You do yourself no favours,” she said at last.
“No, I don’t suppose I do,” said Stuart. “But you know what? I don’t care in the slightest. I’m withdrawing from this farce. I’m no longer an applicant.”
The Board sat quite mute. They had lost the ability to appreciate truth, so concerned were they with appearance and the insubstantial.
“So,” said Stuart rising to his feet. “I don’t need to waste any more of your time. Oh, and by the way, that essay you wrote …”
“Actually, we thought it very impressive,” said the Supreme Head of Personnel.
“You would,” said Stuart. “Because it’s utterly meretricious, from start to finish. It embodies every meaningless cliché of our times. It employs every cheap shibboleth by which people like you identify one another. And finally, my wife wrote it.”
He left the room. Outside, Faith and Elaine were in a huddle. They looked up, surprised to see Stuart emerge so quickly.
“That’s me out of the running,” said Stuart. And then to Elaine, as if as an afterthought, he said, “Elaine, can you tell me what 2456 divided by 145 is? I don’t need the answer right now, but I’d love to know sometime.”
They stared at him. He left.
‘That essay embodies every meaningless cliché of our times. It employs every cheap shibboleth by which people like you identify one another. And finally, my wife wrote it’