I have been dreading, since deciding to quit grad school to pursue journalism, the ego-crushing task of finding a job — the unreturned calls and emails, submitted résumés lost to the abyss of corporate career sites and the self-doubt and desperation that come with rejection. Given the economy, perhaps now was not the best time to make this decision, but one of my personal traits is a penchant for deciding on a course of action with only minimal consideration of its feasibility. Perhaps this (naïve but motivating) faith in my ability to accomplish things is what made looking for jobs so discouraging the first time I did so.

My first post-college job interview was with Bloomberg for a position as an entry-level business analyst and to this day I cringe when I think about it. It can only be described as a primer on what not to do. With the breezy confidence of 22, I waited by the phone for the representative to call. I don’t remember much of the substance of the conversation except for a short discussion on whether the company would take on people with no experience in finance. The woman told me many people at Bloomberg did not have degrees in finance and that in fact the woman sitting beside her had been an English major.

The exchange was cordial and light until she asked me what it was that Bloomberg did and I answered that it was a financial services company. When she asked me to be more specific and explain what that meant, I admitted, “I don’t quite know what Bloomberg does,” hoping she would appreciate my honesty. (Besides, wasn’t she the one who was supposed to tell me?) She wrapped up suddenly by asking if I had any questions. I asked what seemed to be at the time the most pertinent question, or at least the question that concerned me most given that, from the moment I graduated from college, my parents urged me to start supporting myself. And it was the central piece of information missing from the job posting: How much do you pay?

A few months later I received a polite email telling me how qualified the applicant pool had been and how they regretted they would not be able to offer me a position. In point of fact I had no business applying to jobs in finance given that I would be attending graduate school a year later and the only thing I really knew about money was that I liked spending it and needed to make some.

I quickly learned that interviewers were not so much looking for a reason to hire someone as they were looking for a reason not to. On the Internet I found an article about interviewing in which a human resources representative said she judged applicants on their shoes, which she said she thought reflected their attention to detail. I found this silly, but thereafter made sure my shoes were shined.

In my search I also found research that unstructured interviews were poor predictors of job performance (though structured interviews are better); they assess how well the interviewer likes the interviewee rather than how qualified he or she is. This was both heartening and not: on one hand it was comforting to believe that I had been turned away because of a personality conflict, but it also meant that being smart or qualified didn’t cut it.

If searching for jobs did anything, it stripped me of the delusion that I was special. I would not be welcomed at every door I knocked, might be turned away, get no answer at all.

It also revealed the cogs and levers of capitalism.

In response to an ad seeking clerical support, I went to a floor in a nondescript building near Times Square. Past the receptionist table were rows of foldout chairs where people waited for their number to be called, giving the place the distinct air of DMV ennui. It was a staffing agency, in a windowless office with torn grey carpeting and fluorescent lights that tinged everything green. When my number was called I was rushed through an interview and given a spelling test, then sent to a room for a computer skills test. The software asked me to open a document, change fonts and underline a phrase, which I typically did by using keystrokes. But the software only recognized tasks completed by moving the cursor, so I failed the first few. Not long after I started the computer test my indignation trumped my swallowed pride and I left.

Feeling as if I was on an assembly line irked me, but as I thought about it, I realized that all hiring works this way, though more often with fewer gears showing. My parents advised me to “be myself” and not to get discouraged, but being myself was getting me nowhere.

Job postings all sounded the same: "detail-oriented," “self-starter,” “team player," “good written and oral communication skills.” Of course these are prerequisites for any position, but I felt it was like asking for people who were more attractive than average; it would be hard to find someone who thought they did not have them.

I was waiting to hear from Sen. Harry Reid’s office when I got my first job offer, from a law firm in New York. The woman from the senator’s office had been impressed by a translation I had done (the position was for a bilingual in the press office) and had urged me to wait until the search officially closed, but I decided a job offer was better than a potential job offer and took the position in New York, which turned out to be a very good thing.

This time I am expecting the setbacks and frustration. And I know the paradox of job searching: to convince employers that I am special, all evidence to the contrary.

Gabriel Arana is a graduate student in linguistics. He can be reached at garana@cornellsun.com. The Red Line appears alternate Wednesdays.