The Gentle Turn-Down

I had the opportunity earlier this week to interview for a job with a local company which has had explosive growth over the past few years. They dominate their market, boast a who’s-who of the Fortune 500 as customers, and have some nifty eye-candy computers in their Operations department. We negotiated salary, and they indicated a willingness to bump it up to my requirements if I was the right person for the job. The offer was attractive, the facility was beautiful, the amenities were appealing, and the commute was reasonable (though longer than I’d like). I really like Norman, and enjoyed talking to his two subordinates in the interview.

Why, then, did I want to turn the offer down?

Norman,

Thank you for the interview yesterday. It was nice to see you again, and I was pleased to meet Art and Russ. The company looks like a fun place to work, and seems poised for some exciting growth and changes over the coming year.

Unfortunately, as rewarding as the position could be I do not think that I am the best fit for the job right now. We discussed some concerns in the interview, and on further reflection I think that your company would be best served, at present, with someone else filling the role of Sr. Linux Administrator. I am happy that you considered me, however, and enjoyed the interview.

Should circumstances change in the future, our interests might be closer aligned, and I’d like to keep that door open.

Regards, Matthew P. Barnson

Even while leaving the interview, I realized it wasn’t a good fit. I regard Norman as a friendly acquaintance, and have known him for several years. I didn’t want to offend anyone. I simply didn’t want this job.

While climbing into my car, I was reminded of an experience I had while working at a little company called emWare several years ago. They hired me at the end of my six-month contract. I worked there just a little more than two weeks after that, then submitted my resignation. Shortly thereafter, I began working for my current employer.

Although I’d been aware of some problems with emWare, my first week was enlightening, and I desperately wanted to bolt. Shortly after I turned in my resignation, the CEO of the company — whom I’d only briefly met a few times — stopped by my cube and said, “Come with me”.

After a few pleasantries in a small private area outside the office, he asked pointedly, “Tell me why you are leaving. We just hired you, and you leaving after such a short time looks bad for both of us. You are really productive and knowledgeable, and your manager tells me that we should do all we can to keep you. Explain your reasoning to me. I want to know.”

“Well,” I began, and drew a breath. “First off, I learned this week that I was offered the job so that you could lay off two other people whom I respect. While I appreciate the implied compliment that I can do the work of three people, I like these individuals too much to continue working here knowing that you’re going to get rid of them if I remain. I couldn’t live with myself.

“Second, I learned that the company is living from deal-to-deal without having anything other than a marginal revenue stream from a single customer for a product which is not the company’s main focus. The company is circling the drain, and I didn’t get a full sense of this while contracting.

“Third, you changed the product’s back-end operating system from Sun Solaris to Microsoft Windows due to incompetent programming on the company’s part, and against my recommendations. I’m a UNIX administrator. Becoming a Microsoft Windows admin doesn’t fit into my career plans. The justification for this change is bogus, and works around a lack of knowledge on the part of your lead programmer, not a fault of the operating system. I now have an offer from another company which aligns better with my needs and plan to take it to get away from those sort of bone-headed technical decisions that everyone goes along with because they are afraid of offending the Prima-Donna lead programmer.

“Lastly, I realized that nobody is buying the product because it doesn’t do the job right, you’ve broken what little compatibility you had with the first revision with the new revision, and there is only a tiny market for this kind of product… and, frankly, the product sucks.”

The CEO peered over his glasses at me in consternation. “You know I can’t tell people that. In fact, while you are still here, I’d ask you not to tell anyone that.” He paused a moment, then said, “Knowing that I don’t accept your premise…” There was a pregnant pause. He then raised an eyebrow in a clear indication of what he was asking for, “…why are you leaving?”

“Uhh… because I have a better offer with another company?”

He nodded, indicating for me to continue.

“…And the move to a back-end Microsoft Windows platform doesn’t align with my career goals?” I responded hopefully.

“Good man,” he said, patting my arm affectionately. “We’ll miss having you here, and I’m sure we would have had a wonderful relationship. You have to look out for what’s best for your family, of course. And Matt,” he said in a cautionary tone, “feel free to share that reason for leaving if anyone asks.”

(Mental blur with wavy lines on the TV screen, back to the present…)

Memories, memories. A little over a year later, the company shrunk to 1/10 of its former size, and was bought by one of its customers. The reason it was purchased was based solely on that one tiny product which had brought them a meager revenue stream from the customer who bought them… and didn’t suck.

Anyway, I kind of felt like that walking out of this interview. I had all kinds of reasons floating through my head that, if I’m to be inoffensive, I can’t fully disclose to my prospective employer.

I looked at the massive revenue growth of this company over the past few years, the inflation of its stock value, and the incredible increase in staff and processes… and it concerns me. I’ve seen this pattern before. I’ve been an employee in a company in this pattern before. The next step is a year or so of stability and improving efficiency before the stock price plummets to a more reasonable level, and then there’s a massive layoff to right-size the company when the market is finally saturated enough for customers to begin shopping around. I see it coming, like an avalanche gaining speed from the assortment of tiny cues lingering around the office.

The burnt-out-looking office worker nursing a cup of coffee past a three-day growth of beard who doesn’t even grunt a hello while walking beside you. The Xbox which isn’t getting played with in the break room. The people who don’t really seem to care about what they are doing anymore. The technical manuals on the shelf with a light coating of dust from disuse. The bustling activity of a few people surrounded by the “I need to look as if I am working” bustle of many others. It’s not one thing, but a host of small visual and auditory cues telling me “something ain’t quite right”.

Then there’s the business model. I can’t get into too many details without giving away who the company is, and I don’t want to mention names. Suffice to say, what the company does for a living gives me the heebie-jeebies. They exist in the murky world of internet marketing, and although they seem perfectly legitimate and are market darlings, they make a business of doing something I find personally repugnant. As cool as the actual job would be, knowing that my work was ultimately supporting a type of activity I strongly dislike is too much cognitive dissonance for me.

Yeah, I know, I probably am going to die poor and alone because I missed a fantastic opportunity. Maybe that’s not so bad as long as I can live with myself.