Last Thursday I went to a job interview. It all started on Tuesday. I found an ad on Facebook: a woman was looking for an admin for a mini-hotel, offering to live there and some small salary. I thought, "Great, I need a roof over my head, I'll look for something else on the side." I wrote to her. During the chat, it turns out there is no salary at all. Okay, I think, at least I'll have a place to live. Then she says she will connect me with her son, and he will arrange a meeting. The meeting was set for Thursday.
I arrived early. I looked around, closed the doors in the cafe (because I hate drafts). I asked the bartender for some hot water because mine ran out. I dressed like a successful expat: my only Barbiecore oversized coat with broad shoulders, rings, hair down. Basically, I put on a mask of success, as one does for an interview.
And then I see a Kazakh woman walk in. She looked at me and gave me a dirty look. Didn't say anything, didn't introduce herself. I didn't know who she was then. But I thought, okay, it happens, especially since she was dressed in something grey and shapeless. Maybe she's just not used to someone dressing brightly.
He arrived. We said hello. He started talking. I realized something interesting was about to happen and discreetly turned on my voice recorder. Just for fun. It turned out to be worth it.
Here comes the main part. Not only do they not pay me. I have to pay them 200 lari a month for utilities. And my job is to be a "DJ": monitoring heaters and ACs to make sure they are on when guests check in or off when they check out. I have to greet guests, supervise the maid, make sure breakfasts are ready on time. And if I need to go somewhere, I can "ask for permission," but then the local bartenders will do my job. No days off.
He was showing me his scripts, deliberately opening his fold with two screens. "Send this here, go out here. If cash, like this, if card, like this. Everything is set up, all processes are in place." And he tells me: before me, there was a Georgian guy who greeted guests in his underwear, with coffee, and in flip-flops. He says, "Well, you shouldn't greet people like that." And I'm sitting there thinking: that's exactly how I was planning to greet guests! I already had stockings, 15cm heels, and cat-woman ears ready. Of course, with a whip too, for those who want it hotter, in case my heaters don't seem hot enough for them. But no, "you shouldn't do that." Boring people.
We were speaking Russian and using the formal "Vy". I was addressing him formally, but somewhere in the middle of the meeting, he decided to switch to the informal "Ty". I kept using "Vy", but I thought, "Okay, master, you know best." Apparently, owning a mini-hotel gives you the right not to observe formalities with the servants.
And then the funniest part. He tells me he loves Kazakhs very much because his wife is Kazakh. The same woman in grey who gave me the dirty look. And his relatives nicknamed him "white bone" (ak suyek). Not just a zhuz, but a whole aristocratic title. Apparently, this title gave him the right to look for the same "foolish" Kazakh women who would work for him.
Honestly, when he started saying he has a soft spot for Kazakhs, it started to scare me. After my recent communication with the local diaspora, I have a trauma with Kazakhs. I have always been a black sheep among them. Even if I were a man, I would still be too free, too bold, and too incomprehensible for them. In this world where everything is divided into zhuzy and bones, my boldness is an unthinkable crime, regardless of what body I was born in. I don't believe in "the people." I believe in people. And I am against dividing into white bone, black bone. I have been familiar with various systems for a long time. All this is needed only to divide people into categories. And I am against it.
And in the end, I was given a tour and shown the rooms. Well, yes, a renovated room and a separate bathroom, that's a rarity. Where else would you see that? It all ends with them promising me a room like the guests have (oh my God, bow three times, it's too luxurious for you, and you've never lived in such conditions), a separate bathroom, but there is no washing machine and no kitchen. I have to look for a washing machine around the corner, like in American movies. Throwing coins, waiting, dragging my clothes back and forth. I understand if I were paid like in an American office, I would think about it. But paying 200 lari for the right to take a walk with my clothes to the next block? Thanks, but no thanks.
I thanked him. And then I thought, "What an idiot?" He is really looking for fools. He wants me to sponsor his business. A great candidate for an investor, nothing to say. I don't know where I will sleep or what I will eat in a week. And here I have to pay 200 lari. I promised to get back to him, to think. And in the end, of course, I ghosted him. He didn't understand that. A few days later he writes to me: "What is your decision." No hello, no goodbye. Just "what did you decide." I ignored it. Blocked him.
I still think: what does his ideal employee look like? A person who pays for utilities, eats in cafes because there is no kitchen, goes to the laundromat with coins, doesn't sleep, doesn't eat, has no days off, monitors heaters, and still manages to work remotely to pay for all this. Apparently, he is looking not for an admin, but for a sponsor with the function of a housekeeper. Alas, master, I don't fit.
So what do you think? Am I too picky? Or should I go back to him and beg for this job?
