October 21, 2009
GIVE ME YOUR HUDDLED NADS YEARNING TO BREATHE FREE
[BALL JOKES FOLLOW ME EVERYWHERE I GO]
It's 2002. I'm in my job interview at the Tribune.
I'm seated at a giant wooden table in a conference room. In front of me are two women who are mid-level editors in the department I want to join. The lights are off, which strikes me as odd. A window illuminates the room enough, so I say nothing.
The meeting was one of almost a dozen I'd endure during the day as different editors took shots at me to test my resolve. Interviewing at a newspaper, at least what I remember about it, was less about establishing journalism credentials than a 10-hour endurance test designed to catch you in some personality tic or ill humor.
But I digress.
We exchange pleasantries for a few seconds before one of the woman leans to one side of her conference room chair, adjusts her coat and says, "Well, you've got one thing going for you that none of the other candidates has."
"Oh?" I say.
I have no idea where this is going. Neither does the woman's silent partner in the room.
"You've got NADS!" the first woman says, shouting the last word. For full effect, I'm guessing.
"I'm sorry?" I say. "What did you say?"
"You've got NADS!"
The second woman looks at the first in horror and lets out a shock-laugh.
"That's what I thought you said," I reply.
It's not often that the testicle jokes erupt in the first 10 seconds of a conversations, but so be it. When the balls break, the cradle will fall, I think. Roll with the balls, I think.
"NADS!" she says. She's really into it now.
"Balls. Testicals. You know... balls!"
"Yeah," I say. "I'm familiar."
She goes on to explain that every one of the candidates is a woman. I'm the only man. I'd be filling the job of a woman who left for a bigger job at another paper. I'd be joining a department with women in charge.
In short, I'd be a diversity hire.
I'll let that sink in for a moment.
Me. White male. A diversity hire.
But back to the nads....
"You do have some, don't you?" she asks.
What do you say to something like that? How do you address the uncomfortable moment without seeming like a overly sensitive puss who would run to HR over a question like that?
I aim for middle ground. A tropical sarcasm cocktail with an adorning umbrella of irony.
I ask my inquisitor and future colleague for a moment to think.
I lean to the right side in my chair and squint at the ceiling. I then lean to the left and squint again.
"Yep. Still got 'em?"
Both women laugh.
"I had to check," I say. "People have been trying to take them for years."
Ba-da-BOOM! Thankyouladiesandgentlemen. I'll be here all week. Try the veal.
I got the job. And I've used the uncomfortable moment as a point of leverage when needed with this colleague. Works like a charm.
I tell that story to tell this one:
The other day, I get an e-mail from my dear neighbor Beth. She's hilarious. We tend to find the same things funny.
The e-mail reads:
Hey Jeff!I know this isn't a food product, but I though you'd enjoy seeing something named "Nads."
Nads on a woman's face. Very funny.
But one idea hits me clearly between the eyes.
Women are clearly comfortable sharing ball jokes with me.
You know what? I'm okay with that. Everyone needs a cypher. I can fill that role.
Given the safe haven I provide, perhaps I can help this woman:
Posted by Jeff at October 21, 2009 02:39 PM | TrackBack