American View: By Their Pants We Shall Know Them

There was one interesting exception, though … an event that I jotted down in my “potential columns” list after I got home: what happens with both the hiring HR rep and the other applicants are lying through their teeth?  

I saw this happen at a career fair that was promoted as being exclusively for recently separating veterans. I’d just retired from the military and was quite taken by the idea of a live event where everyone involved fully understood and had respect for veterans and our … let’s say “unusual” … experiences. Trying to convey to a lifelong civilian just how complicated aspects of military life can be and why that’s a valuable characteristic to possess is frustrating. People whose only understanding of military life comes from pop culture often prioritise all the wrong parts of an applicant’s stories and misinterpret a candidate’s unique value proposition. That’s before we get lost in acronyms … 

As an aside, I want to be clear that my digs at event screeners isn’t intended to insult civilians; it’s the age-old problem of “you don’t know what you don’t know.” I would have no way of accurately evaluating a footballer’s competitiveness since I stopped playing when I was twelve, so I can’t be mad at a civilian HR tech not grokking what in the hell a C17D3B does for a living. It’s literally an occupational hazard.  

That in mind, the idea of a career fair where the screeners and reps were all familiar with military life sounded great! Knowing that you could explain your relevant experiences and be understood was magical. I was excited … and as I’m sure you’ve probably guessed already, this event didn’t work out … but the reason why it didn’t work out is hilarious. To me, anyway.  

I arrived bang on time, as veterans tend to do. So did a hundred or so of former squaddies. We were calm, reserved, laser-focused, and motivated. As soon as the venue’s doors opened, we advanced in our precisely organised queue like we’d drilled on it. By all rights, this event had exactly what we needed to find a good fit: defence contractors, manufacturers, and consulting firms. These military-focused organisations would – we hoped! – recognize our value proposition. Getting a decent job with these orgs should’ve been a snap.

Should’ve been. You know where this is going.  

While I was queueing at a missile manufacturer’s booth a few hours into the event, I spotted something odd: newcomers were entering the hall that set off my IFF warning bells. These were latecomers who seemed … out of place. To be clear, these weren’t ogres bedecked in bearskins; they were normal adults – mostly men – dressed in business outfits just like us … except my subconscious was warning me that these fellas clearly weren’t like us. 

It shouldn’t have mattered; after all, I was competing with every other attendee for a limited number of decent-paying gigs. More attendees should’ve been a good thing, since it would encourage the participants and sponsors to hold more events like this one. I ignored all the reasonable thoughts and tried to work out why these newbies were riling me up. 

I finally sorted it after an hour of what barely passed for “covert surveillance.” It was their clothing that gave them away. No, really. Just about every job seeker in the hall when it opened was dressed from the same limited selection at the Base Exchange: a collared shirt, khaki slacks, and a cheap plastic belt. The stuff troopers would buy to attend events with their non-military families. It was clothing that looked normal … if you didn’t know anything about men’s clothing. I’d enlisted at 17 and didn’t know squat.  

These latecomers, though, they looked … sharp. Their clothes fit them. Their fabrics looked expensive and hard to pronounce. Their watches weren’t cheap, deposable tools – they were shiny and way too expensive to wear to the field. Their outfits’ colour selections worked in ways that our universal colour-on-khaki protocol didn’t. These new fellas stood out … if you could spot the differences between what was clearly divided between “us” and “them.”

That was when I realised these latecomers weren’t former military. I reckoned they’d never served a day in their lives. They were job seekers, sure, but they were civilians crashing our event (so to speak) to steal jobs that were meant for our us! Cheating bastards! ^[2] 

To be fair, these opportunists weren’t breaking any laws. No one was checking IDs at the door or demanding to see a candidate’s discharge paperwork. As far as the company reps were concerned, stacking CVs was the only goal. They weren’t going to turn anyone away.  

After the event, I realised that these outsiders weren’t really competing with us grunts either. Sure, they were barging in where they hadn’t been invited, but they lacked the essential element that us squaddies possessed: security clearances. That was why defence industry reps were so keen to screen us; we already had credentials that were expensive, time consuming, and necessary for working on government projects. These civilians were coming to the clearance party empty handed. So, yeah. They irked me, but they would only be a threat if this wasn’t a veterans’ focused expo.  

I’ve shared this story with many of the interns, new hires, and colleagues that I’ve mentored. You can and should judge a stranger by their appearance. Just remember that a person’s professional appearance is only a costume, not a reliable indicator of their competence, credibility, or competitiveness.  

^[1] My third layoff out of four (so far).
^[2] They also had great hair, to a man. Not a high-and-tight to be found among them.