Slipping on a peel, Hoya flounders in Japanese job market

“I’m sorry to say that this time, we are unable to offer you this job…”
This phone call rejection, which I received this summer, did not come from a law firm, top-notch investment bank, or government bureaucracy. It wasn’t from the White House or a marketing company.
No, this summer, I was rejected as a candidate for a week-long job as a salesperson at Tokyo Banana, a store in Tokyo Station that sells the popular Japanese banana-flavored sponge cake filled with custard cream. Tourists in Tokyo purchase boxes of these souvenirs in bulk to distribute to their friends and families. Although I don’t quite understand the popularity of these sweets, priced at 2,700 yen a box (approximately $32.71), I was excited to work for such an appealing brand.
The job description, which I found on a public Japanese job search site, called for an applicant to stock inventory, organize lines, scream “irasshaimase!” (“welcome!”) at customers in a high-pitched voice, and offer samples of Tokyo Banana to travelers going through Tokyo Station during the busy summer vacation period. The job entailed wearing embarrassing, banana-shaped hats and ugly black pumps while running around one of the busiest train stations in the city.
“No experience necessary,” the site said. “First-timers welcome! Academic background not required.”
I applied thinking I was a shoe-in. “I‘m smart,” I thought, “This is easy. I can do this. I go to Georgetown, for goodness sake.” But they rejected me.
Maybe I didn’t sell myself right at the interview. Maybe I smiled too much and the interviewer saw right through my pearly white grin to my lack of confidence. Maybe they rejected me because I got lost on my way to the interview and had to ask the receptionist to guide me to the building over the phone—several times. The more I thought about it, the more I became disappointed that they had probably denied me, a Georgetown student, for seeming incompetent. A friend of mine made this plain in her honest reaction to my situation.
“Oof, a Georgetown student rejected from Tokyo Banana? That’s … harsh.”
It is. But by attending a brand-name university, we carry a burden. My friend’s reaction reminded me of the SAT prep teachers I’d had back in Los Angeles. Their “elite university labels” equally burdened them. These SAT boot camp instructors were all Harvard, Princeton, and Stanford graduates. Predictably, I once overheard one of my fellow students whisper, “What’s a Harvard alum doing at an SAT boot camp? That’s sad.”
The college grads probably agreed. They detested their jobs and considered them temporary. They were there because for the moment, it was the only way they could get paid.
They felt that way because of their pride. My SAT teacher did not label himself as Mr. SAT Teacher, he saw himself as Mr. Harvard Alum. Throughout the Tokyo Banana application process, I had considered myself Ms. Georgetown Class of 2013. I let my status as a student at a prestigious school define me and I assumed that it determined what I deserved to get.
But the fact that we proudly wear a Ms. or Mr. Georgetown Student badge on our J. Crew-clad chests says absolutely nothing about our life skills, talents, characters, or competence in the workplace. I let that shiny badge feed my ego until I could not even comprehend rejection from Tokyo Banana.
So what should we, as Georgetown students, do as we face job hunts and the real world with this self-imposed burden on our shoulders? We must detach ourselves from the Georgetown label.
Many of us, without realizing it, equate our college standing with our identity because we love our school so much. But we can’t let ourselves get high on our Georgetown pride. Our degrees do not define who we are or somehow guarantee us success in the real world.
I’m not pessimistic, really. I’m realistic. I want to help other students to stop saying, “Psh, you’re graduating from Georgetown. You’re set,” because it takes more than graduating from Georgetown to be “set.”
And let me confess that I’ve never even eaten a Tokyo Banana before. Maybe I’ll stop by the booth next time and ask for a sample.