[Editor's note: Erik Rolfson is Prospect's candidate to win that job on the Australian island you read about a few months ago. He wrote about his campaign here on First Drafts, and earlier this month won a vote which means he is down to the last ten candidates. Below he explains what it has been like so far, and what happens next.]
I took my daughter to an ice hockey game last Friday night. As we pulled up to the parking attendant's booth, I didn't see a credit card machine inside, so I asked the guy: "Cash only?" He replied, "Cash only, Mr. Australia." I'm from Canada, but I knew what he was talking about. Yet as somebody who's never previously sought out the spotlight, it's still a little weird to be given this handle by a stranger in a parking lot. But that's the thing about being in the running to win the Best Job In The World. People like the story. They want to hear about it. And if that means they know my face in supermarket, that's ok.
I might not have sought the spotlight, but I have always been a sucker for a good story. (Much of my professional life has been spent obsessing over which stories will resonate with people.) And my admiration for the Best Job In The World campaign has only grown since I was selected as one of their finalist earlier this month. In particular, I've been able to see up close how people respond to the story. Believe me, it's an easy sell.
I spent a lot of time in TV station green rooms those first few days, waiting my turn to go on air, and met an array of interesting guests backstage. But when word got out why I was there, all these interesting guests—and often the crew—would start asking questions. Wanting to see my story, I watched the evening news after the first day of interviews. The link before the ad break said: "coming up, we'll tell you how a Canadian man is one step closer to landing the best job in the world..." I waited, thinking it would come in the next segment. But it didn't, and they teased again before the next break. Again it didn't run. My item ended up as the last on the newscast, bait to keep viewers around for the full 60 minutes.
The day after I made the final 16, I got an email offering help from a Canadian woman who spent several years in Queensland doing PR for Hamilton Island, where I will end up living if I win. We arranged to talk on Skype. On my computer screen I could see her fighting the effects of cold medication and soothing a crying baby in her living room in Lyon, France (where she now lives) while she tried to help me get the job. It's that kind of story.
So what's left? I fly to Brisbane on 29th April to begin what I hope to be The Best Job Interview In The World. Fifteen other finalists and I will spend three days snorkelling, sailing, cruising and eating fine food in a tropical island paradise. Presumably we'll be expected to take a camera and communicate our experiences to the world online. My rivals include an actress from Germany, a DJ from India, a physical education teacher from Singapore and a receptionist from Tokyo. At the end, they'll sit us all down at a big dinner and tell us who got the job. And ten television networks from ten different countries will be there to record our reactions. It's that kind of story.
I took my daughter to an ice hockey game last Friday night. As we pulled up to the parking attendant's booth, I didn't see a credit card machine inside, so I asked the guy: "Cash only?" He replied, "Cash only, Mr. Australia." I'm from Canada, but I knew what he was talking about. Yet as somebody who's never previously sought out the spotlight, it's still a little weird to be given this handle by a stranger in a parking lot. But that's the thing about being in the running to win the Best Job In The World. People like the story. They want to hear about it. And if that means they know my face in supermarket, that's ok.
I might not have sought the spotlight, but I have always been a sucker for a good story. (Much of my professional life has been spent obsessing over which stories will resonate with people.) And my admiration for the Best Job In The World campaign has only grown since I was selected as one of their finalist earlier this month. In particular, I've been able to see up close how people respond to the story. Believe me, it's an easy sell.
I spent a lot of time in TV station green rooms those first few days, waiting my turn to go on air, and met an array of interesting guests backstage. But when word got out why I was there, all these interesting guests—and often the crew—would start asking questions. Wanting to see my story, I watched the evening news after the first day of interviews. The link before the ad break said: "coming up, we'll tell you how a Canadian man is one step closer to landing the best job in the world..." I waited, thinking it would come in the next segment. But it didn't, and they teased again before the next break. Again it didn't run. My item ended up as the last on the newscast, bait to keep viewers around for the full 60 minutes.
The day after I made the final 16, I got an email offering help from a Canadian woman who spent several years in Queensland doing PR for Hamilton Island, where I will end up living if I win. We arranged to talk on Skype. On my computer screen I could see her fighting the effects of cold medication and soothing a crying baby in her living room in Lyon, France (where she now lives) while she tried to help me get the job. It's that kind of story.
So what's left? I fly to Brisbane on 29th April to begin what I hope to be The Best Job Interview In The World. Fifteen other finalists and I will spend three days snorkelling, sailing, cruising and eating fine food in a tropical island paradise. Presumably we'll be expected to take a camera and communicate our experiences to the world online. My rivals include an actress from Germany, a DJ from India, a physical education teacher from Singapore and a receptionist from Tokyo. At the end, they'll sit us all down at a big dinner and tell us who got the job. And ten television networks from ten different countries will be there to record our reactions. It's that kind of story.
