I never forget that I work with people, for people.

—NATHALIE, president, Venatus Conseil Ltd.

I PUT ON MY ONLY SUIT, took out a map, and hopped the metro headed to the offices of Venatus Conseil, an executive-recruiting firm in downtown Montreal.

Thirty minutes later I was sitting across the table from the president, an attractive middle-aged woman named Nathalie. Nathalie had started the company ten years earlier.

Ironically, in trying to find the kind of job that would be a good fit for me, I’d landed a one-week job at a headhunter—a firm that tries to fit a candidate to a specific job. Now I’d get to see the career search from a different perspective. I’d search the firm’s database for qualified candidates, review job descriptions, observe initial telephone interactions, and sit in on face-to-face interviews.

“Why did you choose to start a headhunting firm?” I asked Nathalie.

She offered what had become a familiar response: “I’m not sure that I chose my career. In a way, I’d say it chose me. At the time, I’d recently had a child and was working part-time from home on a contractual basis, mainly in recruitment and human-resources consulting for companies. I enjoyed it, but I didn’t want to be a stay-at-home mom. I wanted to work in a professional business environment.

“After I spent some time searching for a new career, it became clear that I was already making a living doing what I loved. So the decision to start a headhunting firm was an easy one—it would allow me to continue in recruitment and consulting but also be in a professional business environment.”

Once Nathalie identified the characteristics that she needed in a career, the choice became obvious. I wondered if the same would be true for me once I finished my fifty-two weeks.

Nathalie’s attention turned to a piece of paper on her desk. “So, Sean, you’re in luck,” she said, picking up the paper. “Today we received a new contract. You’ll be able to see the recruiting process from the beginning.”

“Great,” I said, and she escorted me to the office of Derek, the associate responsible for finding a qualified candidate to fulfill the new contract.

I quickly found out that the job demands a lot of cold calling and researching corporate websites to find appropriate candidates. It was kind of like detective work—generating leads on potential candidates, qualifying those candidates to ensure that their skills fit the position, then narrowing down the field until we find the right one. The majority of time was spent on the phone calling people who often were not grateful for the unique opportunity to meet a stranger over the telephone. It’s tough to make friends on unsolicited phone calls—especially because the people answering the calls were all well aware that it’s their right to be rude or immediately hang up on any stranger who calls out of the blue.

In order to find candidates who possess the required qualifications, the headhunting firm will often call executives at other companies who have a similar job description. Once on the phone with a potential candidate, Derek would gauge their tone and answers in order to qualify them. Did they immediately hang up, or did they colorfully describe their disgust at being cold-called, and then hang up? Were they genuinely happy in their position, or did they hesitate to respond about their current job satisfaction? Were they open to hearing about other possibilities?

Many didn’t want to give the impression that they were interested. Some would play the aloof, half-paying-attention-but-if-you’re-going-to-tell-me-I-will-listen routine. “No thanks, I’m not interested,” they’d say, then casually add, “Though, just out of curiosity, what’s the job description and salary like?”

I concluded that as long as the caller “volunteers” the information, the person called can have a clear conscience.

Derek told me that he can sense if he’s called a candidate when a co-worker is in the room or happens to enter during the conversation. “Their tone might suddenly change, or they will ask that I call back another time. People don’t want their co-workers or boss to know they’re considering moving jobs. It would feel disloyal.”

If he gets the answering machine, he leaves only his name and phone number. “I won’t mention the company or reason I’m calling. It increases the chances that they will return the call—even if just out of curiosity,” he said. “Also, you never know who will pick up the messages. It might put the employee in an awkward situation if their co-workers suspect they’re actively seeking a new job.”

After each call, Derek would add notes to the client database about the conversation—date of the call, reaction of the candidate, her attitude toward changing jobs, when to call back, her interest in hearing about future opportunities. Depending on the response, he can then bring the candidate in for an initial interview.

It’s not until several steps later in the process that the hiring organization—the company looking for a new employee—is brought in. By contracting a recruiting firm to fill a position, the hiring organization can continue to focus on its day-to-day business activities and be confident that it will meet only the most qualified candidates.

“It’s not about finding just anyone to fill the position,” Derek said. “We need to find the right candidate so that both the company and the new employee are happy. If we don’t, the employee might not make it through the probationary period, and then I’ll be stuck trying to fill the position again.”

This happened with a candidate Derek had placed only a couple of months earlier. At first it had seemed to be a good fit—the candidate had the required experience, her personality seemed to complement the company’s corporate culture, and both the candidate and the company reported that they were happy. But then an issue cropped up. It seemed there was a conflict over the interpretation of what was meant by “some” travel required in the job. The candidate had a family and was not willing to travel often. But this had not been clearly expressed in the interview stages, and the job wasn’t a perfect fit.

As Derek said, “If you’re not up-front about your needs and don’t spend the time to uncover what a company is all about, you may find yourself dissatisfied a couple of months later, and once again flipping through the classified section.”

My week in Montreal at the headhunting firm was my first week away from Danna. During the week, I sent her picture to family, friends, even ex-girlfriends. I’d talk to complete strangers and bring her up within the first couple of minutes of the conversation. I wanted to share my excitement with everyone.

I spoke with Danna on the phone a few times during the week. We’d never spoken on the phone before, and at first it was a bit weird. It was hard to get past talking about how much we missed each other and reminiscing about our time in Trois-Pistoles. Now, with both of us back to our respective realities, it seemed as if it had never even happened at all.

I needed to see her again.

My next job was in Ottawa, only an hour and a half drive west of Montreal. Perfect, I thought. I’ll hitchhike south for six hours to Toronto (Danna’s hometown), then two days later hitchhike six hours north again to Ottawa.

My last ride dropped me off just outside the city at a gas station parking lot. Danna wasn’t there when I arrived, so I sat on my suitcase on the sidewalk. I was nervous about seeing her. Part of me questioned whether our fairy-tale romance could exist outside the Trois-Pistoles bubble.

She pulled into the parking lot and jumped out of the car.

“Whassup?” she said, smiling.

“Hey, babe.”

I gave her a hug, then we hopped into the car and headed back to her house. My feelings were reaffirmed. She had me at “Sup.”

When we arrived at the house, Danna ran upstairs to get changed into her work uniform. (She was a server at a local pub.) I sat down on the bench at the front door and slowly took off my shoes. Danna hurried back down the stairs. “Sorry, babe, I couldn’t get my shift covered.” She grabbed her keys and gave me a hug. “But you can hang out with my mom,” she said, then quickly headed out the door.

I was thrown right into it. When it comes to girlfriends’ parents, I find mothers to be more welcoming than fathers. Or perhaps they’re just better at extracting the same information without the intimidation factor. Either way, I wanted to make a good impression.

“Come in, come in, Sean. Make yourself at home,” Mrs. MacLeod said, waving me into the house. As we walked toward the kitchen, I nervously wondered how I’d explain One-Week Job without appearing totally directionless. I’d tell her that it’s completely practical for new grads to take a different job each week for a year—all the kids are doing it.

She put the kettle on and we sat down at the kitchen table.

“So, what is this thing that you’re doing, a job a week?” she asked.

“Umm, yeah. Well, I couldn’t decide on a career, so I decided to try different jobs,” I said, not selling it very well.

“Where are you working next week?” she asked.

“Next week I’m an innkeeper in Ottawa,” I said, happy to have a response.

“Great. And what about the week after that?”

“Umm, after that, I don’t know yet.”

“You don’t know yet?”

“No, not yet. Usually I don’t know until the week before.”

“And so where do you stay?”

“Sometimes with my employer, sometimes people email me through the website and say I can stay with them.”

“And you’ve never met them before?”

“Uh, no, not usually.”

“And how do you travel from place to place?”

“Well, it changes. Sometimes I take the bus, sometimes I hitchhike, sometimes I—”

“Hitchhike? Is that safe?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty safe,” I said, fully aware that it’s not likely as safe as driving her car to work.

“And do you get paid for these jobs?”

“Umm, no, not exactly.”

At this point I imagined she was thinking that she’d brought her daughter up better than this. But what’s great about mothers is that oftentimes they’ll let you off the hook. She smiled, then in a very motherly, accepting tone, said, “Well, Sean, it all sounds quite interesting. Good luck.”

After we’d shared several slow-sipping cups of tea and a long walk with their two dogs, Danna came home from work. I was relieved to see her. She changed out of her work clothes, and we went for a walk on the wooded trails behind her house.

“So, what did you think of my mom?” she asked.

“She seemed really nice,” I said. “I could tell she was a little unsure about the whole one-week-job thing, and she probably thinks I’m a bit crazy. But it definitely could have gone worse.”

“I’m sure she loved you,” she said, then grabbed my hand as we wandered the trail. Before long, we were sharing the shortcomings of past relationships.

“I’ve been in some relationships that weren’t all that trustworthy or honest,” Danna said. “But when I started to focus on me and figuring out what I wanted, I just gave up on guys altogether. You can only get burned so many times before you start thinking, Well, what’s the point?”

“How long ago was that?” I asked.

“That was about two years ago now,” she said. “I haven’t really dated anyone since.”

We continued to walk, hand in hand, until we arrived at a wooden bridge over a small creek. Our meandering stroll came to a stop, and that’s when Danna entered “big trouble” territory.

She turned to face me. Her hands buried in the sleeves of her sweatshirt, she anxiously fidgeted with the cuffs. “Sean, I don’t know how you feel, but I know how I feel.” Her gaze shifted to her toes. I knew where the conversation was going, and for a moment thought about cutting her off to beat her to it. But all I could do was smile.

She looked up into my eyes, “Sean, I love you.”

Before I could say anything, she began to make excuses for me, giving a long-winded roundabout explanation that it was okay if I didn’t feel the same way, but that it was important for her to tell me how she felt. I took her hand, gazed into her eyes, and silenced her insecurities: “I love you too, Danna.”

It was going to be a long thirty-eight weeks.