Fortunately, these people didn't rip me off, per se. I didn't lose money; however, I did lose two fairly important things: a job opportunity and a piece of my humanity.
Why? Because I was never convicted of a crime. Yes. There is no misspelling or semantic mistake in what I have just written. I am dead serious.
=================
If you value humanity and will thusly find the following story outrageous, don't work for this company; if you're a desparate sap like I am and really need a job, then, by all means, go for it. If you do, then, please: continue looking for a job while working for these reprehensible people.
Without even contributing a single day of work to them, I had very quickly learned what kind of company this is after they offered me the job—after they offered it to me only to give me an unpleasant phone call days later to retract the offer.
They made a 180-degree overnight and decided not to hire me. Why? Because instead of being human, they choose to blindly follow "the rules" and show me what kind of people they truly are (and we all know what happened earlier in the century when collective masses of people were just "following the rules" as courts tried them for the worst war crimes the world had ever endured).
Have you ever experienced police brutality and being falsely charged (like many American citizens nowadays)? Good luck getting a job here, then, buddy! In the initial email they send you to express interest in scheduling an interview, they explicitly note in their signature that they don't hire felons (and, guess what? The charges listed on my record are mere misdemeanors—and guess what? The charges were dropped less than two months after the arrest). In short, I have never been convicted of anything—not even a measly misdemeanor, folks.
But, as if to waste people's time, they fail to state the fact that, upon undergoing a background check, you need an entirely clean record, which, in some cases, is improbable. They demand a record that is devoid of not only petty misdemeanors, but also false charges that have long ago been dropped yet, unfortunately, linger around on your record because, presumably, the Court wants to make a quick $30 off of you when you apply for expungement since—let's face it—it's yet another business (plus, you have to wait a whopping three years after the charge to finally become eligible unless you attach something referred to as a "General Waiver and Release" form to the main expungement form, which the court will likely decline, treating as if it's a firsttime application for SS benefits).
eSquared Communications is yet another business that, apparently, cares more about its oh-so precious, albeit small and insignificant "reputation" than giving people work and increasing its productivity. "Oh, this guy was falsely charged? He’s crooked, and so are all of you.” Very realistic—well, at least the second part is (oh, the irony!).
Perhaps this is testament to how the business might not be doing so well—poor guys. Maybe they need to grow something called a "conscience" first before ever doing any business with fellow human beings. Based on how they run the hiring process, they must already suffer from a spotty history that they're all-too desperate to cover up by taking a reckless all-across-the-boards approach to hiring (and not hiring) candidates. In any case, they have spat on morals in the name of their tiny company's "progress."
When they first called me and informed me of the charges that they, to my surprise, uncovered upon running the background check, I told them that they had been dropped, summarizing the unfortunate, wrongful origin of those charges. "Well, we'll have to review them some more to find out whether they were actually dropped."
On a mission I never thought I would have to embark on, I feverishly made phone calls here and there and eventually linked the company directly to the online court record, which shows that the disposition of the case was "nolle prosequi" (meaning, in English, "not going to prosecute"). That, alone, should've been sufficient evidence of my "innocence," "goodness," or whatever other superficial qualities that they look for on a useless piece of paper that doesn't even indicate what happened to your (false) charges.
But, alas, that didn't suffice—"Find more info if you can," they instructed me, treating the situation like some sort of FBI investigation in a disgustingly uptight and self-important manner. Find it yourselves if you're so petty, I thought.
Then, after showing them the case's disposition on the court's website to show them that, yes, the charges had been dropped, guess what? They still "needed time" to "review" the information. I thereby found myself further mired in a mix of utter vexation and dread—what the hell else could they possibly need? To any casual observer who has a basic understanding of the law, the disposition plainly speaks for itself: did-not-prosecute. There wasn't even a trial.
I had then isolated myself in the next room at home and sank in my chair for the next ten minutes—that God-awful, familiar sense of impending doom and paranoia began to grip and slowly twist my nerves, setting off a panic attack like none other that I had had in a while. The exchange of calls had brought back a buzzing swarm of memories in an instant: memories of the violent arrest that led to the charges. I pounded the table and yelled at the world.
Regardless, I gathered myself and resorted to carrying out the unpleasant task of tapping into memories of what happened and unleashed a torrent of my feelings in the form of a highly personal, detailed account of what exactly led to those charges: ten-odd paragraphs that exposed the backdrop of a poor, crime-ridden neighborhood, the egregious profiling, the violent policing: an account that clearly shows a sad case of misunderstanding on the part of the law (if you take my word for it, that is; frankly, the vividness of the details should somehow ring some truth). It was a literary catharsis that should've swayed anyone who has at least some shred of humanity (oh, did I mention that the disposition was "nolle prosequi?" Well, let me mention it again—and again—and again ad nauseum).
Nope—that didn't work, either.
Official court records showing zero convictions, a piece that I struggled to write because of the traumatic memories I had to confront and relive for a moment, and utmost cooperation that I mustered with difficulty—none of it worked. This experience, in itself, traumatized me somewhat (and should go to show you that I'm not some hardened criminal who stabs and robs people without remorse).
Through their crass decision-making, they seem to, in effect, support—or, at least, accept—police brutality and wrongful charges (right, guys?). Now, imagine if they were living under a certain dictatorship—we already know what sorry role these kinds of people would play. I'm very glad they haven't had to goose-step their way to power (yet).
They would never dare fight against the justice system for profiting from wrongful charges, but would punish you for being falsely charged.
...and guess what? In a sick, disingenuous move intended to distract me from their iniquity, they even—oh, yes—had the nerve to invite me to reapply once I'm "ready"—once I will have waited for 90 long-winding days to pass to finally expunge the "evil" record. They patted me on the very back that they had just stabbed.
What did they have to "review" exactly for so long? Didn't they want the charges to have been dropped (as they were)? It seems like, after all, they were reviewing one thing, it turns out: their rules.
"Eh, it's just the rules, buddy. We can't do anything about it. Well, we can; but, we can’t. Oh, no convictions? So, just like we wanted to check, they did drop the charges? Oh, cool! Well, you can't get the job, buddy. Just wait 90 days, then, and reapply!" they told me with a deceiptful smirk and shrug of the shoulder.
So, may I ask: What the hell is the purpose of running a background check if you can't even read and interpret one correctly?
...and, another question: What difference would reapplying make if I will still have the same status as I do now: innocent?
Yeah, sign me up, guys. You're awesome! I'll definitely reapply after experiencing the anxiety of your perpetuating the cycle of failure that a flawed justice system has already spun into motion. You guys are American heroes. I hope to spread the word about this company to not only expose its brutish bureaucracy, but to set an example for other ones that run background checks and approach them with the same level of ethical irresponsibility.
Shame on you. You might as well go move overseas—labor is cheaper there, I heard. Also, there might not be as many "real" laws and regulations there.
eSquared Communication Consulting Reviews
Fortunately, these people didn't rip me off, per se. I didn't lose money; however, I did lose two fairly important things: a job opportunity and a piece of my humanity.
Why? Because I was never convicted of a crime. Yes. There is no misspelling or semantic mistake in what I have just written. I am dead serious.
=================
If you value humanity and will thusly find the following story outrageous, don't work for this company; if you're a desparate sap like I am and really need a job, then, by all means, go for it. If you do, then, please: continue looking for a job while working for these reprehensible people.
Without even contributing a single day of work to them, I had very quickly learned what kind of company this is after they offered me the job—after they offered it to me only to give me an unpleasant phone call days later to retract the offer.
They made a 180-degree overnight and decided not to hire me. Why? Because instead of being human, they choose to blindly follow "the rules" and show me what kind of people they truly are (and we all know what happened earlier in the century when collective masses of people were just "following the rules" as courts tried them for the worst war crimes the world had ever endured).
Have you ever experienced police brutality and being falsely charged (like many American citizens nowadays)? Good luck getting a job here, then, buddy! In the initial email they send you to express interest in scheduling an interview, they explicitly note in their signature that they don't hire felons (and, guess what? The charges listed on my record are mere misdemeanors—and guess what? The charges were dropped less than two months after the arrest). In short, I have never been convicted of anything—not even a measly misdemeanor, folks.
But, as if to waste people's time, they fail to state the fact that, upon undergoing a background check, you need an entirely clean record, which, in some cases, is improbable. They demand a record that is devoid of not only petty misdemeanors, but also false charges that have long ago been dropped yet, unfortunately, linger around on your record because, presumably, the Court wants to make a quick $30 off of you when you apply for expungement since—let's face it—it's yet another business (plus, you have to wait a whopping three years after the charge to finally become eligible unless you attach something referred to as a "General Waiver and Release" form to the main expungement form, which the court will likely decline, treating as if it's a firsttime application for SS benefits).
eSquared Communications is yet another business that, apparently, cares more about its oh-so precious, albeit small and insignificant "reputation" than giving people work and increasing its productivity. "Oh, this guy was falsely charged? He’s crooked, and so are all of you.” Very realistic—well, at least the second part is (oh, the irony!).
Perhaps this is testament to how the business might not be doing so well—poor guys. Maybe they need to grow something called a "conscience" first before ever doing any business with fellow human beings. Based on how they run the hiring process, they must already suffer from a spotty history that they're all-too desperate to cover up by taking a reckless all-across-the-boards approach to hiring (and not hiring) candidates. In any case, they have spat on morals in the name of their tiny company's "progress."
When they first called me and informed me of the charges that they, to my surprise, uncovered upon running the background check, I told them that they had been dropped, summarizing the unfortunate, wrongful origin of those charges. "Well, we'll have to review them some more to find out whether they were actually dropped."
On a mission I never thought I would have to embark on, I feverishly made phone calls here and there and eventually linked the company directly to the online court record, which shows that the disposition of the case was "nolle prosequi" (meaning, in English, "not going to prosecute"). That, alone, should've been sufficient evidence of my "innocence," "goodness," or whatever other superficial qualities that they look for on a useless piece of paper that doesn't even indicate what happened to your (false) charges.
But, alas, that didn't suffice—"Find more info if you can," they instructed me, treating the situation like some sort of FBI investigation in a disgustingly uptight and self-important manner. Find it yourselves if you're so petty, I thought.
Then, after showing them the case's disposition on the court's website to show them that, yes, the charges had been dropped, guess what? They still "needed time" to "review" the information. I thereby found myself further mired in a mix of utter vexation and dread—what the hell else could they possibly need? To any casual observer who has a basic understanding of the law, the disposition plainly speaks for itself: did-not-prosecute. There wasn't even a trial.
I had then isolated myself in the next room at home and sank in my chair for the next ten minutes—that God-awful, familiar sense of impending doom and paranoia began to grip and slowly twist my nerves, setting off a panic attack like none other that I had had in a while. The exchange of calls had brought back a buzzing swarm of memories in an instant: memories of the violent arrest that led to the charges. I pounded the table and yelled at the world.
Regardless, I gathered myself and resorted to carrying out the unpleasant task of tapping into memories of what happened and unleashed a torrent of my feelings in the form of a highly personal, detailed account of what exactly led to those charges: ten-odd paragraphs that exposed the backdrop of a poor, crime-ridden neighborhood, the egregious profiling, the violent policing: an account that clearly shows a sad case of misunderstanding on the part of the law (if you take my word for it, that is; frankly, the vividness of the details should somehow ring some truth). It was a literary catharsis that should've swayed anyone who has at least some shred of humanity (oh, did I mention that the disposition was "nolle prosequi?" Well, let me mention it again—and again—and again ad nauseum).
Nope—that didn't work, either.
Official court records showing zero convictions, a piece that I struggled to write because of the traumatic memories I had to confront and relive for a moment, and utmost cooperation that I mustered with difficulty—none of it worked. This experience, in itself, traumatized me somewhat (and should go to show you that I'm not some hardened criminal who stabs and robs people without remorse).
Through their crass decision-making, they seem to, in effect, support—or, at least, accept—police brutality and wrongful charges (right, guys?). Now, imagine if they were living under a certain dictatorship—we already know what sorry role these kinds of people would play. I'm very glad they haven't had to goose-step their way to power (yet).
They would never dare fight against the justice system for profiting from wrongful charges, but would punish you for being falsely charged.
...and guess what? In a sick, disingenuous move intended to distract me from their iniquity, they even—oh, yes—had the nerve to invite me to reapply once I'm "ready"—once I will have waited for 90 long-winding days to pass to finally expunge the "evil" record. They patted me on the very back that they had just stabbed.
What did they have to "review" exactly for so long? Didn't they want the charges to have been dropped (as they were)? It seems like, after all, they were reviewing one thing, it turns out: their rules.
"Eh, it's just the rules, buddy. We can't do anything about it. Well, we can; but, we can’t. Oh, no convictions? So, just like we wanted to check, they did drop the charges? Oh, cool! Well, you can't get the job, buddy. Just wait 90 days, then, and reapply!" they told me with a deceiptful smirk and shrug of the shoulder.
So, may I ask: What the hell is the purpose of running a background check if you can't even read and interpret one correctly?
...and, another question: What difference would reapplying make if I will still have the same status as I do now: innocent?
Yeah, sign me up, guys. You're awesome! I'll definitely reapply after experiencing the anxiety of your perpetuating the cycle of failure that a flawed justice system has already spun into motion. You guys are American heroes. I hope to spread the word about this company to not only expose its brutish bureaucracy, but to set an example for other ones that run background checks and approach them with the same level of ethical irresponsibility.
Shame on you. You might as well go move overseas—labor is cheaper there, I heard. Also, there might not be as many "real" laws and regulations there.