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So, how much do you want us to pay you?

 


HRs, hebu kuja hapa, kwani hamna budget? Anyway guys, if there's a question that sends shivers down my  spine, aquestion so terrifying that it surpasses the dreaded, "What are we?" that you might get from that lady you picked up from the club last month, then this question is none other than: "So, how much do you want us to pay you?"

Now, I don't know about you, but I've found this question to be a source of great anxiety. It's like being asked, "What's your deepest, darkest secret?" but in corporate jargon. Why does it have to be this way? 

Imagine it: you've aced the first few rounds of interviews. You've researched the company, prepared your best "what's your greatest weakness" response (spoiler: "I'm a perfectionist"), and worn your "hire me, I'm smart and also very nice" outfit. Then, it happens. The HR smiles at you, takes a sip of water, and drops the bomb: "So, how much do you want us to pay you?"

Suddenly, it's like you're standing at a crossroad. If you go too low, you're devaluing yourself. If you go too high, you risk pricing yourself out of the job. And unlike "What are we?" there are no vague answers that will fly here. You can't say, "Well, I'm just here to vibe and see how things go." No, no, this is serious business. Your rent, bills, and Friday night plans depend on this answer.

Meanwhile my friend Joy (a HR, probably the most favorite HR I know) says it's their way of playing cards - to their advantage. But I tend to think that even HR professionals on the other side of the table, probably thinking, "If only they knew that we hate asking this question as much as they hate answering it." They, too, have their own internal monologue, something like, "Oh no, I hope they don't ask for too much. Our budget is tighter than a new pair of jeans after Christmas." And so, both parties engage in this awkward dance of trying to guess what the other is thinking.

The parallels between this and the "What are we?" conversation are uncanny. Both are about defining terms, setting expectations, and committing to a future path. And both can be so profoundly uncomfortable that people would rather avoid them altogether. It's like we're all playing some twisted game of charades, where everyone is trying to guess what's in the other person's head without saying too much.

But let’s pause for a moment—why are these conversations so terrifying? Maybe it’s because, deep down, we all fear rejection. Or maybe it’s because talking about money and feelings—two things society has taught us to avoid discussing openly—is like navigating a minefield. One wrong step, and BOOM! You’re out.

So, what’s the solution? How do we make these conversations less painful? Perhaps it starts with a bit of honesty and transparency. HRs, we need you to help us out. Tell us the budget range upfront, so we don’t have to do mental gymnastics trying to guess a number that won't make us seem greedy or desperate. And for the rest of us, maybe it’s time we stopped treating money and emotions like dirty secrets. After all, aren’t both crucial to living a decent life?

As for that lady from the club—well, sometimes, "What are we?" is a question best left unanswered. Or, at the very least, answered with, "Let's see how this negotiation goes first."

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