Where's the job listing for that shit??
Searching for employment in the information age, where everything is so available to us, can be especially excruciating when people ask with cloying sincerity, “have you tried Craigslist??” or “have you heard of Google??” I wish I were shitting you, but I've been asked that multiple times. I know that people – or at least I feel like most of the people that I talk to – are trying to help. Bless their hearts, but do they think I got my Bachelor's degree under a rock?? When the former editress of the college paper I was writing for legit asked me if I'd heard of Google, I wanted to end it right there. Honestly, I love her, but for me there was nowhere to go but down. And, for you double entendre fans out there, not in a good way. More of an Edmund Fitzgerald, Oso mudslide kind of 'down.' (Too soon??)
The application process has changed with the uprising of online culture. A good friend of mine suggested I go to the places I'm applying and speak to someone directly. While there are still some careers and some places where this is useful, now that I've pared down my search to online freelance work there's really no place for me to go to. Even local ads on Craigslist and Indeed don't often give potential applicants a location, let alone and individual to contact. It's probably smart on their part because of those of us that would totally be on board with pulling a Rory Gilmore and camping out in the lobby until someone gives us something to do.
The search itself can be bad enough. I've been asked for a headshot when applying for a job at a summer camp. I've been asked to submit my college transcripts (which cost money to obtain, yo) for a job that did not require a college degree. I've filled out numerous lengthy aptitude tests and ethics exams for jobs that paid minimum wage, some of which weren't even hiring at the time. I was kicked off Care.com for having my background check tell a potential client that I had committed six felonies in one day. That one was news to me. At the ripe old age of twenty-four I was told I was too old to be a promo girl. That one sounded more like, “why aren't you prettier??”
These are all such charming anecdotes, aren't they?? They'll make a really great book one day. Maybe.
Things more recently, however, have been looking increasingly grim. Not just grim as in unpleasant; grim like a Tama Janowitz novel. Looking for regular work has become a source of anxiety that I'm not proud of. It's still there, of course. It's just that no one really wants to hear about it when they're heard about it already. Anyway.
Cut to the recent rejections. A couple of them have been doozies.
I'm trying to begin a new career, and my progress has been hindered by this thing called life, but I'm still trying. I'm not going to stop trying. I'm going to grit my teeth and try again, no matter how much more painful, stressful, daunting and humiliating the results become.
Little did I know when I wrote that last sentence that they were about to get exponentially more painful, stressful, daunting and humiliating. Stay tuned.
A few months ago I received an absolutely scathing rejection letter. I mean, this place made no pretense of sparing my feelings. No “we don't feel like you'd be a good fit,” or “maybe apply again at a later time.” This one went straight for the jugular. My application piece was called “awkward” and “riddled with typos.” It wasn't, by the way. I proofread it both before and after the application process. They went on to say that they “simply do not have a staff of editors available to work with someone like me.” I thought I'd done a good job; or at least a halfway decent job. I admit it. I cried all day when I got that letter. It still burns, when I think about it. And how can I not think about it?? If I don't think about it, how will I do better next time?? At least sometimes, when I feel like getting my hopes up about something that seems like it would be cool and for me, and I know that whatever it is I'm doing is wrong and I have to fix it. But I've come to expect rejection, if I get a reply at all, and that ain't good.
My friends and former colleagues ask me to send them my resume, which I've tailored so many times I makes Paris Gellar look like Spicoli. On one unfortunate occasion a few years back, a friend's sister offered to stick her neck out for me and pass my resume along for a position that was opening up where she worked at the time. I told her I'd have my resume to her by Sunday, and after a busy weekend my flash drive had shit the bed and I had to start from scratch. Which I did: over cold, stale coffee, at 5 am Sunday morning, in the dark, in a room full of sleeping fifth graders that had a late-night sleepover party in the bedroom next to mine. It came as no surprise, although with a great deal of disappointment, that my pasted-together-at-the-last minute resume, which this time actually was riddled with typos (and absolutely no applicable experience for the job), was not what the company was looking for. I exhausted myself for jack and shit. And jack muthafuckin' left town. Now I'm afraid to send my resume to friends. I'm afraid they'll see how inadequate I really am.
I sent one to a friend recently that was willing to put in a good word for me at a company she used to work for. I didn't expect much, because there is nothing about me, my resume, my experience, my appearance, my demeanor, or anything else even remotely related to my person that says 'leasing agent,' but I am no longer in a place to be picky and she was trying to help me out. I've faked it and failed at ten other careers; hell, what's one more?? I waited tables in a strip joint, sold lingerie, cleaned houses, bartended, worked in a laundromat, taught gymnastics, nannied, taught preschool, had numerous unpaid writing gigs, written SEO content, worked as an executive sales associate, and interned at a production company. Sometimes I did several of these things at once because the jobs were either temporary, part-time, or both. One year I had 8 W2s. You can say a lot of things about me, but you can't say I didn't try my ass off to make ends meet. What's once more?? Shit, I recently read an ad for an actress to play a waitress for the Twin Peaks revamp: busty brunette. I could pull that shit off. “Must live in Los Angeles area.” Nevermind that Twin Peaks was filmed near Seattle. In any case, I never heard back from the leasing agent job.
Fuckit.
And then the truth hit the fan. A friend and former colleague recently suggested I apply for a job that was opening up at a place where I used to work. I checked it out online, submitted my application, and waited. And waited. Then came the long, rambling voice mail about how the position has been filled and I should apply again in the fall. The position was filled by a younger, less experienced woman from another facility; a facility I worked at when I was younger and less experienced. Another employee told me straight-up. No hemming. No hawing. No rambling. Just, yeah. And I feel quite a little fucked over.
Kind of like the last job I had, but I'm going to shelter you from that one. At least from now.
So what is the next step?? I've heard that some people hire someone to help find themselves a job. What I don't understand is where someone that is unemployed gets the money to hire someone to do anything. It's disheartening. It's discouraging. It's exhausting. Putting myself out there and being turned down, denied, repeatedly. If you Google 'unemployed' (or any related search term) you'll find a lot of cruel jokes about people like me. It's bad enough to be the eternal recipient of NO, but to be made fun of for it en masse just makes it more soul-crushing.
I know, I know. “Don't let it get to you. Don't dwell on it.” But riddle me this, oh, purveyors of undaunted optimism: how?? We're talking about years of let-downs. As a human being, how does one simply just not give a fuck when one is poor and living off the good graces of others?? I have the desire and ability to work. Yes, there are opportunities out there that are just not going to work out. But this is about how to handle rejection. Lots and lots of being passed over, being told 'thanks, but no thanks,' over and over and over again, what feels like ad infinitum. I don't want to be someone that gives up looking, but I have to be honest; I understand why so many people do. It starts to sound like you're not good enough, and then it starts to feel like you're not good enough, and that wears a person down over time. Platitudes are nice little conversational buffers when someone doesn't know what to say, but they don't really mean anything.
“Who cares what people think??” I've been asked a few thousand times. When you're unemployed?? Lots of people. When you submit a resume, when you apply, when you interview, you have to care what other people think. You're essentially selling yourself, or the idea of what a good self you would be to have around. If the person on the other side of the desk doesn't like you, or your credentials, or lack-thereof, or what you're wearing, or that your resume takes up more than 300 words, or that you took Oceanography as a lab science (true story), you're out-ski. Both of you have gone out of your way to spend time getting to know one another, so you kind of have to give a shit what the other person thinks. It becomes like a horrible date, especially when it does not result in employment. Yes. You have to care what someone else thinks. If you're lucky enough to have your resume and cover letter read and have the opportunity to be called forth for an interview, you bet your sweet tuchus you have to care.
Self-tests?? Been there. Practice interviews?? Done that. Frankly all of this means nothing when one considers the last interview I had was almost three years ago and it was for an internship. If I scored an interview today, I would be hard-pressed to not offer to wash the interviewer's feet with my hair just for allowing me into the building. Nevermind that none of my interview clothes fit anymore because, well, my last interview was ten lbs ago, and if the unfathomable happens and I actually get to spend ten minutes being scrutinized in person, I'm at risk for looking like I'm trying to look ten years younger than I actually am.
So, I'm tired. I'm flummoxed. I'm out of ideas.
