Wednesday, November 14, 2012


I've been looking for a job. For thirty nine days, I have been handing out resumes, filling out endless online applications (that want to know everything about me including what brand of dental floss my sister uses), writing cover letters and tweaking my resume fifty different ways to make me sound more capable than I actually am.

I have never had to apply for a job before. Not really. I've been asked to apply for jobs, by people who know me, and know that while I may be a bit socially/physically clumsy initially, I'll do a good job, because my momma raised me to be an upstanding citizen.

Thirty two online applications later, I finally accepted that applying for jobs online was a waste of my time, because no one knows me. It was a shock when I realized that no one will know who I am unless I tell/show them in person.

C'mon. Who wouldn't want to hire this?

I did make it to the final round of interviews for a job I didn't want, that involved selling cars, and training other people to sell cars. I made the mistake of trying to explain during my interview the concept of run-commuting, and they didn't get it. I'm pretty sure I short-circuited my interviewer's brain with that one. I think I still coulda landed the job, but opted to withdraw my application...


Well, the salary sounded doable until I found out they expected management trainees to work 50 hrs a week for the first year. When I broke it down, that was 11.64/hr. yowza. Perhaps not. I also don't own a car, and know nothing/am not motivated to learn about them. And the branch was an hour and a half away by bus. Or an eleven km run-commute. And they wanted me to go to Halifax for ten weeks for training.

Or not.

 After some cajoling, and several tantrums, I let Lisa (who has gotten every job she's applied for since arriving here) edit my resume. And by edit I mean butcher. (*sigh* IS an improvement, okay?) And then after some serious whining, I printed out some real honest to goodness actual paper copies of my resume. And proceeded to "pound the pavement"

 It turns out my approach could use a little finesse.


HOME (it's a store) I don't really want to work retail, but they have amazing amazing home furnishings. And staff discounts. And amazing amazing home furnishings. mmmm....outrageously fluffy towels and teeny-tiny french presses and polka dot toasters. Yes please!

I entered the store, it was about to close. I was a little stunned by the bright lights and shiny things. I asked for the manager. As it turns out, the woman I was talking to was the manager. She was wearing a hideous polyester suit a-la-Suzy-Shier, looked like she was smelling something icky, and had a half-tube of bright pink lipstick smashed on her lips.

I introduced myself. She said, "uh huh" and shook my hand limply. Her hand was soft and limp and slightly soggy. Ew. It was unpleasant and immediately (irrationally) turned me off the idea of working there. I just wanted to leave. But she was staring, and I was stuck.

I got flustered. I blurted out what I wanted, stammering, and she continued to stare at me blankly. She took my resume and began to look at it. I stood there nervously, watching her examine my resume, waiting for her to say something else. She didn't.

The atmosphere was decidedly uncomfortable. I got all sweaty, and thought, 'Do I leave? Is she going to say something or just stare at my resume?' She looked up.

"Goodbye, then" 


My neck and cheeks burning, I mumbled something back, and then moved swiftly for the door. In the process, I knocked into the table by the door. A metal clipboard and two fancy looking pens clatter noisily to the floor.

I am an unemployed disaster.

On the upside, I am getting almost cavalier about the whole experience, and am actually starting to enjoy making people listen while I talk about myself.

But I was stumped on how to differentiate myself from the crowd to actually reel them in, until I came across this on the "Stuff White People Like" blog.

And it got me thinking...this theory could stand for employers as well.

Instead of keeping my sexual status private, perhaps I SHOULD play the homo card.

Contrary to being discriminated against, maybe I am a desirable commodity.  If I'm presented with the right offer, these businesses too could have their very own bona fide gay employee!

HOME, eat your heart out!

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