Friday, July 31, 2009

The Sadder Side of (F)unemployment.

Barely being able to make financial ends meet and taking constant employment rejection can be all fun and games. Indeed, there’s about a million blogs out there on the very subject. Learning to laugh at the lengths I will go to for a cheap meal or the four-year degree I’m using to fold napkins is really the only way to get through it.

Everyday the newspaper runs articles on recent graduates unable to find employment. The television is absolutely littered with the unemployment rates and the failing economy. There are a million out there, just like me-- toiling away in the constant search for what one 90’s punk song so easily phrased, “Oh, why don’t you go get a job?”

So, why does it feel so personal? It’s like a break up. Every single person has gone through the completely heart wrenching experience of ending a relationship for as many relationships that they have had. Every single person that every single person has loved has somehow managed to tear their life apart, with the exception of the person they are with right now.

Breaking up is possibly one of life’s most common experiences.
And yet, when it happens to you, it’s like no one else could possibly understand how immediately personal and unique the kind of pain you’re feeling is. I spend an exorbitant amount of time reading articles on better ways to find employment, published and printed for the masses of jobless citizens. I follow several hilarious and poignant unemployment blogs, written by the ever-so-unemployed. I try to help my boyfriend find further employment as the season causes his hours to diminish.

The whole world around me is sinking in the quicksand of the effects of underemployment. But most of the time, the hopelessness feels as lonely as a break up. The dark days after a slammed door usually send us into hiding, avoiding the outside world and all of their questions. I dodge the “So, what do you do?” inquiry like it might infect me with small pox. When distant family members ask me what I’m doing in Pittsburgh, I ask how their kids are.

My biggest secret is the same secret as almost 16% of the United States, 80% of 2009 college graduates and a constant headline. But, it still feels like no one would understand.

a new cover letter.


I think this is the only cover letter I’m going to send out from now on:

Hi. This is my cover letter. My name is Hazel and I like to write things. I will write whatever you would like me to write. I am hoping that you will read my resume and portfolio, meet me, and say, “Hi. We would like to pay you to write things for us.” And then, I will say, “I will do that. It would make me very happy. Thank you.”



I think that’s more straight to the point than me meandering about my experience, education, and passion. What do you think?

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Dressing to Impress in Bar-Style Interviews




I read in an article in the employment section of the newspaper that the way you dress is one of the most important parts of the interview process. One supervisor, consulted because he makes incredibly frequent hires for a large company, explained that he recently declined to hire the most qualified candidate for an open position because his collar had buttons, but it was not buttoned. He said, “If he can’t button his collar, I don’t want him in my office.”
I panicked. Maybe it was my wardrobe keeping me from employment. I had sported a very smart and professional navy blue shirt dress with a pair of patent leather red heels, red earrings, and a red necklace to my last two interviews. I figured I was mixing business professional with a little bit of fun to keep me current and to stand out from the other applicants.
But, suddenly, I thought that interviewers didn’t take me seriously in my shoes. Perhaps I looked “too” fun. (Hello? Is that even possible? Psh, oh real world… you’re so boring.) So, for Monday’s interview, I absolutely obsessed over my chosen outfit. I even asked the boyfriend for advice… which is an absolutely ridiculous thing to do because (a) he wears t-shirts he got for free from work and paint-stained shorts every day (one of the reasons I adore him) and (b) if he says he likes something, I won’t trust him because I assume he’s only saying it so as not to piss me off and (c) if he says he doesn’t like something, it pisses me off.
I finally settled on a nice white oxford collared shirt, a high-waisted knee-length plaid woolen skirt my mother bought in the 70’s in Scotland, and simple brown loafers.

Shit. If that one guy figured that neglecting to button your collar buttons shows the kind of remiss attitude toward details that he does not want infecting his office… what will a wool skirt in JULY suggest? Why would they hire a girl that doesn’t even know her seasons? I could see it, “well, she’s certainly the best candidate… but I just don’t trust someone wearing late autumn and winter fashions in mid summer.”
Whatever. I wore it anyway. It was too late.

I found out something even worse when arriving to the office. I was scheduled for a group interview. Group interview? Now, I understand that I have been knocked down about 20 babillion pegs on the self-worth wall since graduation but… I don’t even get my own appointment? I felt like this was a trip to the bar; nonchalantly trying to grab the attention of a stranger. Plus, I was first one there, requiring me to wait on the other, probably better dressed (and further qualified but--- whatevz), applicants.
Entering: competition #1: A heavily built girl, not fat, just large busted with a strong hip line. A skintight pair of grey slacks with iridescent silver pin stripes. A black busting-at-the-buttons collared shirt with a slightly differently styled, sparkly white, pin stripped pattern over a very low cut lacy camisole. Long, fake, sequined, eye lashes. Bleached hair with hot pink tips, pulled half back with two long sections hanging in front of her face. True story. I swear.
Entering: competition #2: a petite dark skinned beauty in a pair of brown slacks hanging off her hips. She wore a nice dark sweater with a deep vee in the front highlighting her cleavage, and a sizable cut out in the back. Flip flops. Flip flops. (Sorry, it needed saying twice.)

My competition was not interview wardrobe ready. And though I was informed that this was not the only group interview, how could I not beat out these two? In the interview-bar social competition… I was the slightly-drunk, easily-convinced-looking hot blonde in tight jeans and a halter top.



A few days later I got an email that I didn’t get the job. I think it was the wool skirt in July. Who would hire someone who wore a wool skirt in July? Shit.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

The Near Hire Fake Out

Fashion marketing! Want to join a growing company promoting our newest fashion and cosmetics client?



Why yes, I did! The dream job is fashion writing, I have two previous marketing jobs under my belt, why not design marketing campaigns for fashion?

I sent a freshly written cover letter, resume, and my portfolio at 2pm.
I was called for an interview at 2:45.

THEY LOVED ME. It only took them a little over a half hour to realize the brilliant level of my professionalism. Maybe they’ll hire me to LEAD the marketing campaign. Man, all those other businesses rejecting me just didn’t know a good thing when they saw it. And this PR firm boasts clients like The Steelers and The Penguins—they must be huge and obviously know their stuff!

The next day:
Power outfit: on.
Game face: on.

I drove to the address. Couldn’t find it…

…looking for signs.

Oh. Hm. That’s strange. This huge company is working out of an unmarked warehouse. That’s rather odd.

Oh. Hm. The secretary just handed me a clip board with a standard application on it. You already reviewed my resume and extensive portfolio before you called for an interview… shouldn’t you already know who I am?

Oh. Hm. This room is filled with 16 people waiting for interviews. Everyone who works here is in khakis, a polo shirt, and that spikey-douche hair. One man has a stack of these clip boards and calling people, back to back, into his office like he’s a doctor diagnosing warts.

Oh! That’s my name.

“Hi! My name is Hazel Jennings.”
“Hi Sarah. This is going to be really quick.”
“Okay… great,”
“We’re a marketing firm that is solely face to face. These entry level marketing positions are a great way to get started. Our representatives go into the retailers and malls, and direct our product directly to the consumers. What are your people skills from 1 to 10?”
“Probably a ten… in my previous experience at the Mary D’angl---“
“What makes you excited to go to work in the morning?”
“I think knowing that I’m getting the word out there on great events and products to people who’d love to hear about it. I…--“
“Okay great. Do you have any questions?”
“So, this isn’t a marketing campaign position, it’s a sales position?”
“It’s entry level.”
“Okay. Could you tell me what the compensation and benefits package is like for your full time employees?”
“It’s either salary vs. commission or hourly vs. commission depending on your selling potential. You can make anywhere from $7-$20 an hour depending on hard you work.”
“Who determines your payment?”
“The client and us and you.”
‘Excuse me?”
“Do you have any other questions?”
“No…”


run away… run away… run away…

I was just recruited to be one of those people who tries to sell you lotion in the mall when you’re trying to find jeans that fit your extremely odd body shape (or is that just me?).

Worst part? I didn’t even get called back for a second interview by the next day, like he said qualified candidates would. rejected from a job I didn't even want? I can't believe I wasted the half hour I spent putting on make up for your stupid fake interview.

Fml.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

I'm not going to lie.

Okay, here's the thing.

I read an article today in the paper while eating oreos and drinking coffee (even though I'm on a diet) about people burying upside down statues of St. Joseph in the yards of the houses they are trying to sell. He is, apparently, the patron saint of real estate (wtf, catholics?) and it will help your house sell.

I thought about how absurd this was. Then I read part of the article outloud to my boyfriend, whose house selling is the tipping point of us moving to a more habitable location. Ya know... just in case.

And today, I started an unemployment blog. It was to post all of the pieces I've been writing about job searching, a place to put a donate button and pay-per-click google ads (hey! go click one!), and a way to creatively justify my unemployment-- make something fun and creative out of it.

But then, I was scouring the internetz for jobs as I do for at least 10 hours every day and saw an opening for a hostess at a restaurant less than ten miles away. I apply for almost every job. Seriously. Nothing is below me. Besides, well, prostitution and fast food. Which is really the same thing, eh? No? okay. Whatever. Keep reading, my story isn't over yet.

I went in to apply to be rejected. I have no restaurant experience. My resume is full of writing jobs. Why would they want someone who is going to leave as soon as I get something that actually lines up with my background? I know the answer, but I just can't stop asking. It's a disease. It's called unemployment.

But then. The manager was really nice and his (I think) partner who also works there was going back to school for creative writing... focusing in creative nonfiction. An uproarious, animated, and enthusiastic conversation on Sedaris, Vowell, Ira Glass, and story telling in general later... I was hired. I start Tuesday at 5.

BUT. I still have an interview Monday at 6:30 to write about. And, I'm sure, this job will give me loads to write about... not unemployment but... underemployment? I mean, I've been studying and working toward a writing career for five years and I'm about to make minimum wage to seat people. Just because I'm technically "employed" doesn't mean that I am in my heart?

Besides, I have a ton of stories written over the past month. It's not like I've run out of material.

So, in conclusion...

1. Keep reading; I'm still unemployed in my heart.
2. need to find a job? start a blog about how you never will.
3. need to find a job? find ones where writers are hiring.
4. if you're in eastern Pa, bury an upside down statue of St. Joseph on W King street if you think of it. Thanks.

hit me with your best shot.

An open letter to restaurant and retail managers,

Don’t jerk me around, okay? I’ve been unemployed since May. It’s nearly August. I am fully aware that, educationally, I’m overqualified for this job. I also know, all too well, that I spent all my energy in college securing writing-intensive jobs to prepare for the working world and have absolutely no restaurant or retail experience to put on my application and am, therefore, under qualified. I get it. My full time job is rejection, I can take it from you.

I’ve gotten a full course of run-arounds, but yesterday, it got to be too much.

“Hi. I’m turning in my application for your open hostess position.” Man takes it and looks it over.
“Okay. I’ll have to discuss this with the other managers, and get back to you.”
“Can I schedule an interview now? Is the hiring manager in?” (word to other unemployeds, FORCE the interview.)
“Well, I’m the hiring manager. But. Stallingstallingstalling. I need to talk it over with the other managers.”
“Are you actively hiring hostesses?”
“Yes.”

Awkward moment of silence staring at each other.

He’s not hiring me.

“Can I call you sometime tomorrow to schedule the interview?”
“No. We’ll call you.”

I can seat people. I promise. I’m very friendly. I’m incredibly friendly and good at knowing where tables are and handing people menus. I hate you.

"Great! I look forward to hearing from you! Can I order a beer while I'm sitting here?"
"Uhm... yeah. Let me get the bartender for you..."

Call? I'll just stop by!

So, I recently applied for a technical writer position at a nuclear-technology company. It’s some type of nuclear I-don’t-know… but more importantly… they’re taking technical writers with 0-3 years experience.

While I was sitting in my office, working on my full time job-search, (my office is Panera. They have free wifi, unlimited refills on coffee, and sandwiches. About 46.7% of the people sitting in a Panera at any given moment are using it as their office) I decided to look up the number for the company, so I could call and follow up… ya know… show my tenacity and drive.

I called the general number, it just rang and rang without an answer nor a machine. Sadly, that was the only number I could find.

Good news! Their address was less than a mile from my high-powered corporate office. Waltzing in with a copy of my resume (yes, I do keep at least ten copies in my car at all times…I’m a professional) and my red I-mean-business-heels will certainly give me an edge over the other applicants.

Putting the address into my GPS, I leisurely drove over and turned onto a short access road… that lasted a half mile. Then I had to sign in at a little kiosk, which struck me as a bit odd.
I kept driving.

And then, suddenly, like New York City after the tunnel (except not as exciting because your best friends don’t live there and no one is about to take you out for the best night of your life) appeared four gigantic office buildings covered in the really official looking reflective mirror walls. You know, the ones on the really SERIOUS buildings.

After following six signs to “guest parking” I pulled in to see little pods of khaki and collared shirted awkward boys walking in groups of three or four, insulated lands’ end lunch bags in hand.

This idea sucked. But, damnit, I’m already here.

I walked up to the nearest building to see people using their ID’s to swipe in for access to the building. I stood at the large desk with a single female security officer sitting behind the desk. She was eating her lunch and didn’t notice me for a few moments.

“You didn’t even say anything!” she accused once noticing me.
Well, this company isn’t paying me… yet… I'm not going to do your job for you. “I was wondering if you could direct me to the HR office.”
“It ain’t in this building. Why do you need it?”
“Well, I recently applied for a position online, and I was looking to follow up.”
“You’re gonna have to go online.”
“I already did, that’s how I applied for the position.”
She scoffed and took out a huge blue three ring binder filled with laminated pieces of office paper. “You’re not going to believe this. This is the phone book.” She opened it to let me see the small print.
Look, lady, I already experienced the shock and awe of the overwhelming size of this office when I drove up here. I’m not stupid. I know these aren’t empty office buildings. I am completely aware that a lot of people work here. I'm trying to be one of them. “So, you have the number for the HR office?”
Another scoff, “No. It’s just last name and first initial. There are way too many people here to have their departments.”
Why are you so dissatisfied with your life? You’re employed. Stop being so angry! Now I’m getting angry at you being angry! “Well… with so many people working here, don’t you think that’s rather inefficient?”
“Excuse me?”
“Thank you” Get an answering machine for your phone. This company can afford it.

I left and went back to my car. Back at the office, I scoured the website for a number, even an email address to contact the HR or hiring department. Nothing.

Just dropping into the agency to follow up? FAIL.

how it all started... I should have known!

Dr. Reed told me that there are no limits to what you can do with an English major. Dr. Hosey explained that English majors learn how to problem solve. But, I decided to major in English after failing a cursive test during my second year in an Elementary Education major. I figured if I couldn’t write in cursive, perhaps I could analyze literature. I spent the remainder of my college career writing and interpreting the writing of others. And, if I do say so myself, I got really good at it. I now can explain that the oxford comma, or the comma that usually comes before the conjunction in a list, is no longer in common use… but that what matters most is that you stay consistent throughout your work. The world is at my hands! I just had to find a calling.
Gary Soto once said about his life after college graduation, “We were unsure what to do with the rest of our lives. We thought we should write for a living, but could never find that person who would give money for poems.”

I got an internship.

During my interview at PAPA Advertising my soon-to-be-boss explained, “Well, I’ve never taken an English major as an intern before… but I think you’ll be great. We need a great writer.” I excitedly nodded my head and had no regrets about my study of choice.
And then I started as the newest web-writing intern. I was shown my desk and ran my fingers over the letters on the keyboard, closed my eyes, and imagined the vice president being utterly blown away by my absolutely flawless writing skills. “You’ve brought our company to a whole new level, Hazel!” I imagined him saying with a proud and awed smile. “You are the best intern I’ve ever had. Thank god we hired an English major…”
But he didn’t say that at first… I mean (obviously) he hadn’t seen my mastery yet. He asked me to write a press release. “I’m sure you learned the standard format in your classes, “he asked casually.

I thought back to my education… okay, okay, okay… let’s see… Flannery O’Connor represents the Southern Gothic in her tale about Helga appearing in her infamous collection of short stories “A Good Man is Hard to Find” so… using this information I can say…

“… um… yeah, no I don’t know what the standard format is.”
“Well, look it up,” he replied while walking away.
I drafted the press release and emailed it to him and waited for his impressed response. An email bounced up in my inbox reading, “This isn’t what I want. Revise.”

This isn’t what you want, revise? Can’t you just give me a B- and I can talk shit about you at the bar with the other majors about how you don’t really know what you’re doing anyway? Better yet, can’t you just give me an A and I can walk away knowing that I am brilliant?

I revised. I resent. I received another email. “I don’t think you understand what we need. Let’s discuss.”

I am now finding, as I am almost finished with the internship that the phrase “Let’s discuss” means “you fail at life.”

The next week I was asked to sit in on a converged PR meeting. I’m not sure what converged PR is yet and I actually don’t think they do either so… all I know is it’s PR and the internet. Or something. Key words? I’m not sure. Anyway, you have to write a different kind of press release, that’s kind of like a regular release, but it’s called a web release and I still haven’t written one that I know if I did right yet. “Hazel, what do you think would be the best way to start a phased post-sales budget and action plan?” The whole table… and it was one of those dark wood glossy tables with the big black conference chairs with the high backs… looked at me. And in the conference room they had this coffee maker in the corner and I thought about all the interns I had heard about at other companies that weren’t allowed to speak and just made coffee for everyone and I envied them.
I tried to figure out what a phased post-sales budget and action plan was.

The work of William Shakespeare shows a lot of inconsistencies that are hard to decode through a biographical approach as much of his records have been lost… there are speculations that he may have come from a Roman Catholic family that was in hiding—we do know that his father owed the government quite a bit of money and these ideas of shame came across through several of his plays and…

no no no!

F. Scott Fitzgerald used the irony and humor in his short story “A Diamond as Big as the Ritz” to critique the American Dream during the roaring twenties as…

no!

Show, don’t tell! Victorian Gothic writers love windows and bad weather, Bigger Thomas is based on someone real, Moby Dick was not well received until after his death, Alexander Pope believed in strict censorship to ensure the quality of literature!”

“I don’t know what that is,” I heard myself say. My boss stared at me blankly. I could tell that he regretted hiring me.

The next week I was invited to sit in on a conference call with an Advertising Representative trying to sell a commercial spot to PAPA to use for one of our clients. I listened with my diligent pen and notebook to take detailed notes with questions and further ideas. I was getting the hang of this.

Channel One News, a news show designed for middle and high school students was pitching a commercial spot within their educational programming for cosmetics. The commercial would show while the students watched the programming in their schools. They explained that they know this commercial will have a good impact because they surveyed 16 and 17 year old girls not exposed to the advertising and 16 and 17 year old girls that were exposed to the advertising, and the second set had a 50% higher rating of brand recognition.
After the call, my boss asked me what I thought.


“I think we really confront the morality in question here. Is it ethical to be pushing cosmetics to girls not yet old enough to vote? In this period, young women are most self conscious of their appearance and perhaps we should be pushing them to value their intellects and personalities rather than the thickness of their eye lashes. As we move past the postmodern period in which authors like Jeanette Winterson really explored the idea of the confines of female body image, especially in the character dogwoman in her novel Sexing The Cherry, I think we should really be concerned about the kind of women we would be breeding with this style of advertising.”

No one said anything for a minute. My supervisor broke the silence, “Uhm.. well. I don’t really care about the morality. Do you think our message would reach potential clients?”

“Oh. No. All the students will be talking through it, just like we did during the announcements.”

And though my educational background has, perhaps, not quite prepared me for this internship the way my boss might have thought it did… I am thankful. Our web designer sent out the published link to a website he had finalized for one of our clients and asked everyone to look through it. He used the wrong form of “effect” twice. When I hopped upstairs to show him, he was relieved and excited that someone caught it… even though he didn’t get exactly what he did wrong.
And, of course, while working on one of those converged PR projects one of the graphic designers said, “wait…do you put a comma like after the last or.. no no the second to last thing when you’re like listing or…?”
I cut her off—“The oxford comma is the comma that traditionally comes after the second to last item in a list, before the conjunction. Though modern AP standards consider the oxford comma to be obsolete, it is most important to simply stay consistent through your work. However since we are working on PR materials, we should probably omit the oxford comma.”
“So.. um… no comma or?”
“No comma.”
She smiled, “Thanks, Hazel. I don’t know what we would do without you!”