Here's to jobs that pay the rent

Ah, the joys of retail. Only in retail can you find the delightful combination of customers who:

a) expect you to grovel at their feet because they deign to shop at your store.
b) scream and yell at you because you are the "face" of the corporation [regardless of whether or not it's actually your fault that they're upset]
c) leave unidentifiable objects behind in your store that you wouldn't want to touch with a nine foot pole and a vat of anti-bacterial goo
d) believe that you know what they're looking for when they don't say a word
e) buy hundreds of dollars worth of merchandise, wear it to an event, and then return it three days later [and there's nothing you, as an associate, can do]
f) think that "retail sales associate" is code for "less than human"
g) pity you because you're stuck in the mall whereas they work in the high rise down town

So, I tried to get a "real" job. Really, I did. Could I have tried harder? Always. But while I was trying, the bills kept coming. So, I took a slice of humble pie and applied to be an hourly retail employee in the mall despite graduating college and receiving my B.A. with honors.

Part of me wonders why I can't get a job...even an office drone job a la "Office Space". Surely my degree is worth something, isn't it? Apparently, not yet. To get a basement-level job in my field of study, I need at least a Masters degree. I wanted a "real" job so I could save money and go to grad school. That "real" job was given to business majors who spent their last semesters in various internships. I can partly understand that reasoning - the business majors will no doubt make careers of their office-jobs whereas I just want to use it to bank as much cash as possible for grad school.

Well, now I'm saving pennies [literally] for grad school while working full time in retail. It's definitely NOT where I envisioned I would be six months after graduation. It's definitely WAY less money than I thought I'd be making six months after graduation.

But at least I have a job of some sort. At least it's a decent environment to work in [despite being in a mall].

I haven't stopped looking for a "grown up" job, though. Now that I'm trained at this job and I am comfortable in the situation, I have turned my attention back to the job hunting field to try to find a salaried position as opposed to an hourly position.

I haven't given up on grad school either. I'm taking the GRE in two months. And I'm still planning on starting school next year. How am I going to pay for it? Well, I'll tackle that as it comes. There's always loans if all else fails.

I'm off to deal with customers, fa la la la la la la la.

Brownies & Bridget Jones

Another Valentine's Day is drawing to a close. Walmart and Target are counting up the day's profits made on flowers and cards and candy while couples across the world are getting all dressed up, ready to go "out on the town". This is the holiday which leaves most of the (female) single population rather peeved.

I'm glad to say that as one of those single females, I'm ringing in the holiday with bells on. Ok, maybe more like sweats, slippers, the latest Bridget Jones movie, and a warm pan of Chocolate Raspberry Cheesecake Brownies. I have faith that the eliptical trainer and the crunches will still be waiting for me tomorrow.

Actually, I found myself magnetically drawn to that little pink link on Yahoo!'s homepage: Personals. I've found I'm a huge sucker for marketing...to the point where I almost feel like a lab rat on a neverending wheel chasing the proverbial cheese. Today, that cheese was the Yahoo! Personals.

Now, I don't think I'm especially picky when it comes to the "Search" for guys. In fact, I'm pretty darn laid back towards it all. I only entered three search reaquirements for the Personals...and I got a whopping 2 people who matched my query.

Two, folks...two.

I decided to stop browsing the Personals after that. Not because of the depressing search results. Not because I was depressed that I'm eating chicken with my family as opposed to steak with a significant other. Not because the rest of the world probably thinks I'm a huge loser.

No, the fact was that there were just too many similarities between the Yahoo! Personals and my daily job search regimen. Filling out search criteria, various internet forms, scrolling through results, encountering words like "query" and "fill in all required blanks" and "thank you, your form has been submitted". So after nearly breaking out into a job-hunt-related panic attack, I decided to leave the Personals searching to more dedicated souls.

That said, I wish those with significant others out there a Happy Valentine's Day. After all, what with the flowers, the candy, the cards, the expensive dinner...ya'll have way more to worry about than I do.

My "Singles' Awareness Day" will be much better spent watching men's Olympic figureskating and eating brownies with Bridget Jones.

Couldn't ask for much more than that.

Job Hunt Safari

I almost died. Right then. Right before I typed this sentance.

I almost choked to death on my reheated coffee.

Of course, let's not forget why I had to go get that dose of caffeine in the first place. The job hunt. It's a dreadful thing, really. The job hunt, that is, although reheated coffee is also quite awful in its own way. The modern job market sucks rocks. Big, sharp, angular rocks. Each morning when I wake up it's looming before me. Forget jeans and a t-shirt, it's the camoflauge vest, safari boots, goofy hat, and rifle that are hanging up in my closet now.

Oh, there are tons of jobs out there to be had. I visit numerous websites and information thingies each day which show me the cornucopia of employment possibilities. There's a Research Assistant grazing by the strange looking tree; there's a Dead-End Office Flunkie taking a break at the watering hole; better take cover, there's a stampede of Fill-In-The-Blank Technicians heading straight our way!

Sitting behind my resumé bush, I rip off a resumé and load it into my rifle, take aim, and shoot the Research Assistant. Ever so politely, the R.A. catches my resumé and informs me, "Thank you for your interest, but a Master's Degree plus 2-5 years experience is preferred."

Not a problem for the Flunkie is still availing itself of the watering hold. I hide behind the resumé bush and fire a round of resumés at the Flunkie. I miss. The ever-courteous Flunkie lifts its head from its beverage to inform me, however, that I need at least two certifications and two to five years experience before I can be considered.

Ok, so it's down to a hail-mary pass. The stampede of Technicians are headed back my way. There's at least 40 of 'em, odds are good I'll snag one. Aim, Shoot, Fire. A Technician stops stock still in its path. "We'd like to talk to you at a mutally convenient time."

HALLELUJAH, AMEN!

I, ladies and gentlemen, have a job interview.

I talk to the Technician and its friends, graze around with 'em a bit, go back behind my resumé bush to wait until they decide. A few weeks later the stampede rumbles by me and my resumé bush. I hear a voice holler as the stampede rushes by, "Thanks for your interest but we're looking for somebody a bit more experienced with at least 2-5 years in the industry. Good luck with your career endeavors!"

As the sun sets over the plains of the Job Hunting Plains, I scream, "Does nobody hire straight-outta-college grads? How the bloody hell am I going to get 2-5 years experience without somebody hiring me in the bloody first place?!" My loud complaint disturbs the large flock of the Administrative Assistants who fly away, voicing their distress. "If I wanted to be an A.A. I wouldn't have spent $80,000 on college in the first place!" I holler after them.

I pack my resumé gun, boots, vest and goofy hat back into my closet and change into the infinitely more comfortable jeans, t-shirt, and knee socks and go down into the kitchen. After the trying ordeal on the Job Hunting Plains, I feel too defeated to make a new pot of the stuff so I zap breakfast's leftovers in the microwave.

Maybe I should have made a new pot of coffee after all...

Pink Plastic Paperclip

If it were even remotely healthy, I would have caffeine in the form of freshly brewed coffee introduced intravenously into my bloodstream. Drinking the stuff can be downright inconvenient at times. I mean, first you have to fill the carafe with water, then scoop the beans, and then wait (in my case, impatiently) for the coffee to brew. Once it's brewed you have to wait for it to cool enough so you don't burn off the few remaining taste buds you have left after the unfortunate sip of boiling hot coffee which burned off the majority the day before.

An IV drip would be much more convenient, don't you agree? That was certainly my first thought as I grabbed a 100 calorie granola bar (which don't even remotely fill you up, in case you were wondering), a travel mug of fully caffeinated coffee, and my job application and headed out the door for my drive into the city. Well, I would have liked to start my drive except for the half inch layer of ice encrusting my entire vehicle. I must have made a thoroughly entertaining sight attacking the ice, slinging my ice scraper like a knight wielding his sword against a dragon. Only, I'm sure the knight wouldn't be wearing three inch high heels and a business suit. But who am I to dictate fashion to a knight of the realm?

Finally getting on the road, I switched from fighting ice to fighting traffic. As the traffic invariably crept to a rush-hour halt, I opened my pristine folder to check for the umpteenth time that my 20 something page job application (which was held together with my pink plastic coated paperclip) was included in the mess of paperwork. I shook my head at the flight of fancy I had had the night before - my pink paperclip matched the pinkish red border of the job application. How quaint. Anything to get the job, right?

Pushing pink paperclip ponderings from my head, I navigated the maze that is the downtown of a city only to realize that the parking garage in which I was instructed to park had been closed down temporarily. Not wanting to be late, I swung into the nearest public parking garage, shed a few tears at the cost of parking, and set off on the hike to get into the building.

I was going to be late. Crap.

I set off at a quick clip, giving in to the inevitability of sore feet and messed up hair. By the time I entered the building, however, I realized that wind-blown hair could be fixed and may even be fashionable. Sacrificing my feet to the high-heel shoe gods, however, was not such a smart thing to do. It was going to be a long day.

Thankfully, most of the day would be spent sitting down. Granted, I'd be sitting down in front of multiple people grilling me like the meat of the day, but after a mile walk in those shoes, that was alright by me. The high-heel shoe gods were angry...best to stay off my feet so I didn't anger them any more.

I said good bye to my application with its matching pink plastic paperclip and met my interviewers with a handshake and a smile. After one incredibly delicious cup of coffee, several interviews, and a meal, I began the long walk back to my car. Were the interviews successful? I hoped so. It seemed like a good place to work and everybody seemed to enjoy their jobs. This overt job-enjoyment on the part of the employees was such a novel thing and scored major brownie points (although, I like cups of coffee better than brownies, no matter the drug-like properties of chocolate) with me. I will await the yea or nay news with crossed fingers and a curiosity as to whether this will be my future.

The high-heel shoe gods did not want me forgetting their displeasure, no matter the promising prospects of a new career. I reached the stairs which would take me to the level where my de-iced car had been awaiting my arrival only to find that the stairs were locked. Wandering around an empty parking garage in shoes that were threatening to lop off my toes was a frustrating but unavoidable inconvenience. I began my trek through the garage struggling to keep my thoughts on the observance of the cars I might one day afford. Struggling to keep my thoughts on my pretty pink plastic paperclip, hoping that its travels through the labyrinth that was the office building didn't immediately end up in an anonymous trash can. Anything to keep my mind off the ever increasing pain that caused by the female torture of high heeled shoes. Finally, I reached my car and slid into the front seat with a mentally and physically exhausted sigh. It had been a long but, hopefully, successful day.

As I merged onto the freeway, I hoped that this would be the only job interview I would have to go through. Unfortunately, that would probably be too good to be true. I revised my thought pattern and hoped that this would be one of only a handful of job interviews I would have to go through before landing a decent job.

But, then...the more applications I filled out, the more opportunity for my other multi-colored paperclips to traverse the corporate world.