Job Occupations that I've Said I Wanted to be: Cell Phone Retail Support, Pt. 2

Last time in this segment, I was prepared to start working an entry-level retail support position at a cell phone company. Even though I didn't feel strongly about my chances at the interview, I apparently convinced them to let me come on part time. My life was more awesome than it had been the day before, and the only thing that I had to do was wait for Human Resources to call me.

Well, that's the way I saw it, at least - the powers that be had other ideas. That call, which was supposed to come in a couple days, took about a week of waiting, and it was not what I expected it to be. According to HR, I had not technically been awarded a position - any misconceptions were the fault of the store managers. Instead, I found that I had to run through the gauntlet again, and that included a phone screening that I was not prepared for and had to put off for a couple of days.

Soon, I figured out why I hadn't heard any of the form interview questions the first time out, since HR had quite a few of them up their sleeves. They had a few more tricks as well, like taking away the benefits I was promised and putting me in further limbo as they interviewed other candidates. Alas, it was not to be, and after a while I just never heard back from the company again.

When I heard that said company hemorrhaged money during the last quarter, I felt a little vindicated, having gained knowledge of their practices. Their whole hiring procedure was a muddled mess, and I felt as if I had been lied to at several points. If that sort of leadership extended to the rest of the company, then they have serious issues that won't be solved by cheaper unlimited minute plans or smartphones named after robots.

I'm so smart

27/28, and the question I got wrong was worded awfully so that none of the answers were correct and I couldn't tell which one was least wrong of the two answers I could select from that made any sense. I felt like I was in Perkin's class all over again...

Oh well, maybe this means I get to be vice-president of the universe instead of copresident alongside the mummified remains of Hammurabi.

On the great struggle of avoiding standardized tests

So as unemployment reigns deep into my subconscious (and my Xbox! Aside from learning I'm a failure as an adult due to an inability to fend myself in this crazy 21st century world that makes no sense to me and my old fashioned 20th century ways, I'm also learning I get my ass kicked by 12 year old's at Call of Duty! Oh the lessons in humility that unemployment has brought unto are plentiful and cruel), I am attempting to get a part time job working for the census. It'll be boring, it'll be stupid, and I won't give a shit the whole time, but the government pays up to 20 bucks an hour to do it.

And for those of you sitting at home, I'd like that to be a true lesson on my generation. The moment anyone between the ages of 21 and 27 reads that last bit of that last sentence they instantly forgot about the stupid and boring part. And the boomer generation thinks we're slackers, what ho! We know what work is about, getting paid, hating it, going home and taking whatever drugs that you do to forget about it.

We know that's what our parents did the whole time they worked! We just won't deny it like they do!

Now that's what I call progress!

In any event, I learned that in order to obtain this census job you have to take a multiple-choice standardized test of 30 questions about filing in order to see if I'm qualified, what job I should get, and how much they should pay me. This won't demand a snide comment, I just want you to think long and hard about the fact that a standardized multiple choice test exists for filing (oh and alphabetization. Can't forget that valuable skill that oh so few people have, can we?)

I got a 620 on my verbal on my GRE (and a 710 on my SAT verbal. I'm so good at the English language it's like I'm a guy...who...is...smart...at...English)! That's what Harvard English Grad Students got on average on their GRE(I checked because I'm a smug bastard like that)! Is this really what my life on standardized tests comes down to? Alphabetization? Do I really need to be tested to know that people's names when filing go last name, first name?

After all the qualifications that I was forced to go through by government sanctioned measures, my placement in a government program comes down to how well I do on a standardized test that is essentially a dumbed down version of the tests the government was forcing me to take my whole life (we'll just pretend I went to public schools and had to take the MCAS repeatedly so I'll have an actual reason to feel slighted).

Holy shit, have I been living in Japan my whole life and noone told me? No wonder my penis is so tiny...

Coming Soon to This Very Blog!

Hey nonexistent readership,

Sorry I didn't post anything today - I spend more than a few hours packing my car full of stuff and driving back to Connecticut. However, I promise that there's plenty of stuff in the works. Of course, part two of my boring cell phone company story is forthcoming, but even more exciting features are in the works. Look out for Time (Mis)Management, a section on how to use your time while unemployed. Also, in order to create the most meme-tastic blog in existence, one must make a rap song. Will that actually be happening? Oh, just you wait and see...

(But really, my below amateur-level editing and production skills are being strained to create the sick beat that I'm working on. You're welcome.)

Job Occupations that I've Said I Wanted to be: Cell Phone Retail Support, Pt. 1

Like Bernie, it was only a certain amount of time (about four months) before my hopes and expectations began to dim and I started applying to any job that paid reasonably and didn't seem that demeaning.

The first job I interviewed for that made me feel like I really did have no standards anymore was a retail support position at a cell phone company that I will not name, in the interest of anonymity. I was called in for an interview at a high-volume, very visible, flagship store, and I was not impressed with what I saw inside. During the interview, the manager seemed utterly lost amid the myriad of papers and fast food remains on his desk. He unenthusiastically read off some questions from a packet supplied by corporate, which I answered to the best of my abilities. Halfway through, a few of the employees stormed into the break room, causing a ruckus and an embarrassing interruption. I was given the normal speech about the number of applicants he had to sort through and the amount of time until he would call me, and I went on my way, not wanting to work at that store no matter what the pay would be.

Little did I know that another company store would call me in for an interview for the same position. Expecting the worst, and having just had my spirits dampened by a terrible rainstorm which left me soaking wet, I walked in and was thoroughly impressed with the courtesy and professionalism displayed by both the employees and the manager, who led me into the back office. Their interview was less structured and more focused on finding the right fit for the personality of the store, which I definitely appreciated, and while I wasn't sure that the interview had gone well, I looked forward to hearing back from them.

And when I did, the offer of a part time position made me momentarily elated! However, that moment was just the beginning of another saga, which left me completely disheartened and angered with the working world. More on that still to come...

A Sidenote on Job Fairs

I just wanted to write a quick follow up on said Satanic ritual that Bernie expounded on earlier.

Like Bernie, I recently had my first job fair experience, and it was equally terrible. I did not even end up talking to any recruiters - most of the companies at the event had posted fliers to their displays advertising which jobs they were hiring for. Those jobs were either menial service sector positions (think Dish Network installer or manager of the local Dunkin Donuts - most likely my eventual fate, but I'm trying to forestall it) or more specific higher level careers, like radio station ad sales manager or software engineer. There were no entry level positions for the teeming mass of college graduates that filled the Colonnade hotel's event hall.

The desperation that filled the room caused a few of the attendees to do something that seems almost antiquated in this age of always-connected smartphones and blaring iPod earbuds: talk to strangers. In fact, for me, this was the most engaging part of the career fair. I met a few interesting people in line that day who (surprise, surprise) had it worse than me and were hoping for some shot at redemption. The first turned his head toward me to ask what time it was; from there, we began discussing what schools we went to and how long we had been looking for work. It turned out that he was a student from India who had traveled here to secure an MBA from Texas Tech, and since his school visa would be expiring soon, he needed an employer to sponsor him for a work visa.

The duo soon became a trio when a man with a ponytail and Cosby sweater interjected. I was taken aback when he asked me if I was cold, even though I was, not having the benefit of owning a topcoat. After some discussion of the nervousness that comes with interviewing and the things that will make a man teach science to little kids one day a week (marriage, apparently), a forth man came into the mix. An ex-army mechanic, he had been to many job fairs in the past couple of months, and his pace hadn't slowed.

I saw all three of the men that I met at some point later that day, as I wandered around the convention hall looking for some reason, any reason to hand off a resume. I hope that, unlike me, they managed to break through the long lines and recruiters' glares in order to find some meaningful employment. However, I can only assume that the most that any of us got out of that experience was a few minutes of company, and the reassurance that everyone was looking at the same fucked-up situation.

Job Occupations that I've said I wanted to be: I Want to be an Embryologist

There are few sadder moments in anyone's life than the realization that you are telling a complete stranger that what job they are offering to you is the single greatest thing you could possibly be doing despite having never considered this career path and recognizing all the reasons why you never ever would want to consider that career path and yet, at that moment, and for those few second you're saying it's the greatest job ever, something inside of you breaks down and you almost believe yourself.

This my friends is the cunning Satanic ritual that is the job fair.

So here's Bernie W.'s feature presentation of Job Occupations that I've said I wanted to be. An insider look into the possible thought process one would have to have in order to actually want the job I just told someone I would be ideal for and have always wanted since I was...an embryo...

Ahem

As I stand on the sixth floor of the Radisson hotel and hand some random Asian dude my resume and stare at fertility, Inc (or whatever the fuck it was called. The amount of repressed memories that these episodes will produce in me could have kept Freud or some second rate TV psychic employed for at least a decade. Hey, that's a great idea for a job, Drew you should get on that), and listen how this entry level lab adminstrator job could lead to eventually being an Embryologist, and this man while shaking my hand asks, "How would you feel about becoming an Embryologist?" and right then my mind, in that brief moment between call and response, revealed everything I'm about to say in these following paragraphs, only without words, and at the time I didn't need to drink myself into forgetting like I'm doing now.

Who the fuck wants to be an Embryologist? I mean, seriously, no one as a kid says, "hey I'd really like to artificially inseminate some eggs in a test tube. What a great job, I'm going to help out humanity so fucking much!" Mostly because kids don't know to use the word fucking. But even if they did, I somehow doubt their response would involve something along the lines of "Well you know since I once was an Embryo, I've always had an affinity for Embryo's and I've always wanted to create more Embryo's, because they're like little me's!". Maybe you could get away with a, "As a test tube baby, I've felt like it's my job to help other test tube babies!" But I doubt that happens much. Sadly, like most of my human race brethren, I was an Embryo started inside my mother's uterus. And if for some reason I wasn't, I doubt my parents, like most people, would have told me. Because who the hell wants to know that? So what possible reason could someone really want to say, "You know I've always wanted to be an Embryologist! It truly is God's work. You know Jesus was like the first test tube baby! In fact, being an Embryologist is kind of like being God! Yes, I want this job to be like God. No, to be God. YOU CAN MAKE ME A GOD RANDOM ASIAN MAN ON THE SIXTH FLOOR OF THE RADISSON HOTEL" No, fuck all that. You become an Embryologist because it's a kinda interesting job that pays pretty well.

That may friends is the epitome of the American experience. You'll never get great, you'll probably get crap, but if you can pull off kinda interesting that pays pretty well, you're mother fucking golden. That's all I want! That's all anyone wants! Noone loves their job! The best you get is kinda interesting, pays well. I know it! You know it! That Asian dude at the job fair knows it!

But can I say this? No. Can I just explain that if you're willing to pay me I'll care about anything, that that's the point of money? No.

So I stand and with a nervous laughter that only comes from realizing you're surrounding by a hundred people who are probably way better actors than you and I say, "You know, I've always wanted to be an Embryologist."

And then I die a little inside, because I almost believe it even though I know it's a whole cattle ranch worth of bullshit.

And then I remember there's a reason I drink. A good reason. I'll now blame Embryologists for why I drink. Those fucking bastards.

Unemployed Bachelor Cuisine: Variations on an Easy Mac Theme

Since every good blog has features, I'll go ahead and start one up. Unemployed Bachelor Cuisine will look at ways to eat well at a low cost.

As an unemployed person, it is important to watch your food budget and make decisions that result in getting the most food for your dollar. On the flip side, though, you want to spice up your foods so that you aren't just eating something bland and depressing.

Easy Mac, a bachelor staple, can fit into that latter category. While the combination of cheese and pasta has always been known as delicious, there are only so many ways that manufacturers have boxed it up. If those little easy mac bowls in the cupboard are starting to get you down, here's a suggestion for classing it up a bit: add a little seasoning!

I'll share a couple of my favorite multi-use seasonings with you. The first is Montreal Steak Seasoning, which, as the name implies, is usually utilized to flavor meat. That's not the only thing it is capable of spicing up, though - in Easy Mac, it'll add a nice kick, and it goes great on salmon as well. So while it might seem like an expensive option, it's important to recognize how many things you can use it for.

On the cheaper end of the scale, Badia's cajun seasoning has been invaluable to me. Tucked away in the ethnic section of your local supermarket, Badia's seasonings are a low-cost alternative to other established brands. Like Montreal Steak, it'll kick up your Easy Mac another notch. Additionally, it'll add a subtle layer of flavor to other cheap eats. For instance, I make a mean barbecue chicken by taking thighs and drumsticks, liberally coating them with cajun seasoning, browning the skin in an olive oil-coated skillet, covering them with barbecue sauce (your choice of brand and variety) and then throwing them in the oven for about 30-35 minutes at 375.

Check back for more bachelor cuisine updates, and also take a gander at my inspiration for this feature, Budget Bytes. I can almost guarantee you that I will be writing about her chili at some point in the future.

An introduction, one last stand

Well, it looks like I have showed up a little late for the party on this one - Bernie already got this blog off to a rousing start. Hopefully, I, Drew, can continue to convey the same frantic, spastic energy that Bernie has.

First, let's rewind to May 2008, when it all began. College graduation was upon us, and the world was our oyster. Or, at least, it would have been under different circumstances. Little did we blue-robed graduates know that the world we expected to be there was about to be pulled out from under us, and instead of working together to create a new and better world full of green energy and breakthrough technology, we entered into a vicious dogfight, drooling and barking over the scraps of a broken job market.

I can't begin to express how strange it is to be reading about the collapse of the financial system (and everything that goes with it) while you're expecting to get your start in the world. By some combination of luck and skill, I managed to make it out of the cave that first time, and in a way that made me feel like I was progressing toward something greater. At a small Connecticut nonprofit (which shall remain unnamed), I did the kind of work that Bernie so desperately desires - making and taking an epic amount of phone calls, shouldering project assignments, doing slave work, and generally sucking up.

I knew it would just be a first step - the world of nonprofit organizations is notoriously tough to break into - but I didn't know that the second step would make for such an impossible climb. The closer I looked into what I had gotten myself into, the less fortuitous it seemed. I never minded the sheer volume of work that made up my day, but the division of it plunged me into office politics that I otherwise would have stayed out of. Indeed, the whole structure of the office was not ready for another person, as the same few people had worked together for so long; additionally, talk of money problems began to surface behind closed doors. My hours were reduced (instead of raised, as promised), and from there, the writing on the wall became visible.

That was March of last year, and my life has taken some strange directions since then. Even with so much talk of a bad economy around me, I thought that there still must be some strategy that would get me a new job. Despite a move to the Boston area, where the grass seemed greener, that job never showed its face to me, and now I find myself in a near-empty room, weeks from making another move back home.

Where do I go next? I'm not even sure about that. It seems like a bad time to take any step - the job market at home is still unsatisfactory, graduate programs are expensive, and, for the life of me, I can't seem to figure out what it is that I really want to do. Thus, this blog was born, as an outlet for energy and a cure for boredom. Stay tuned for more posts examining the unemployed life from all angles.

Dear Obama

So maybe I'm a year too late from when people used to stand up at townhall meetings bitch about not having a job to candidate Obama and then through the magic of television magickry the news would explain that their dreams of having an entry level position at some crappy company for little pay and little time off finally came true as a result of complaining to Obama.

I want that to happen to me!

So maybe on this small blog started by my fellow angry good man Drew, I can harness that Obama energy into guilting someone into giving us some sort of employment. I have a Psych degree, experience working in an office, I worked 5 years at the same restaurant/bar working my way up to a management position (head night club bartender bitches), research skills, I type at 90 words a goddamn minute (thanks Mario Teaches Typing! I owe you one.), what the fuck! I'm a good guy, I don't steal, I don't do drugs (anymore...), I always have a designated driver, I've never cheated on my girlfriend, my parents haven't had the urge to disown me, I can play a lot of instruments, I'm friendly to people on the Train, I helped an old lady cross the street once when I was 12, I've never thrown a punch in my life (granted it's because I'm a pussy...but isn't that what you want in an employee? A modicum of passivity to deal with the mind numbing horrors that is employment in 85% of fields that don't involve puppies, strippers, fireworks, or alcohol?), I've never visited a prostitute or worked as one, I work hard at crappy things, what else am I supposed to be?

Look for 30 grand a year and 2 or 3 weeks vacation I will be your slave! Apparently that's not enough any more! I have to fake like every crappy entry level job is the single greatest thing I could have ever been doing, just like everyone else. I'm not an actor! I can't fake that much interest! I'm doing it for the money! That's why everyone works! Noone likes it! It's money people! That's all I want...

I used to have ideals. I used to have morality. I used to be a good guy. Now look at me, ranting on some crappy blog about how noone wants to pay me to do anything. That's what you did to me job searching! You've ruined me. And until someone decides that this fiery passionate passivity makes me an ideal candidate for their position, I think I'm screwed.

So Obama! Use your magic that you apparently had a year ago to get random schmucks a job! I'm as good of a random schmuck as you'll ever find! And I know you read all these blogs all the time in between plotting your apparent communo-islamic-fascist-empty suit take over of America I keep hearing about from Glen Beck, so help me out here! All I want is the dignity to get paid an okay salary to do a fairly mind numbing job! Is that too much to ask for in this life? Apparently it is...

Oh well, I guess it might be time to take I've never been a prostitute off this list soon...