Thursday, March 8, 2012

The Searching

Looking for work was a real adventure.

A common theme over the last half of my life has been people talking about Things Sure Aren't What They Used To Be. I've heard this applied to music, fashion, dating trends, cars, Interstate travel and now that it's been around long enough, even technology. Here's my story.

The first time I went looking for a job, I was nine, or ten. Dad was away fighting a war, mom was at home fighting to keep the house, the car and dog (and me, presumably). I was unhappy with going to her for my walkin' around money. I figured I'd get out there and sell myself to the highest bidder, and build my fortune by sweeping out back rooms, folding-up empty boxes, stacking palettes or something like that. I walked up and down Norfolk Avenue, stopping in dime stores and shoe stores and even the women's clothing stores, asking to see the manager. The manager of Hested's was the nicest. He sat me down in the back, in his cluttered little office, and explained that he didn't really have anything, right now. But he really admired my initiative. Still, there were laws about this kind of thing and he suggested I might have to wait six or seven years for something to open up. Maybe I would be better off washing cars, mowing lawns or babysitting, he told me. Why, a kid in his neighborhood seemed to be making good money picking up the land mines left by neighborhood dogs. But I couldn't, by law, get a real job, yet. I ran home and cried. I would be poor the rest of my life.

My first job was working for ninety cents per hour at the Double-KK restaurant, washing dishes. I knew a couple of waitresses there and someone put in a good word for me. It wasn't a lot of money, but I worked hard to keep everyone happy and only broke one glass the whole time I was there.

One evening, my dad and I were at the mall, getting haircuts. Across the mall was a music store with a selection of guitars. Since I was going to be a guitar star, this interested me, and we walked over there, while waiting for our chairs to open up. The owner was behind the counter, frantically ringing-up sales of 8-Track tapes and 45rpm records and a few albums. There were people wandering through his selection of organs and pianos, and a few standing near the in-car stereo display and fiddling with the knobs of the home units, too. Dad and I waited for several minutes at the guitars, while he finished. I was explaining to dad how the pickup was like a little microphone and all of the noise came out of this little plug, down here and so on, when he guy finally came up to us, breathlessly asking "How may I help you?"

I said, "Well, we came in here looking at guitars, but now it occurs to me that you might need some extra help, behind the counter". He looked at the customers for pianos, car stereos and home stereos, kind of winked at dad and asked me when I could start. I told him two weeks and he asked me if $1.25 was good enough? I told him it sounded great and we shook hands. I got a thirty-eight percent raise and a job selling music, just for asking. Kewl!

That's how it went, for me. Walk straight in, look the guy (or gal) in the eye, give 'em a firm handshake and make the deal. That's not how it's done, now.

Today, everything is on computer, of course. This is fine, if you have everything you need in the proper format and all of the necessary key words and so on. But if your situation is the least bit unusual, or unconventional, it's a hard system to work.

In the case of the really big employers, you need to have an account on file, first. Before you can even apply for a job, you have to fill out form after form, attesting to this and that, explaining how much you know about these and those, telling of where you've been and when and for how long and all of the rest. Once you're in the machine, then you can apply for jobs with the click of a button.

Now, that part I really like. Instead of having to get dressed-up, shave, put on a tie and drive downtown to meet with the manager who has only seven minutes before her next meeting and can't tell you anything, anyway, you can now apply for a job in your undies, at 10:30 at night, as kind of an afterthought on your way back to the TV from the fridge. But it has its drawbacks, too.

I've seen ads that look like little portraits of me. "We're seeking a fat guy, with Web experience and a whole lot of patience and charm, to teach our employees how to do stuff on their computers that we need done." Hey! That's me! I fire off an application, but a day or two later comes an automated reply saying I didn't meet the qualifications, somehow, or that there were better, fatter candidates out there and they went with one of those. Quite often, I don't even get an interview. These are the most unnerving because there's no way you can argue or explain. The process is over. Thanks for playing, here's a copy of our Home Game. A firm handshake doesn't amount to much, any more.

I went to the So You've Been Fired seminar. It was actually quite good. Some folks from the Department of Labor (Dad's old haunt) were there, some from University HR, and about half of us who had been shot on 11/9th. We spent several minutes catching up. Who had been let go. Who had already found a job, and where, and so on. They told us not to lose hope. They told us this was one of the worst job markets anyone had seen since the recession of the early-middle 1970s and early 1980s. They told us our benefits would run out in three months. That sounded like a generous amount, to me, and it still does and I'm supremely happy to have worked for an outfit that did that. I know a lot of places where you're escorted to the door and... that's just it. I'd continue to get paid and insured and retired for the next three months while I scrambled to look for something else. Okay, great. But they made a big deal out "three months" as if they thought we'd all need it or something. I'd worked with these people for years and they're among the finest I've seen anywhere. Certainly he, and she and even me wouldn't still be looking in March?

It felt really good to apply for that first job. Now, instead of unemployment happening to me, I was happening to it! I practiced looking the computer monitor square in the middle and firmly clicking on the mouse, "Apply". One-two-three... and the next morning came my first rejection. And I was elated! I knew this wasn't really personal. I just didn't have all of the right glyphs on the right electronic page for them. They knew nothing about me, personally. So that made it all a numbers game. And if it was my fate to need 47 rejection slips before I found my first "We'll take you!" then I already had one! Let's go!

But it quickly got old. I'd get up, like they said at the seminar. I'd continue to shave, like they said. I'd even continue to get dressed, like they said. But nothing I did seemed to help. Everyone was on their own timetable and running their own little kingdom where they got to set the rules. I'm a terrific trainer, but I don't have a degree. Some places wanted one but would settle for someone with a lot of experience. Others wanted all kinds of education and certification and only wanted to pay burger-flipper money. It was weird. There were a few jobs out there that I would be terrific at, though, and I applied for those. Then I applied for the ones I'd be good at and then a few that, well, I could do.

Within a few days, I was getting calls for interviews. These of course bring their own challenges. But I'd always been good, one-on-one. I wasn't worried. Then came the rejection slips: two, three, five. And I still hadn't heard from this one or that one, yet.

Finally, I got a telephone screening interview. And then a Come Meet The Troops interview and then a Come Meet The Brass interview and... finally... an offer!

Sort of.

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