joeyfullystated

I’m just jumping in and we’ll see where I land. I understand y’all may not want to read a lengthy post about jobs, yet here I am. I don’t blog for you.

Okay, so when I was young and single, it was not uncommon for me to work two or even three jobs at a time. Work all day at school or office, and when available, cold call for insurance guy in the evening. Then on weekends, deliver pizza.

When I was job-oriented, it was a different time. I went to places with signs reading NOW HIRING APPLY WITHIN, filled out an application for employment (this was on paper, we used our hands to write then) and a manager would speak to me, sometimes to schedule an interview, but mostly, people simply hired me on the spot.
I was not special. This happened to most of my friends in the olden days.
On Sunday, you could get your dad to save the classified section from the newspaper (A newspaper is a folded paper catalog of current events, articles, entertainment, and photos created by people called journalists.) I don’t have time to discuss the evolution of journalism, so let’s focus on those classifieds. Want ads, we called them.
“Drivers Wanted Call XXX-XXXX and ask for Jack.”
More professional ads might include licenses or typing requirements with “Send Resume to XXX Business Park Drive Suite XXX, ATTN: Sue Worker-Bee.”

For an actual job interview, women were expected to appear in a skirt, hosiery, and closed-toed shoes. This was all-important to modesty and professionalism. You wouldn’t dream of wearing anything sleeveless, low-cut, above the knee, or flashy. You might not get the job if you wore perfume, too much make-up, or bow clips on your shoes. No, you pulled your hair away from your face, put on your pearl earrings, and well, basically, you dressed like someone had died, but smiled like you were happy about it. I was always good at this, because even at 19, I looked like everyone’s school marm.
Men wore suits and ties to interviews.
It was a very long time ago. We almost never saw anyone’s underwear in those days.

It was a serious time then, when your resume was black on white or black on cream and printed to fit one page. Having pages plural in your resume implied that you were extremely well-educated and had decades of experience, which could land you in the overqualified pile. If you used colored ink on your resume then, people would think you were some sorta special idiot who obviously didn’t take herself seriously enough to get a job.

These days, if there’s a NOW HIRING sign that means you go online to apply. You can literally walk into a place, say you’re looking for a job, tell a manager you have ten years of experience, and he’ll send you to a computer to apply.

These days, most jobs are advertised online. You fill out an online application, you email your resume, take a series of personality tests, answer surveys about your skills and experience, and some computer’s algorithm has a look-see and emails you congratulations for being considered or rejects you in such a brutal way that you almost miss that guy who dumped you on your birthday. Mostly, you don’t get anything.

In the days when people used landlines and 3.5″ disks, it was rare anyone needed a second interview and regardless, the interviewer usually said something like, “We’ll let you know by Friday.” This meant that if no one called you by Friday at 6, you didn’t get the job. Now, you might have six interviews over the course of six months. You can’t get excited about it until they ask for your urine or tell you they’ve sent for your background check.

I discovered all this when my husband returned to civilian life. I’ve seen it replayed over and over with other friends and family as well.
Unless you know an actual person at the job, or match the computer’s algorithm bullet point by bullet point, you probably won’t get the job.

For some time I had the luxury of looking at jobs. I’m a good skimmer, I could get a job skimming job ads and linking them to people who might be qualified. I didn’t see any ads for that.

Single, childless me lingered over jobs that married mother me shook her head at.

Large businesses seem to use their want ad as free advertisement. Many of them are like bad state schools that won’t accept your transfer credits. Oh, you have experience with fire, but not our fire. Our fire is hotter and brighter and it will burn people like you.

Most jobs involve a lot of acronyms. Those are not jobs for me. I don’t even know what RAM stands for. (Something Memory. Probably not Radium.)

Some jobs are just downright hysterical. They may as well read Abandon all hope of being treated like a person, get divorced, surrender your children, and move into the office because you will live here, and for this, we will pay you slightly less than you made at your lemonade stand in 1983.

Some of these jobs, I can’t even tell what they do. They ensure the blargle on the doohickey and oversee the hrmnr of the lala while maintaining the thingamabobs with an emphasis on the whatchits. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I know the words, I simply can’t understand the work.  I presume pay is commensurate to one’s experience with unicorns and magic mushrooms.

A lot of them, and I do mean a lot of them, have been there every time I’ve looked in the past three years.
There’s a certain doctor’s office that can’t seem to keep a receptionist to save its life. I’d be lying if I said I don’t kinda wanna feign a need to find out what the hell is goin on over there.

But then, see, I was planning to start looking for a job come August. The girls are going back to school in August you know. To the same school, at the same time. August would be a mighty good time to start looking for a job.
But I don’t have to look, because I got a job.

I got a job the same way I always have, it fell into my lap. I wasn’t looking for it. It wasn’t in the want ads. I happened into it the way I happened into so many other circumstances.

I really believe that. Yes, this was a bit earlier than expected, not the ideal time, but it is an ideal job.
Okay, so I’d rather have Anthony Bourdain’s job, or maybe earn a dollar for every point I make in Scrabble, but in reality, this job is ideal.

You probably wanna know what my job is but I won’t be blogging about it.

I am willing to share my personal happiness about some of it, during This Most Auspicious Time.
I can take the girls to school in the morning.
It’s a quiet, professional environment.
My boss is a democrat.
I am paid more than I made at my lemonade stand in 1983.
I wear jeans on Casual Friday.
I do not have to wear a name tag and have people sing “Jolene” at me.

So nice for Joeys.

It’s quite the novelty after 10 years of being at home. The other day, I put gas in my own car, like some real woman of the world.

Tell me your about your job hunting experiences?