07 February 2003

Some more observations because I'm sick of myself and I want to dump a little of it out. I have so many things that I want to do. Like write. And see my friends. And do my stupid yoga DVD with Rodney Yee of the tight Spandex shorts and the generous gifts from God. All of it. And I shouldn't be complaining that I'm not doing them, because the reason I'm not doing them is that I'm busy, and one main reason I'm busy is that I am still (knock wood) employed, and this, my friends, is a good thing.

But so much shit is just not good.

I've bitched about work a lot, but I don't think I've told the whole story, so I'll try to - keeping it, of course, tight and anonymous. I've learned some things about writing, anyway.

So I'm 18, and my dad works for Big Fancy Corporate-Drone place (hereafter referred to as BFCD, which handily also stands for Big Fucking Cocksucking Dicks, and you'll note that job insecurity is also making me curse like a truckdriving sailor who mixes her idioms). Dad got me a job there. Yes. True. Dad working there got me a job... in the factory, filling tubes of facial cleanser. So I spent a summer in workboots and protective goggles, learning exactly why it is important to Get a College Education.

The next summer (all other parallel gainful employment aside) Dad mentions that a person he's working with has a boss who needs an intern. So I send boss my resume, and get an internship. Is this getting a job because of whose kid I am? I didn't think it was, but I have realized that yes, people much more important than I am think that it is. And, perception being everything in public relations, so it is.

I intern that summer, between soph and junior year, and I stick around, summers and breaks and during some semesters.

I graduate in January 2001 (continuing gainful employment aside) and become very freaked out because my living situation, my job prospects, and, increasingly, my sanity, are tenuous at best. In March I get offered a 2-year contract with BFCD, turn it down because it's with Bad Reputation Boss (sorry, I can't think of a humorous second acronym, DIY here), and turn around and accept it a couple of weeks later because I am scared as hell of unemployment.

For the first six months at BFCD, I cry every single day on the way to work, and usually on the way back too. I've got an hour-long commute each way, so it helps fill the time. I am singularly, clinically, unstoppably miserable. I make my boyfriend miserable. I make the security guard who has to see me twice a day miserable. I probably make potted plants miserable. But I am stubborn, and I am still scared of Jobless Hell.

But I get through it, and Sous-Boss arrives, becoming a middleman (person) between me and BRB. Life becomes sunshine and daisies, and I stop with the angst for nearly a year.

Oct. 13 I return from vacation - ten fabulous days in England and Ireland with the wonderful and long-suffering love of my life - to discover that I will have no job as of the end of 2002, not March 2003 as I'd though. Job-search goes from "preliminary" to "hardcore".

2-year contracts with BFCD often end with, as my offer letter indeed states, "permanent position", "contingent upon performance". To say I performed pretty fucking stellar would not be an understatement. One possibility arose, but over a couple of weeks, dissolved. They didn't need someone like me. Ego deflation. I'd want me! You don't want me? How could you not want me?

I continue hunting. Lots of interviews. Lots of "oooh, great resume." Lots of "we'd love to have you." Lots of "but we're not hiring." And, let's be frank, lots of "thanks, nice to meet you, bye" too. Lots more ego deflation.

A light at the end of the tunnel! A nice, permanent job with BFCD. Not exactly doing the sort of work I want, but permanent, with a Big Fancy Title and a fucking GIGANTIC salary. I am jazzed. I am psyched. I turn down the adequate but unexciting offer that would make me have to move hours from LOML and school, because I am told, "Stop interviewing. Look no further." I envision the student-loan payoff letter.

A couple of weeks pass... and then a couple more... and then a couple more.

I discover Mister "Look No Further" of BFCD has since decided that he has changed his mind and instead wants to find someone with more experience. Not me. Again. Sense the theme?

So here I am. This is a long entry but it will stop the vague references I've been making and make future ones simpler, for those of you who would like to follow along. Although I'm not sure why, as I feel somewhat like the Baudelaire orphans, "who lead lives filled with misery and woe," and who "were extremely unlucky, and most everything that happened to them was rife with misfortune, misery, and despair."

No comments: