Job Hunting is Harsh
Hey all. I'm new to the Portland, Oregon area and I've been on the job hunt for what feels like forever. I've only actually been hunting from within Portland for the last week or two. The truth of the matter is, I seriously hate job searches. The last few that I did left me wondering if I was a failure as a human being.
I've decided, for some reason, to record and to share my impressions of this current job search. I'm not even going to pretend that these are words of wisdom and encouragement for others who may be in the same situation. If anything, this commentary on my experience will probably serve as bad comedy. For those of you who know me, this will read as one of the longest rants I've ever written. For those of you who don't know me, this will read as one of the longest rants that anyone has ever written.
8/20/05
OK! So I don't want a job in my field anymore and I'm not too thrilled about that. Big fucking deal!
Ah, OK. Le tme back up a little bit just to take stock of the situation. I don't quite know what to make of this new attitude, and I'm not sure I should even consider it a new catalyst for change just yet. But it's there and it has been growing more persistent in my mind, so I guess I'd better take a good long look at it, huh?
So Marjorie (M for short) and I pick up our cats, throw them in a moving truck, drag all of our sorry asses across the country and settle down in Portland, Oregon. M and I are tired and sore. We've also been sick the entire trip. Luckily, our cats don't want to scratch our eyes out as soon as we put them down on the floor of our brand new place. Luckily, our neighbors are not very nosey 'cause I'm not feeling entirely social at this point. Fortunately, shopping soon appears to be easy and convenient, and walking around and getting to know our new neighborhood can wait until I have the energy to give a shit.
My mind, of course, is not entirely dead to reality. It never is. During our recovery period, my mind slowly goes through the possibilities of the kinds of jobs I can find out here. At least at this time, I'm thinking that I might need to get another hospital job similar to the one I just left back in Minneapolis, Minnesota. There are so many hospitals in Portland, it almost appears certain that I can find something out here to peak my interest.
Besides, we can't keep shopping for things like food if neither of us has a job.
About two weeks after we've settled into our newer (and thankfully better) apartment, I finally start to feel like I am recovering from the move. I start to give a shit where I am and what I need to do to get back in the swing of things. I begin to reformulate work out routines, for I have not given up my goal of looking good naked, I endeavor to try to really live as a day person, but it isn't nearly as easy as I want it to be. Three years of having worked nights back in a Minnesota Hospital appears to have taken its toll on my body. M and I have already discussed the facility of my changing back to a day schedule. I've told her I think it will take me avery long time to get used to being a day person again. She told me that it shouldn't be that difficult for me because no human being was ever meant to be nocturnal anyway. Preferring M's viewpoint to mine regarding this matter, I decided to believe that changing my waking hours should be a walk in the park. As it turns out, we were both right or we were both wrong depending on what part of the metaphorical cup you focus on. It has taken me a month, but I think I can finally fall asleep before two o'clock in the morning. This walk in the park is startling to look more like a hike through the Forbidden Forest, but I think I can deal.
About three weeks into our new living situation, something clunks into place in my mind. It happens as I am sitting there reading a Harry Potter book aloud to M one afternoon. I get a little nervous and I start to flub some of my sentences, but M either doesn't notice or she has the decency not to comment at the time. The part of my mind that has been groggily minding the reality of my current employment situation suddenly takes one of those giant cartoon mallets and smacks me right upside the head with it.
"Damn it, man. You're not sick anymore. I think it's time for you to start searching for work!"
"Oh yeah. Right! Shit!
And so it begins.
M and I both need to find jobs at this point, but M and I have always done these kinds of things slightly differently. She likes to go and talk to potential employers first, bringing copies of her resume and various cover letters along just in case something comes of the conversations. I, on the other hand, don't leap into the job-hunting scene with such courage. It just doesn't seem logical to me to visit some hospital and walk up to someone in some Human Resources Department and try to get information out of them while I try to sell myself to them at the same time. I can just see them raising their eyebrows and looking at me like I'm some sort of self-deluded mental patient. Yet this time, I'm somehow determined to do things a little differently. I convince myself that all I need is new clothes, a back bone, and a chance to start poking around and asking people all types of questions regarding my marketability as a hospital worker.
The day I actually begin stage one of this seemingly impossible mission, I've already got new clothes hanging up in my closet. I've also got a working computer (not without a sharp dip my savings). And, I've got energy. Whoohoo! So it sit in front of my computer, get onto the World Wide Web, and continue my job search from where i left off before the move.
"Google, point and click, 'Portland Orgeon hospitals,' point and click."
Bingo! A website I've become very familiar with withing the last six months suddenly pops onto my computer screen. It lists all sorts of hospitals in and around Portland. I've already been able to narrow my actual job search down to three different major hospitals. Now it's time to go thorugh the "help wanted" ads.
About an hour into the search, I seem to have struck gold. Legacy Hospital in Portland is looking for "therapists."
"Therapists?" I ask myself. "I cant be a therapists with less than a master's degree, can I?"
But sure enough, these aren't your typical "lets-sit-down-and-talk-about-your-feelings" kinds of therapists. These positions call for someone who can "redirect, reorient, and set clear limits for adult mental health patients."
Cha ching!
"You must have clear knowledge of certain psychotropic medications and their possible side effects."
Duh!
"You must have an understanding of the mental health issues associated with the aging process."
Are you kidding me?
With a bachelor's degree in psych and over three years worth of experience in hospital psych units, I'm definitely a likely choice for these positions.
My excitement builds, and I immediately print off the positions to save in my ever expanding work-search file. I don't wait for another mallet to hit me in the head, and I quickly apply online for the day and evening positions. This is too good to be true! I can't believe I wouldn't get at least a part time position with my qualifications.
Just to cement my interest, I decide (not without a great deal of trepidation) to make a phone call to the Legacy Human Resources department. I've had a rather nasty experience before with this kind of job in Minneapolis. For instance, It was not made clear to me before I took that job that I would be a floating employee. I eventually got used to the unpredictability of never being given the same assignment more than three times in a row. Despite that, I never got used to the fact that I always seemed to have to deal with the most difficult mental patients in the hospital. There were violent,anti-social patients, borderlines, drama queens and kings, and other patients that I know have haunted my nightmares ever since I had to lay eyes and hands on them.
And yet, right before the end of my illustrious career Minneapolis, I managed to secrure a permanent position on a mental health unit at the same hospital. This time, I was working with staff that i actually got along with well and vice versa. This time, I was working with higher functioning mental health patients. I never made the mistake of taking the higher intelligence quotients of these particular patients for granted, for that point in my life, i knew that higher IQ's might simply mean more danger for everyone involved.
My phone call to Legacy Human Resources, much to my chagrin, turns into three different phonecalls during the course of the week. I make the first phone call on a Tuesday, and I am told that i need to try to speak with a certain employee recruiter in a couple of days because she is out ill. That thursday, M leaves for the afternoon and I am alone, pondering the second phone call to Legacy Hospital's Human Resources department. I finally swallow hard and dial the number at 1:45 pm. It apparently isn't easy to get in touch with this employee recruiter, and I end up having to leave a message with a request for a return phone call. I wait by my computer and I wait by my television. I wait some more. Finally, 4:30 pm rolls around, and I am getting fidgety. I pick up the phone and dial again. This time, the recruiter answers the phone. I am startled by how light and almost simpering her voice is, but she sounds amiable enough, so we talk. I attempt to ask her questions regarding Legacy Hospital, but I get nervous and I begin to ramble. Finally, by some miracle, we get around to the job description. She pulls up my online application on her computer, and we begin to talk about the positions for which I applied. I tell her of my floating experience back in Minneapolis, and her enthusiasm increases. "good going, man. Hang in there," I tell myself.
"I've worked with all kinds of mental health patients and I've probably seen and dealt with all kinds of things"
"That's very good," she says. "It says here that you've been trained in verbal de-escalation."
"That's right. I've had to talk all sorts of adults out of doing some very odd things. As you probably know better than most, it doesn't always work."
"Well, of the positions that you've applied for, most of the full time positions will probably be taken by now as we're down to all our final candidates. All of these positions have been open for at least a month."
"Oh really?"
"Well, many of Legacy's Hospitals have had to close, and as a result, we've had an increase in the need for certain positions."
"Yes? What kind of positions?"
"Well, we need more and mre therapists to go and to verbally de-escalate mental health patients in the ER so that we can go an perform emegency medical treatments on them. Many of these patients will undoubtedly be agressive, and many of them will be drug addicts, homeless, or gang members as well. Do you feel comfortable doing this?"
Immediately I get that lurch at the bottom of my stomach as though I've accidentally tripped and narrowly missed hitting the ground with my teeth. I hesitate before I speak.
"I don't understand," I say to myself more than to the recruiter at this point. My heart, I suddenly realize, is busy sinking like a heavy brick in a bog.
The recruiter repeats almost verbatim what she has said. It sounds like a set of Radio instructions of how to walk the plank.
"Sure I can do it," I finally hear myself say, though I am sure that that wasn't my real voice. For the second time during this conversation, I feel that uncomfortable lurching sensation in my stomach. I have to bite my lip to keep from adding the words "but do i really want to?"
We finally wrap up our conversation and I hang up the phone. I wonder right after I hang up the phone if I detected subtle disappointment in her voice, and this thought makes me wonder if I just blew my chances of getting a job very quickly in the job hunt. I admit, the prospect of job hunting is not very high on my "things to do in Portland when I'm bored and running out of money" list, but what the hell was I thinking? Of course i can do the job! Images now come to me of violent patients whose names Ican recall almost as vividly as their tempers. Along with these memories come other recollections of how close I've come to breaking the Hospital rules and punching some of the more troublesome male patients right in the throat and ending everyone's pain. In the three and a half years that I have worked in hospital mental health, I have had to learn how to mask my feelings of rage, fear, and contempt in front of most people. I have learned that the only person that I can control in situations of confrontation is me. I have also taught myself that I am definitely one example of "strength under control," as my friends often reminded me at my last job when I would become privately frustrated.
"I am a warrior of peace," I tell myself. "I am a steward of the earth. I am a champion of humanity, dignity and worth. I am a healer of this world"
And what the hell was I thinking? Of course I can do this! Did I really hesitate both times she asked me that question? How stupid!
In a panic, I call the recruiter back. She doesn't answer, and I leave another message, mastering the panic in my voice before I do so, and I let her know, in no uncertain terms, that "I am definitely comfortable" doing this and that, and, of course, "something clunked into place only after we hung up on one another and I'm sorry." Even as I leave the message, it feels a bit like hammering a nail into my own coffin, but I try to ignore that. Damn it all to hell! This is a fucking job! How dare I take that shit for granted?! How dare I second guess myself just when I am on the brink of completing the fastest job hunt in history?!
Immediately after I hang up the phone for the third time that Thursday, I go and do a rather quick weight lifting work out. During the work out, I cannot help but wonder if I just did something incredibly stupid, but I can't figure out what it is. After all, I almost nailed that phone conversation until I found out what the positions really were. I almost had this gig in the bag until I was reminded of how strange, scary and damned right frustrating it was to have to babysit large, angry, apparently unreachable patients practically every other night of my life for three years. I was about to take a shortcut to the the end of a long, confusing labyrinth, and then I realized that the shortcut was probably a trip down a path that I have been down before. I know exactly where this path begins, and I know exactly where that path ends.
It's not where I want to be anymore.
As I end my work out and drag myself into the shower, I shake my head in frustration. "This is stupid!" I scream at myself. "Would I really be in the same situation that I was in back in Minnesota?" Would it really be so bad to go back to something that I know how to do? After all, it's already going to be a part time job, isn't it? Maybe if I just took full advantage of my time off from work, I could get over the notion that my existence at my job was completely devoid of satisfaction.
My father's done that for seventeeen years of his life. Why can't I do it for a year or so?
Yeah and, um, is your dad the pinnacle of health and happiness that you want to emulate for the rest of your life?
Well, he's made a few mistakes along the way. His biggest mistake was that he had two children too early, and he trapped himself in a job that he really didn't like that much because he felt that he had to in order to support his new family.
Precisely, asshole! You don't even have children yet, and you don't even know that you and M ever will. Your partner is out there trying to get her own fucking job even as you stand in this shower washing your thinning hair and pretending that you're about to finish a job hunt that's barely even started.
So what's wrong with that? So I end the pain and the suffering of a grueling job hunt that could go on for months and months longer than I want it to, all the while sapping me of my dignity and my self confidence.
And in ending this so called pain and suffering, you mask your true feelings and put yourself through something that you swore to yourself that you would never go through again.
I would do that to make sure that we are financially secure.
You would do that because you're a coward who is taking the easy way out. What are you so afraid of?
I just stated what I'm afraid of.
Did you? Look, it shouldn't bother you so much that you've worked for more than three years in a very tough job. It shouldn't bother you in the least that you don't ever want to do it again.
It doesn't bother me. None of that bothers me.
So what's really eating you?
I don't know.
Yes you do. You've lived a lie for the last three and half years. You were too stone cold stubborn to realize that you were not supposed to stay at a job that caused you so much pain.
My girlfriend got sick. What was I supposed to do?
Oh I get it. You were being noble.
No, I was being responsible.
No, you were being a prat. Even when your girlfriend got better and she was able to work more and more steadily as she progressed, you continued to sink lower and lower into despair because you didn't want to go out and get what you really wanted.
What I wanted at the time was inconsequential. I was doing what had to be done.
My goodness, will you listen to yourself? Is that how your parents have taught you to think? You sound like this is your fucking destiny or something! You're living off of outdated ideals, my friend. Whatever your mother and father told you about what you do and what you don't do in this world, you've got to realize that they are among the most rigid and miserable people on this planet because neither of them had the guts to go for the gold.
Oh great. So my parents are cowards?
No! They stick to their guns when it comes to the affairs of their children. They have sacrificed more than most people their age could ever realize. Your parents are loving, patient, and quite determined to see the success of their children. But don't you believe for a minute that they are going to be the ones who hold you accountable for your emotional well being. They can't anymore. That's not their job.
I can't help it. They were the only half-way decent examples of adulthood that I was used to. I turned out alright didn't I?
Of course you did. What what's "alright" compaired to wonderful?
I don't understand.
Yes you do. It's the reason you hesitated when the nice recruiter lady tried to describe the job to you in no uncertain terms. It's the reason you're standing here with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, unsure that you even want that fucking job at Legacy Hospital anymore. The job's not a good fit for you at this point in your life and you just realized it. Moreover, you hate yourself for having realized this because it goes against your stupid, macho ideal that you have to make that kind of sacrifice to contribute in a positive way to your relationship with M. You wouldn't be more of a man for taking this job.
What would I be, then?
Foolish.
Isn't it just as foolish to put your loved ones at financial peril because you don't rise up to the occasions where you are most needed? Isn't it just as moronic not to go and do the things that you know you are capable of doing if it means that you can create a better life for yourself in the immediate future? What about self preservation? What about the notion that the economy in Portland, Oregon may not be any better than that of Saint Paul, Minnesota? What about the rising unemployment in this city, and in other cities? What about those fucking street urchins that keep coming to our fucking garbage dumspter to find that undiscovered treasure that means the extension of their pathetic lives?
Do you really think that M is going to think less of you because you've decided that you need a break from angry, mentally ill people for a while? Do you really think that anyone else in this world is going to give a flying fuck why you decided that this Legacy Hospital job might be too stressful to suit your needs at this time? If you take this job, you're still going to act the hero, but at a terrible price to yourself. You're not acknowledging your own wants and needs, here. This is how you've spent most of the last three years of your life. You were so busy trying to figure out a way that you could, that you didn't stop to think if you should!
Thanks, that was very Ian Malcolm of you.
You're welcome! And um, the street urchins are not your problem.
How do you figure?
What do those fucking street urchins have to do with you? Are you about to go broke because you don't have a job? Look, you and M. were both smart enough to bring some of your own savings with you to Portland. Smarter still, M. accepted an offer of help that her father extended to both of you. He did that just to make sure that both of you got your punk asses out here in the first damned place. Do you think he would refuse to do that again if you guys were truly desperate?
I guess not. He's already said he would. But I don't like to depend on that kind of thing.
Spoken like a true martyr. OK, let me ask you this. Was it worth it?
The last three years at my old job?
Bingo.
I guess in terms of character building and learning about my own strengths and weaknesses, yes it was worth it.
But?
I was done with character building at that point in my life about a year into the job. A lot happened. Yeah, M. did get sick, and I thought I had no choice but to stay on and fight the good fight. But even when she got better, I guess i got used to fighting. It didn't even occurr to me that I had other options.
But now you're here in Portland, Oregon. You're brand new with no job, no mental health patients, and no pressure on you to calm some angry motherfucker down long enough so that doctor do-little can help him.
OK, so what?
Rethink your priorities, you stubborn asshole! It's time for you to face the undeniable truth that you are in a better position now than you think you are. Get off the Solid Snake mentality and start taking advantage of your resources. You've attained furniture from M.'s family. You're OK at the moment for food. Your apartment is clean, healthy, spacious, and clearly exactly what you both wanted and needed. You've got the time to get this right for yourself.
You think so?
Ok. Let me restate that. You've got the right to make this really work for yourself.
I've decided, for some reason, to record and to share my impressions of this current job search. I'm not even going to pretend that these are words of wisdom and encouragement for others who may be in the same situation. If anything, this commentary on my experience will probably serve as bad comedy. For those of you who know me, this will read as one of the longest rants I've ever written. For those of you who don't know me, this will read as one of the longest rants that anyone has ever written.
8/20/05
OK! So I don't want a job in my field anymore and I'm not too thrilled about that. Big fucking deal!
Ah, OK. Le tme back up a little bit just to take stock of the situation. I don't quite know what to make of this new attitude, and I'm not sure I should even consider it a new catalyst for change just yet. But it's there and it has been growing more persistent in my mind, so I guess I'd better take a good long look at it, huh?
So Marjorie (M for short) and I pick up our cats, throw them in a moving truck, drag all of our sorry asses across the country and settle down in Portland, Oregon. M and I are tired and sore. We've also been sick the entire trip. Luckily, our cats don't want to scratch our eyes out as soon as we put them down on the floor of our brand new place. Luckily, our neighbors are not very nosey 'cause I'm not feeling entirely social at this point. Fortunately, shopping soon appears to be easy and convenient, and walking around and getting to know our new neighborhood can wait until I have the energy to give a shit.
My mind, of course, is not entirely dead to reality. It never is. During our recovery period, my mind slowly goes through the possibilities of the kinds of jobs I can find out here. At least at this time, I'm thinking that I might need to get another hospital job similar to the one I just left back in Minneapolis, Minnesota. There are so many hospitals in Portland, it almost appears certain that I can find something out here to peak my interest.
Besides, we can't keep shopping for things like food if neither of us has a job.
About two weeks after we've settled into our newer (and thankfully better) apartment, I finally start to feel like I am recovering from the move. I start to give a shit where I am and what I need to do to get back in the swing of things. I begin to reformulate work out routines, for I have not given up my goal of looking good naked, I endeavor to try to really live as a day person, but it isn't nearly as easy as I want it to be. Three years of having worked nights back in a Minnesota Hospital appears to have taken its toll on my body. M and I have already discussed the facility of my changing back to a day schedule. I've told her I think it will take me avery long time to get used to being a day person again. She told me that it shouldn't be that difficult for me because no human being was ever meant to be nocturnal anyway. Preferring M's viewpoint to mine regarding this matter, I decided to believe that changing my waking hours should be a walk in the park. As it turns out, we were both right or we were both wrong depending on what part of the metaphorical cup you focus on. It has taken me a month, but I think I can finally fall asleep before two o'clock in the morning. This walk in the park is startling to look more like a hike through the Forbidden Forest, but I think I can deal.
About three weeks into our new living situation, something clunks into place in my mind. It happens as I am sitting there reading a Harry Potter book aloud to M one afternoon. I get a little nervous and I start to flub some of my sentences, but M either doesn't notice or she has the decency not to comment at the time. The part of my mind that has been groggily minding the reality of my current employment situation suddenly takes one of those giant cartoon mallets and smacks me right upside the head with it.
"Damn it, man. You're not sick anymore. I think it's time for you to start searching for work!"
"Oh yeah. Right! Shit!
And so it begins.
M and I both need to find jobs at this point, but M and I have always done these kinds of things slightly differently. She likes to go and talk to potential employers first, bringing copies of her resume and various cover letters along just in case something comes of the conversations. I, on the other hand, don't leap into the job-hunting scene with such courage. It just doesn't seem logical to me to visit some hospital and walk up to someone in some Human Resources Department and try to get information out of them while I try to sell myself to them at the same time. I can just see them raising their eyebrows and looking at me like I'm some sort of self-deluded mental patient. Yet this time, I'm somehow determined to do things a little differently. I convince myself that all I need is new clothes, a back bone, and a chance to start poking around and asking people all types of questions regarding my marketability as a hospital worker.
The day I actually begin stage one of this seemingly impossible mission, I've already got new clothes hanging up in my closet. I've also got a working computer (not without a sharp dip my savings). And, I've got energy. Whoohoo! So it sit in front of my computer, get onto the World Wide Web, and continue my job search from where i left off before the move.
"Google, point and click, 'Portland Orgeon hospitals,' point and click."
Bingo! A website I've become very familiar with withing the last six months suddenly pops onto my computer screen. It lists all sorts of hospitals in and around Portland. I've already been able to narrow my actual job search down to three different major hospitals. Now it's time to go thorugh the "help wanted" ads.
About an hour into the search, I seem to have struck gold. Legacy Hospital in Portland is looking for "therapists."
"Therapists?" I ask myself. "I cant be a therapists with less than a master's degree, can I?"
But sure enough, these aren't your typical "lets-sit-down-and-talk-about-your-feelings" kinds of therapists. These positions call for someone who can "redirect, reorient, and set clear limits for adult mental health patients."
Cha ching!
"You must have clear knowledge of certain psychotropic medications and their possible side effects."
Duh!
"You must have an understanding of the mental health issues associated with the aging process."
Are you kidding me?
With a bachelor's degree in psych and over three years worth of experience in hospital psych units, I'm definitely a likely choice for these positions.
My excitement builds, and I immediately print off the positions to save in my ever expanding work-search file. I don't wait for another mallet to hit me in the head, and I quickly apply online for the day and evening positions. This is too good to be true! I can't believe I wouldn't get at least a part time position with my qualifications.
Just to cement my interest, I decide (not without a great deal of trepidation) to make a phone call to the Legacy Human Resources department. I've had a rather nasty experience before with this kind of job in Minneapolis. For instance, It was not made clear to me before I took that job that I would be a floating employee. I eventually got used to the unpredictability of never being given the same assignment more than three times in a row. Despite that, I never got used to the fact that I always seemed to have to deal with the most difficult mental patients in the hospital. There were violent,anti-social patients, borderlines, drama queens and kings, and other patients that I know have haunted my nightmares ever since I had to lay eyes and hands on them.
And yet, right before the end of my illustrious career Minneapolis, I managed to secrure a permanent position on a mental health unit at the same hospital. This time, I was working with staff that i actually got along with well and vice versa. This time, I was working with higher functioning mental health patients. I never made the mistake of taking the higher intelligence quotients of these particular patients for granted, for that point in my life, i knew that higher IQ's might simply mean more danger for everyone involved.
My phone call to Legacy Human Resources, much to my chagrin, turns into three different phonecalls during the course of the week. I make the first phone call on a Tuesday, and I am told that i need to try to speak with a certain employee recruiter in a couple of days because she is out ill. That thursday, M leaves for the afternoon and I am alone, pondering the second phone call to Legacy Hospital's Human Resources department. I finally swallow hard and dial the number at 1:45 pm. It apparently isn't easy to get in touch with this employee recruiter, and I end up having to leave a message with a request for a return phone call. I wait by my computer and I wait by my television. I wait some more. Finally, 4:30 pm rolls around, and I am getting fidgety. I pick up the phone and dial again. This time, the recruiter answers the phone. I am startled by how light and almost simpering her voice is, but she sounds amiable enough, so we talk. I attempt to ask her questions regarding Legacy Hospital, but I get nervous and I begin to ramble. Finally, by some miracle, we get around to the job description. She pulls up my online application on her computer, and we begin to talk about the positions for which I applied. I tell her of my floating experience back in Minneapolis, and her enthusiasm increases. "good going, man. Hang in there," I tell myself.
"I've worked with all kinds of mental health patients and I've probably seen and dealt with all kinds of things"
"That's very good," she says. "It says here that you've been trained in verbal de-escalation."
"That's right. I've had to talk all sorts of adults out of doing some very odd things. As you probably know better than most, it doesn't always work."
"Well, of the positions that you've applied for, most of the full time positions will probably be taken by now as we're down to all our final candidates. All of these positions have been open for at least a month."
"Oh really?"
"Well, many of Legacy's Hospitals have had to close, and as a result, we've had an increase in the need for certain positions."
"Yes? What kind of positions?"
"Well, we need more and mre therapists to go and to verbally de-escalate mental health patients in the ER so that we can go an perform emegency medical treatments on them. Many of these patients will undoubtedly be agressive, and many of them will be drug addicts, homeless, or gang members as well. Do you feel comfortable doing this?"
Immediately I get that lurch at the bottom of my stomach as though I've accidentally tripped and narrowly missed hitting the ground with my teeth. I hesitate before I speak.
"I don't understand," I say to myself more than to the recruiter at this point. My heart, I suddenly realize, is busy sinking like a heavy brick in a bog.
The recruiter repeats almost verbatim what she has said. It sounds like a set of Radio instructions of how to walk the plank.
"Sure I can do it," I finally hear myself say, though I am sure that that wasn't my real voice. For the second time during this conversation, I feel that uncomfortable lurching sensation in my stomach. I have to bite my lip to keep from adding the words "but do i really want to?"
We finally wrap up our conversation and I hang up the phone. I wonder right after I hang up the phone if I detected subtle disappointment in her voice, and this thought makes me wonder if I just blew my chances of getting a job very quickly in the job hunt. I admit, the prospect of job hunting is not very high on my "things to do in Portland when I'm bored and running out of money" list, but what the hell was I thinking? Of course i can do the job! Images now come to me of violent patients whose names Ican recall almost as vividly as their tempers. Along with these memories come other recollections of how close I've come to breaking the Hospital rules and punching some of the more troublesome male patients right in the throat and ending everyone's pain. In the three and a half years that I have worked in hospital mental health, I have had to learn how to mask my feelings of rage, fear, and contempt in front of most people. I have learned that the only person that I can control in situations of confrontation is me. I have also taught myself that I am definitely one example of "strength under control," as my friends often reminded me at my last job when I would become privately frustrated.
"I am a warrior of peace," I tell myself. "I am a steward of the earth. I am a champion of humanity, dignity and worth. I am a healer of this world"
And what the hell was I thinking? Of course I can do this! Did I really hesitate both times she asked me that question? How stupid!
In a panic, I call the recruiter back. She doesn't answer, and I leave another message, mastering the panic in my voice before I do so, and I let her know, in no uncertain terms, that "I am definitely comfortable" doing this and that, and, of course, "something clunked into place only after we hung up on one another and I'm sorry." Even as I leave the message, it feels a bit like hammering a nail into my own coffin, but I try to ignore that. Damn it all to hell! This is a fucking job! How dare I take that shit for granted?! How dare I second guess myself just when I am on the brink of completing the fastest job hunt in history?!
Immediately after I hang up the phone for the third time that Thursday, I go and do a rather quick weight lifting work out. During the work out, I cannot help but wonder if I just did something incredibly stupid, but I can't figure out what it is. After all, I almost nailed that phone conversation until I found out what the positions really were. I almost had this gig in the bag until I was reminded of how strange, scary and damned right frustrating it was to have to babysit large, angry, apparently unreachable patients practically every other night of my life for three years. I was about to take a shortcut to the the end of a long, confusing labyrinth, and then I realized that the shortcut was probably a trip down a path that I have been down before. I know exactly where this path begins, and I know exactly where that path ends.
It's not where I want to be anymore.
As I end my work out and drag myself into the shower, I shake my head in frustration. "This is stupid!" I scream at myself. "Would I really be in the same situation that I was in back in Minnesota?" Would it really be so bad to go back to something that I know how to do? After all, it's already going to be a part time job, isn't it? Maybe if I just took full advantage of my time off from work, I could get over the notion that my existence at my job was completely devoid of satisfaction.
My father's done that for seventeeen years of his life. Why can't I do it for a year or so?
Yeah and, um, is your dad the pinnacle of health and happiness that you want to emulate for the rest of your life?
Well, he's made a few mistakes along the way. His biggest mistake was that he had two children too early, and he trapped himself in a job that he really didn't like that much because he felt that he had to in order to support his new family.
Precisely, asshole! You don't even have children yet, and you don't even know that you and M ever will. Your partner is out there trying to get her own fucking job even as you stand in this shower washing your thinning hair and pretending that you're about to finish a job hunt that's barely even started.
So what's wrong with that? So I end the pain and the suffering of a grueling job hunt that could go on for months and months longer than I want it to, all the while sapping me of my dignity and my self confidence.
And in ending this so called pain and suffering, you mask your true feelings and put yourself through something that you swore to yourself that you would never go through again.
I would do that to make sure that we are financially secure.
You would do that because you're a coward who is taking the easy way out. What are you so afraid of?
I just stated what I'm afraid of.
Did you? Look, it shouldn't bother you so much that you've worked for more than three years in a very tough job. It shouldn't bother you in the least that you don't ever want to do it again.
It doesn't bother me. None of that bothers me.
So what's really eating you?
I don't know.
Yes you do. You've lived a lie for the last three and half years. You were too stone cold stubborn to realize that you were not supposed to stay at a job that caused you so much pain.
My girlfriend got sick. What was I supposed to do?
Oh I get it. You were being noble.
No, I was being responsible.
No, you were being a prat. Even when your girlfriend got better and she was able to work more and more steadily as she progressed, you continued to sink lower and lower into despair because you didn't want to go out and get what you really wanted.
What I wanted at the time was inconsequential. I was doing what had to be done.
My goodness, will you listen to yourself? Is that how your parents have taught you to think? You sound like this is your fucking destiny or something! You're living off of outdated ideals, my friend. Whatever your mother and father told you about what you do and what you don't do in this world, you've got to realize that they are among the most rigid and miserable people on this planet because neither of them had the guts to go for the gold.
Oh great. So my parents are cowards?
No! They stick to their guns when it comes to the affairs of their children. They have sacrificed more than most people their age could ever realize. Your parents are loving, patient, and quite determined to see the success of their children. But don't you believe for a minute that they are going to be the ones who hold you accountable for your emotional well being. They can't anymore. That's not their job.
I can't help it. They were the only half-way decent examples of adulthood that I was used to. I turned out alright didn't I?
Of course you did. What what's "alright" compaired to wonderful?
I don't understand.
Yes you do. It's the reason you hesitated when the nice recruiter lady tried to describe the job to you in no uncertain terms. It's the reason you're standing here with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, unsure that you even want that fucking job at Legacy Hospital anymore. The job's not a good fit for you at this point in your life and you just realized it. Moreover, you hate yourself for having realized this because it goes against your stupid, macho ideal that you have to make that kind of sacrifice to contribute in a positive way to your relationship with M. You wouldn't be more of a man for taking this job.
What would I be, then?
Foolish.
Isn't it just as foolish to put your loved ones at financial peril because you don't rise up to the occasions where you are most needed? Isn't it just as moronic not to go and do the things that you know you are capable of doing if it means that you can create a better life for yourself in the immediate future? What about self preservation? What about the notion that the economy in Portland, Oregon may not be any better than that of Saint Paul, Minnesota? What about the rising unemployment in this city, and in other cities? What about those fucking street urchins that keep coming to our fucking garbage dumspter to find that undiscovered treasure that means the extension of their pathetic lives?
Do you really think that M is going to think less of you because you've decided that you need a break from angry, mentally ill people for a while? Do you really think that anyone else in this world is going to give a flying fuck why you decided that this Legacy Hospital job might be too stressful to suit your needs at this time? If you take this job, you're still going to act the hero, but at a terrible price to yourself. You're not acknowledging your own wants and needs, here. This is how you've spent most of the last three years of your life. You were so busy trying to figure out a way that you could, that you didn't stop to think if you should!
Thanks, that was very Ian Malcolm of you.
You're welcome! And um, the street urchins are not your problem.
How do you figure?
What do those fucking street urchins have to do with you? Are you about to go broke because you don't have a job? Look, you and M. were both smart enough to bring some of your own savings with you to Portland. Smarter still, M. accepted an offer of help that her father extended to both of you. He did that just to make sure that both of you got your punk asses out here in the first damned place. Do you think he would refuse to do that again if you guys were truly desperate?
I guess not. He's already said he would. But I don't like to depend on that kind of thing.
Spoken like a true martyr. OK, let me ask you this. Was it worth it?
The last three years at my old job?
Bingo.
I guess in terms of character building and learning about my own strengths and weaknesses, yes it was worth it.
But?
I was done with character building at that point in my life about a year into the job. A lot happened. Yeah, M. did get sick, and I thought I had no choice but to stay on and fight the good fight. But even when she got better, I guess i got used to fighting. It didn't even occurr to me that I had other options.
But now you're here in Portland, Oregon. You're brand new with no job, no mental health patients, and no pressure on you to calm some angry motherfucker down long enough so that doctor do-little can help him.
OK, so what?
Rethink your priorities, you stubborn asshole! It's time for you to face the undeniable truth that you are in a better position now than you think you are. Get off the Solid Snake mentality and start taking advantage of your resources. You've attained furniture from M.'s family. You're OK at the moment for food. Your apartment is clean, healthy, spacious, and clearly exactly what you both wanted and needed. You've got the time to get this right for yourself.
You think so?
Ok. Let me restate that. You've got the right to make this really work for yourself.