Career Opportunities, The Ones That Never Knock
Unemployment is a very sweet fruit when first you taste its nectar, and I bit into it hungrily.
In February, the board of directors sat around the Big Table and after reviewing the numbers, they decided that my department had not made enough money over the last 18 months to justify the additional staff that was hired. Namely, me. There was a great kerfuffle.
"This is a complete disaster!" bellowed one board member, pounding his fists and rattling the many coffee cups in their saucers.
"An epic miscarriage of efficiency, to be sure," mused another, puffing heartily on a calabash pipe.
"A calamitous affair from top to bottom, by gum!" agreed the chairman, adjusting his monocle and twirling his bushy white moustaches.
Catastrophe! Cataclysm! Fiscal apocalypse! The room resounded with righteous indignation. All 12 middlingly powerful, self-satisfied old men were agreed on their course of action.
"We must lay the boy off," announced the chairman. "His employment by this institution shall cease after a fortnight, and he shall receive severance pay!"
"Harumph, harumph, harumph!" The board members erupted in self-congratulatory approval. Backs were slapped. Hands were shook. I was out of work.
To tell the truth, I was quite thrilled when they told me. I had become miserable at my job. I was spinning my wheels and had already got it into my head to find something new. Only now that I was laid off with severance and unemployment benefits, I could conduct a job search at my leisure. Finally I was afforded the luxury of time to find a job--nay--a career that truly suited me. It should only take a couple of months at the outside, I thought.
And unemployment was, at first, a joy. For the first time since I was four years old, I had nothing I had to do, nowhere I had to be, and no one to whom I had to answer. In short, I tasted complete freedom. And I just knew this was my chance to find a real path, to do some kind of work where my skills would find use, where I could be happy. My days were leisurely. I rose when I pleased. I found promising job postings and cast my resume out into the world with an optimism I had not felt about anything for years. I trotted around my apartment in my underpants, cartoonishly overconfident in my prospects.
But the condition of being human simply does not allow a person to remain happy for very long at all, even after having achieved the rare state of total personal freedom. It is the mind's natural action to find cares.
It becomes impossible to have fun if you're unemployed and have a conscience. Government benefits pay the bills and not much else, and you feel guilty spending on nights out with friends what little money you do have left over, knowing that your fun time is being supported by tax dollars. You feel guiltier letting your friends pay for things to help you out. You get stuck inside your own head and depression takes over. You eat a lot of peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.
And I rediscovered very quickly why I had been cynical in the first place. Optimism achieves nothing. Rejection followed rejection, sometimes after what I thought had been fruitful interviews, and sometimes out of hand. No one is interested in a 24-year-old with a English degree and no experience doing anything at all practical. I guess I knew that. I don't know why I allowed myself to forget it. I can't believe I bought a new suit. It hangs on my shoulders desperately offering an air of professionalism that belies my utter lack of desirable skills. I am complete dog shit on the job market.
Now six months have passed and my benefits have run out. It's time to start trying to get a temp position which, for all I have to show after looking for work these six months, I might as well have done from the beginning. To the citizens of Rhode Island: I have wasted your tax dollars, and for this I am ashamed and truly sorry.
I don't have any problem with temp work. For a lot of reasons, I'm even looking forward to it. But surrendering to it represents for me a complete failure to achieve the very modest goals I set for myself during this dark period. My friends, I continue to completely suck at life, and at everything I try. How was your summer?
In February, the board of directors sat around the Big Table and after reviewing the numbers, they decided that my department had not made enough money over the last 18 months to justify the additional staff that was hired. Namely, me. There was a great kerfuffle.
"This is a complete disaster!" bellowed one board member, pounding his fists and rattling the many coffee cups in their saucers.
"An epic miscarriage of efficiency, to be sure," mused another, puffing heartily on a calabash pipe.
"A calamitous affair from top to bottom, by gum!" agreed the chairman, adjusting his monocle and twirling his bushy white moustaches.
Catastrophe! Cataclysm! Fiscal apocalypse! The room resounded with righteous indignation. All 12 middlingly powerful, self-satisfied old men were agreed on their course of action.
"We must lay the boy off," announced the chairman. "His employment by this institution shall cease after a fortnight, and he shall receive severance pay!"
"Harumph, harumph, harumph!" The board members erupted in self-congratulatory approval. Backs were slapped. Hands were shook. I was out of work.
To tell the truth, I was quite thrilled when they told me. I had become miserable at my job. I was spinning my wheels and had already got it into my head to find something new. Only now that I was laid off with severance and unemployment benefits, I could conduct a job search at my leisure. Finally I was afforded the luxury of time to find a job--nay--a career that truly suited me. It should only take a couple of months at the outside, I thought.
And unemployment was, at first, a joy. For the first time since I was four years old, I had nothing I had to do, nowhere I had to be, and no one to whom I had to answer. In short, I tasted complete freedom. And I just knew this was my chance to find a real path, to do some kind of work where my skills would find use, where I could be happy. My days were leisurely. I rose when I pleased. I found promising job postings and cast my resume out into the world with an optimism I had not felt about anything for years. I trotted around my apartment in my underpants, cartoonishly overconfident in my prospects.
But the condition of being human simply does not allow a person to remain happy for very long at all, even after having achieved the rare state of total personal freedom. It is the mind's natural action to find cares.
It becomes impossible to have fun if you're unemployed and have a conscience. Government benefits pay the bills and not much else, and you feel guilty spending on nights out with friends what little money you do have left over, knowing that your fun time is being supported by tax dollars. You feel guiltier letting your friends pay for things to help you out. You get stuck inside your own head and depression takes over. You eat a lot of peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.
And I rediscovered very quickly why I had been cynical in the first place. Optimism achieves nothing. Rejection followed rejection, sometimes after what I thought had been fruitful interviews, and sometimes out of hand. No one is interested in a 24-year-old with a English degree and no experience doing anything at all practical. I guess I knew that. I don't know why I allowed myself to forget it. I can't believe I bought a new suit. It hangs on my shoulders desperately offering an air of professionalism that belies my utter lack of desirable skills. I am complete dog shit on the job market.
Now six months have passed and my benefits have run out. It's time to start trying to get a temp position which, for all I have to show after looking for work these six months, I might as well have done from the beginning. To the citizens of Rhode Island: I have wasted your tax dollars, and for this I am ashamed and truly sorry.
I don't have any problem with temp work. For a lot of reasons, I'm even looking forward to it. But surrendering to it represents for me a complete failure to achieve the very modest goals I set for myself during this dark period. My friends, I continue to completely suck at life, and at everything I try. How was your summer?