JobSurfer

So it just occurred to me, whilst watching Stephen Colbert (who’d have thought that?), that he must have teams of scrawny interns scouring the internet for every single reference to him that occurs as it occurs and sometimes beforehand. While I of course feel sympathy for those poor kids and their eye strain, I have to admit, getting paid for messing about on the internet sounds rather idyllic.

Of course this led to a discussion of the people who get paid to troll message boards and be obnoxious. Apparrently they exist! It’s not just random 14-year-olds with potty mouths and poor parental supervision! Yes, a decade ago I was doing the same thing, but to think that in this day an age I could possibly make a living by being an immature forum rat?

Yes, my eyes and my soul might shrivel in the meantime. But what artist in this crazy world needs THOSE?

In my preparations for my wonderful future career as a perpetual student I’ve realized that by the time I’m thirty I’m going to have to know about a bazillion languages. When studying history it is good to know the languages of the regions you’re most interested in. When studying medieval history it is imperative to know the language of the vast majority of the available sources - aka, Latin. Semper ubi sub ubi! I studied it for three years in high school. All I can bring to mind nowadays is the insults we made up in class - tu es semi mortus canis in latrino bibit et in via dormit. But now going back through it, a lot of things are coming back to me.

In college I studied French and Italian, which was useful. French was horrendous, but came in rather handy the following semester when I was wandering around Italy saying, “Hey, is that a reflexive verb?”

So there’s three. Need to add German to the list, because, well, that’s the other main language of continential Europe. And since I’m obsesssed with the Dark Ages, Old English and Old Norse as well.

Like I said. A bazillion languages.

The best thing about birthdays? Birthday presents from my online wishlists! Enough polymer clay to make about ten million necklaces and bracelets. I went a little bit crazy for a few weeks making these pretty things…. And then promptly ran out of clay. So it goes.

At that point I took myself down to the local farmer’s market, where I borrowed a table and put my jewelry up for sale.

It was wonderful! It was fantastic! It was cold and windy and I still made a significant profit despite accidentally eating a muffin containing one of my favorite allergens! Hurray!

This is nice, because it means that in the time when I’m waiting for school stuff to get a move on, I can still make some cash in the meantime. The economy may suck, but not so much that a teenager isn’t going to drop ten bucks on something shiny (when that happens, THEN we know we’re in trouble).

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I have never really traveled around the country much. I’ve driven down what is basically the Appalachian trail from New York to Georgia and from Buffalo to Cleveland, which I’ll admit is more than a lot of people. But, well… New York culture I obviously understand, having grown up in the state, if not necessarily the city. From those frequent forays into the Old South and my Grandaddy’s strong influence I have a pretty good grasp of that culture as well. But a lot of those places are actually rather similar – rural Upstate New York is to rural Georgia like Bill Pullman is to Bill Paxton…. Essentially the same.

Of course, last time we drove through Georgia towards Thomaston, my mother kept looking around in amazement saying things like, “I can’t believe how built-up this is! This was nothing but farmland when I was a kid! Where did all these malls come from?”

Of course, in Upstate New York, people say, “What happened to all the malls? I can’t believe how run-down this is!”

So perhaps not as similar….

…Has the best job ever. Be sarcastic all day long? Mess with people who are stupid enough to take your persona seriously? Whilst that does sound rather familiar (I’m cute and harmless!), it would be nice to have that actually be in my job description and get paid for it.

You know when Stephen first approached Comedy Central he was all like, “I’m going to be bombastic and awesome! And have an interspace treadmill named after me!”

Who knew that channeling one’s own inner fourth-grader could be so darn advantageous? How can I get in on this?

(p.s.-I once met Stephen.  Well, I mean, he passed me in a hallway and made eye contact while I stood, frozen and starstruck. He cuts a rather strapping figure in real life…)

I’ve always wondered, what is a temp agency?

I always thought they were somehow controlled by the government. Anyone needing a job could just walk in and be guaranteed to leave with an assignment. Didn’t have to be good, didn’t have to be classy, but it was work and that’s what mattered. Jennifer Lopez plays a temp in “Monster-in-Law,” and while I know better than to believe everything I see in the movies, I noticed that she always had on or another job to go to every day.

I can’t figure anything out from the internet. I ask for temp agencies and get a dozen listings, I send my information through their website, and…. Nothing. No email, no calls, no acknowledgment whatsoever. Do I go to the office? Do I call and make an appointment, harass them every day?

Are they going to garnish my wages to pay for the service they’re offering me? Would I be better off trying to find a job on my own, in the middle of this economic crisis, when people who are far more qualified than me are applying for jobs on my level and I’m going to be the poor schmuck washing dishes at the Cheesecake Factory?

Boo, bad economy. Boo, retail. Boo, internet.

I have a major personality flaw. That flaw is, I’m adorable. I can’t help it. It’s the huge smile, the dimpled cheeks, the charming (if I do say so myself) turn of phrase. Even when I try to be serious or mopey I just end up cute.

Do you have any idea how annoying this is?

I’m nearly 24 years old, but people are still asking me when I’ll graduate high school. I feel like I have a very hard time gaining any kind of serious respect because people automatically assume I’m a teenager and treat me as such. Add to that a relatively cheerful and sparkling personality, and suddenly I’m taken as some sort of ditzy teen to be ignored. Even with my coworkers, who know that I’m a college graduate with both feet set firmly in the adult world, I feel like I’m being treated as a child. Yes, I am forty years younger than you. I understand I have to respect your age. But does that give you free rein to treat me like an errant granddaughter who needs to be patted on the bum and sent to bed?

It seems like the only way to change this perception is to amend the way I present myself. Wear silk blouses and uncomfortable high heels. Lots of cosmetics and over-treated hair. And by all means, never ever EVER giggle.

Boo. Why can’t I be taken seriously and still be able to giggle?

I hate job questionnaires.

I had to fill one out when I applied for the job at RadioShack, many moons ago. And I’m sure I’ve filled them out for various other reasons as well. I’m sure people consider them a valuable tool in weeding out unfit prospective employees, but to me they seem to have some rather glaring flaws.

Flaw the first: The truth versus the “right” answers.

When they ask you all these repetitive questions, do you tell them what’s actually in your head, or what you think they want to hear? No, I don’t think an employee that’s stolen less that five dollars worth of merchandise (i.e. candy bars at the grocery store when your sugar is low and you don’t have a break) deserves to be fired, but do they? And yes, when I see that pile of money sitting in the cash drawer, I have the fleeting thought of taking it. But I don’t. And I never would. But if I admit it, I fail the test because, lo and behold, I’m human.

Flaw the second: Lack of adequate answer choices causes inaccuracy.

They explain a prospective work situation and ask how you would handle it. You get to pick from four different choices. What if your gut reaction isn’t on that list? You have to settle for something that only approximates your true answer, and now the test is judging you on that approximation. After a few more of those subjective-style questions, there’s really no way for the test to get an accurate view of your personality. It’s approximations upon approximations.

Flaw the third: No room for explanation.

They ask me how many jobs I’ve had in the past three years. In order to be honest I have to click the “3-5” button, because in the last three years I’ve bounced from home to college to home to DC. Point against me for being unable to hold a steady job, but no room for me to explain that my life situation precluded any sort of long-term job commitments.

Conclusion: questionnaires suck.

Regarding the debacle that was the infamous two-hour power outage, I was confused that the CEO demanded all the workers stay in a building that had no power, “so we don’t lose a day if the power comes back on at two.”

Okay, logical, whatever. But still. It sounded really, really fishy to me. I said to myself, “There have to be regulations about maintaining work certain conditions.”

So while my boss was spending her time having a frustrating conversation with her boss, I was being transferred up and down the Maryland state government switchboard trying to find the office in charge of occupational safety. When I finally got ahold of the correct office, I ended up speaking with a gentleman who gave off a distinct air of “I don’t give a crap.”

I explained the situation and my concerns, and all he would say was, “There are no regulations about that.”

“What do you mean?” I asked in disbelief. “How are there no regulations about this?”

“There are no regulations, ma’am.”

“Well then I’m moving back to New York where they have rules about these things! Thank you so much for your assistance, you’ve been so very warm and caring about our plight.”

Boo, MOSHA.

Know what’s fun? Power outages!

That’s right. One lovely morning we had just barrels of fun at the store. First we had to call the manager in because there was a disgusting smell in the basement. We couldn’t tell if it was gas or sewage or what.

Then, while we were dealing with that, the rainstorm outside managed to snap a power line (which then hit a bus, fun) and our side of the street lost power. We had to kick our two customers out of the store and put up a sign to warn people we were temporarily closed due to loss of power. Some people asked, “Can we still shop?”

“We can’t run sales with no power, ma’am.”

Then my manager spent a frustrating amount of time on the phone with the CEO, who didn’t quite believe that we didn’t have power, since the people across the street did, and couldn’t decide whether to send us all home or make us sit in the dark until the lights came back on. Meanwhile the gas company came to investigate the smell and concluded that it was leakage from the sump pump, whatever that is.

So we sat and puttered in the dark. Just as we were all laying down on the floor to take a nap, POP the lights to back on, and we’re all back to work.