One great thing about not working during the day is the ability to get things done. Unless a book or an endless chain of Youtube cats doing zany things catches my eye. A huge misnomer about being unemployed is that I have nothing to do. Au contraire people, I am busier than ever! Sometimes I will even go as far as to help others. On Wednesday, I volunteered to help a dear friend move. I knew it wouldn't entail lifting anything over 5 pounds (as was stipulated in our verbal agreement), but I did want to help in some very small way.
It was a rather painless move, except that when we got to the new apartment, parking was scarce and I was asked to sit in the box truck to avoid a ticket. That was how I found myself on a Wednesday at noon sitting in the driver's seat of a moving truck in the cold while the movers shlepped boxes up 4 flights of stairs. I felt a little guilty about this, but soon became absorbed in an article about Bernie Madoff. Then I became furious. The tale of broken trust and enormous swindle is maddening enough, but taking in the full account whilst freezing, breathing in exhaust, checking on my unemployment status was just too much to bear. Something about dialing a number where I was told to call back due to excessive call volume (read: overwhelming unemployment claims) with a picture of a man who sits in a 24 room mansion on the Atlantic Ocean under "house arrest" on my lap struck me as incredibly unjust. For an instance I felt a wave of anger and frustration akin to what I can only imagine an 19th century peasant may have felt.
Needless to say, I became incredibly grumpy. Fortunately, an hour later I was sipping a fantastic Riesling and discussing this very blog entry. (META!)
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
First Interview
Against my better judgment, I met with a recruiter at one of those cattle ranch firms specializing in corporate placement. It has a name that smacks of 80's success, a play on words which is meant to appear business savvy and tongue in cheek, when really it was probably the result of a coke fueled evening after a Stray Cats concert.
I had no intention of going back to work right away, but felt that it would be a lot better to meet someone right away than in 4 months time. So I went armed with a fresh copy of my curriculum vitae (all in past tense) and my hair shaped into a execu-bob. Full of hope, I was not, but I practiced my smile all the way into the city on the train.
The moment I stepped out of the elevator I knew I made the wrong decision. Several women (and one man) were stationed in their little laminate cubicles, heads just appearing over the walls. Some typing, some hunched reading whatever virus was sent their way...everyone looked miserable. Though it may be the color of the season, the IT color gray was not helping matters. Here is who looks good in gray: people who smile.
I filled out the form in ant sized font and awaited my fate. It came in the form of a 4'2" woman with glasses that engulfed her entire face. She was insane looking, but she was kind. After a run through of my current situation, a debriefing of my past and small pleasantries, she introduced me to her colleague. Fortunately, she was in the cube directly behind her. I could have wheeled my chair over whilst remaining seated, but see above on my positive state of mind. I was going to stand and walk one step. I was going to prove myself!
The moment I got there (total travel time: 1.8 seconds), I knew I was doomed. The woman I met was in the unfortunate category of "very un-cute". It struck me how though I am hardly a "looker" in the city of gorgeous people, it must be a greater cross to bear to be an un-cute Asian woman in New York City. I mean, they are all pretty and adorable in some way! I can handle being a plain looking Caucasian, because it is expected. She didn't help matters by wearing an over sized black jacket with a Nehru collar and not putting product in her hair. The overall effect was a space orphan who happened to be a Beatles fan. She looked at my resume, set it down, then started typing a one sentence email, stopped mid-sentence, told me to hang on for a minute because she "really needed to get this email out the door". Yes, the door. The one sentence email. I think it was a request for a better fitting jacket from her superiors.
After slapping the Enter key, she picked up my resume again and just shook her head back and forth. Sputtering her indignation at my having moved around so much over the past 7 years, she just asked "Why? Why would you do this?" It was then that I took in the personal memorabilia on her "walls". Several professional photographs of presumably her family all in white, the youngest balancing the 4th rung of a ladder lined her work station. Four kids? This drone has a husband and four children? All of them posing on a ladder in front of an enormous roll of white paper. White on white, their tiny smiling heads popping off the page. They looked happy. Why couldn't she? After berating me for my not sticking with the same dead-end job for more than five years, she told me the company she worked with was very conservative. She even commented on my suit saying it was "lovely, but they liked pin-stripes". I sat there quietly, listened to what she had to say, took in the first woman I met defending my background, then I just said, "Honestly, that is not the kind of company I want to work for anyway. Are we done here?" I thanked her, she didn't look up from her computer (One sentence emails are oft the most difficult), and made my way to the elevator. I was never so happy to be outside in midtown Manhattan.
I had no intention of going back to work right away, but felt that it would be a lot better to meet someone right away than in 4 months time. So I went armed with a fresh copy of my curriculum vitae (all in past tense) and my hair shaped into a execu-bob. Full of hope, I was not, but I practiced my smile all the way into the city on the train.
The moment I stepped out of the elevator I knew I made the wrong decision. Several women (and one man) were stationed in their little laminate cubicles, heads just appearing over the walls. Some typing, some hunched reading whatever virus was sent their way...everyone looked miserable. Though it may be the color of the season, the IT color gray was not helping matters. Here is who looks good in gray: people who smile.
I filled out the form in ant sized font and awaited my fate. It came in the form of a 4'2" woman with glasses that engulfed her entire face. She was insane looking, but she was kind. After a run through of my current situation, a debriefing of my past and small pleasantries, she introduced me to her colleague. Fortunately, she was in the cube directly behind her. I could have wheeled my chair over whilst remaining seated, but see above on my positive state of mind. I was going to stand and walk one step. I was going to prove myself!
The moment I got there (total travel time: 1.8 seconds), I knew I was doomed. The woman I met was in the unfortunate category of "very un-cute". It struck me how though I am hardly a "looker" in the city of gorgeous people, it must be a greater cross to bear to be an un-cute Asian woman in New York City. I mean, they are all pretty and adorable in some way! I can handle being a plain looking Caucasian, because it is expected. She didn't help matters by wearing an over sized black jacket with a Nehru collar and not putting product in her hair. The overall effect was a space orphan who happened to be a Beatles fan. She looked at my resume, set it down, then started typing a one sentence email, stopped mid-sentence, told me to hang on for a minute because she "really needed to get this email out the door". Yes, the door. The one sentence email. I think it was a request for a better fitting jacket from her superiors.
After slapping the Enter key, she picked up my resume again and just shook her head back and forth. Sputtering her indignation at my having moved around so much over the past 7 years, she just asked "Why? Why would you do this?" It was then that I took in the personal memorabilia on her "walls". Several professional photographs of presumably her family all in white, the youngest balancing the 4th rung of a ladder lined her work station. Four kids? This drone has a husband and four children? All of them posing on a ladder in front of an enormous roll of white paper. White on white, their tiny smiling heads popping off the page. They looked happy. Why couldn't she? After berating me for my not sticking with the same dead-end job for more than five years, she told me the company she worked with was very conservative. She even commented on my suit saying it was "lovely, but they liked pin-stripes". I sat there quietly, listened to what she had to say, took in the first woman I met defending my background, then I just said, "Honestly, that is not the kind of company I want to work for anyway. Are we done here?" I thanked her, she didn't look up from her computer (One sentence emails are oft the most difficult), and made my way to the elevator. I was never so happy to be outside in midtown Manhattan.
Friday, February 20, 2009
33 Weeks
On Wednesday, February 18, at approximately 3:23 p.m., I was told my services were no longer affordable at my place of employment. I got the "it's not you, it's us" speech, was led to my office, packed up my books and several pairs of shoes, and made my way out the door. I was never extremely happy about that place, but it was sad and shocking. My eyes may have leaked a bit, watching other eyes get red and wet made it even worse. I made my way outside and called some people who may want to share my shock. Then I went home, changed into something less corporate, turned on my computer and filed for unemployment. I have done this once before, about two years ago, and though it wasn't the best feeling, it was comfortable. Like return to a hobo camp, with the same 55 gallon drum fireplace, shiv hidden under my pile of stolen blankets...there I was again, living off the gubment.
There are two major differences this time: As of March 1, 2009, the weekly payments increased by $25. Fantastic!!! Mani/pedi paid! The other difference was that legislation was passed to increase the length of benefits to 33 weeks. THIRTY-THREE WEEKS. It was at this point I realized I was gonna be o.k. More than o.k., 33 is my number. My talisman, the numerical equivalent to a rabbit's foot WITH a horse shoe. I was gonna be more than o.k., I was going to succeed. In what, I have no idea, but if there is a prize for unemploed-ness, I was going to win it.
There are two major differences this time: As of March 1, 2009, the weekly payments increased by $25. Fantastic!!! Mani/pedi paid! The other difference was that legislation was passed to increase the length of benefits to 33 weeks. THIRTY-THREE WEEKS. It was at this point I realized I was gonna be o.k. More than o.k., 33 is my number. My talisman, the numerical equivalent to a rabbit's foot WITH a horse shoe. I was gonna be more than o.k., I was going to succeed. In what, I have no idea, but if there is a prize for unemploed-ness, I was going to win it.
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