I got a job. The kind where they pay you on a regular basis with a check that clears and a boss and an email and responsibilities and for christssake I may get a business card.
I shit you not.
Okay. So edit me. Censor me. I GOT A JOB!
Can I tell you that since my last pity-party-posting, I have applied to 77 jobs I could do easily, and another dozen or so are-you-out-of-your-freaking-mind advertisements via careerbuilder, monster, hotjobs, indeed, mediabistro, local websites, women@work, craigslist, county and state job searches, and the ever-so-productive word of mouth at soccer sidelines.
Real jobs: part-time, hourly, no-benefits positions. I applied for substitute teaching, admin, office managers, copywriting, media buying, sales. Nothing. From 77 applications I received 5 interviews, 2 acknowledgments my resume had been received by someone, somewhere, and a whole lot of nothing. I heard so much silence that I again checked with a techno-savvy teenager to make sure my outbox was actually sending this stuff out.
One company appeared to love, love, love me during the 2 hour interview process where suit after suit was invited in to gawk at the return-to-work mom, apparently not-so-much, because the generic rejection email arrived a few short days later.
The remaining interviews left those across the table looking at me sadly saying, “You creative-types don’t want this job.” What???? Was it tattooed on my forehead??? As much as I tried to convince them I most certainly did, I didn’t get any of them. ‘You won’t like spreadsheets. Powerpoint. Databases. Excel, cold calling.’ Try me, I practically begged. I dumbed down my resume. I built it up. I have so many versions, I don’t know who I am anymore.
What I got consistently was, “you’re not right for this but we really like you. And we love your writing.” They’d be in touch. Would I write a brochure? A website? Did I know a graphic designer? Perhaps when the marketing dollars were restored . . . but no, not at this time.
Defeated, in September I submitted a revamped and somewhat exaggerated mommy-of-the-year resumes to the schools. Or tried to. They didn’t want me either.
Alas an ad appears that says writer/admin: “perfect for a return-to-work mom wanting to keep abreast of the industry.” Not to be snowed, I reluctantly got back in the saddle and wrote. But he responded. Then emailed. And then called. Again. And again. Then we met for lunch and he’d let me know. Sure he would . . .
But, waa-laa — I got the job! Not any old job, but one where I can learn and grow and think and have much to offer them as they do me. This boss knows exactly who he hired, why I’m working, and what I can do and what I can’t.
“I like how you think,” boss-man said. “And we’ll teach you what you don’t know,” he reassured when I confessed to being tweetless and a social media moron.
He likes how I think. Imagine. I’m going to like this job.