Hired! pt.1
Well, I have news. It seems that after judicious review of my resume, the good people at PD Bureau have found me a job suited to my singular talents. Tomorrow, at nine A.M sharp, I get to report to Hariri Pontarini Architects and...lift....heavy...boxes. I think the most suitable category to file this job under is "It's Better than Nothing". To be fair, Rita (my job agent) realizes this.
"I know this isn't exactly what you had in mind," she says,
"but I figured we could give you something to get you started."
"Thanks! That's, um, great news" I reply, out of a pathological desire to appear polite. All the while I'm thinking: Lifting boxes? Fucking lifting boxes?
Luckily, I've been well-trained since childhood to simulate enthusiasm and cheerfulness about tasks that I have absolutely no interest in, and as usual, my training stands me in good stead. I ask if it's okay to wear T-shirts (it is), and whether or not sneakers are allowed (they should be okay). Splendid. I thank her and hang up.
I'm not annoyed at Rita, I know she's doing her job, and I'm sure she had to go through a lot of effort to find even this. I'm just dismayed by the poverty of what's on offer. I don't think I'm a special case, this seems to be happening to quite a few people. The only jobs that seem to be on offer are those that require a warm body and the ability not to (completely) drool on your shoes. I'm relieved to have some money coming in, but it's a waste of my time to be doing a job that a Jr.High diploma, let alone a university degree, makes me overqualified for. For one, I could be spending that time looking for a better job. It also makes me question the wisdom of staying in a city where after spending four-odd years in university, this is the best I can do.
The obvious retort to all of this is Well, what do you want to do? Honestly, I'm not sure anymore. I've tried a few things already, but nothing seems to have bore any fruit. Of course, I recognize that this is undeniably a first-world problem, and that I should be counting my blessing that I have the luxury of complaining about the indignity of taking jobs that I'm overqualified for on my blog. I don't dispute that. It's just that knowing it could be worse doesn't make me feel any better.
"I know this isn't exactly what you had in mind," she says,
"but I figured we could give you something to get you started."
"Thanks! That's, um, great news" I reply, out of a pathological desire to appear polite. All the while I'm thinking: Lifting boxes? Fucking lifting boxes?
Luckily, I've been well-trained since childhood to simulate enthusiasm and cheerfulness about tasks that I have absolutely no interest in, and as usual, my training stands me in good stead. I ask if it's okay to wear T-shirts (it is), and whether or not sneakers are allowed (they should be okay). Splendid. I thank her and hang up.
I'm not annoyed at Rita, I know she's doing her job, and I'm sure she had to go through a lot of effort to find even this. I'm just dismayed by the poverty of what's on offer. I don't think I'm a special case, this seems to be happening to quite a few people. The only jobs that seem to be on offer are those that require a warm body and the ability not to (completely) drool on your shoes. I'm relieved to have some money coming in, but it's a waste of my time to be doing a job that a Jr.High diploma, let alone a university degree, makes me overqualified for. For one, I could be spending that time looking for a better job. It also makes me question the wisdom of staying in a city where after spending four-odd years in university, this is the best I can do.
The obvious retort to all of this is Well, what do you want to do? Honestly, I'm not sure anymore. I've tried a few things already, but nothing seems to have bore any fruit. Of course, I recognize that this is undeniably a first-world problem, and that I should be counting my blessing that I have the luxury of complaining about the indignity of taking jobs that I'm overqualified for on my blog. I don't dispute that. It's just that knowing it could be worse doesn't make me feel any better.
posted by Sam at
4:22 PM
7 Comments:
Buzzkill!
Don't worry, Sam, I am becoming a millionaire and I will support you with my millions in style to which you have become accustomed.
By
Jessica McGann, At
6:28 PM
Don't worry, Sam. This is just the temp agency's way of "hazing" anyone they're not sure about. (Did you tell them you were desperate?) At least they're not bullshitting you about what a great opportunity it is. Come through as a courteous, diligent and reliable worker, and they'll hang on to you as solid gold. Then they'll break out the jobs in Parliament. Really.
By
Susannah, At
9:44 AM
Sam, that's great/okay news. A little money in the pocket never hurt anyone. Plus, its a well known fact that any man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. (Did I quote that right) ...so...let watch as the chicks come a 'knockin'. Lift those boxes, my friend, and lift your spirits as well. Good luck.
By
dre, At
1:46 PM
It really ISN'T that bad. It's just not exactly what I had in mind. Just Call me Sam the Obscure, except, hopefully, without all the mindbending tragedy.
By
Sam, At
3:31 PM
But I already call you Sam the Obscure.
I mean, not on a regular basis, 'cause that's long and I'm lazy.
By
Ellen, At
9:14 PM
On the actual topic of your post, lifting heavy boxes is better than whoring.
It's also better than working at McDonalds, approving mortgage applications, weeding, babysitting kids with ADD, treeplanting and bouncing.
Not to mention skin-diving into septic tanks to remove drain blockages. People do that, you know.
I'm probably not making you feel any better.
Money's money. And the next winning lottery ticket I find on the street, I'll split with you.
By
Ellen, At
9:20 PM
Actually Rachel, I'm the personification of pure evil, so knowing that there are people out there who suffer more than me DOES make me feel better.
I'm kidding of course. It doesn't.
But isn't that what I would say say if I was the personification of pure evil?
Whoa.
By
Sam, At
6:19 PM
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