Being out of work is nerve-racking. It’s the process of enjoying all the free time you coveted while you were working, but with the added pressure or knowing you haven’t any money coming in, the added pressure of knowing that you’re going to have to find a job, and the added pressure of those around you simultaneously judging you and envying you for not going to work everyday. Finding a quality job, really is a fulltime job in itself. I don’t care what anyone says, you put more effort into it, you weigh more factors, your cover letters are less non-committal and sincere when you’re out of work. Daunting tasks become manageable, you house is cleaner, you get more sleep, you’re more personable, the world seems far less daunting when you don’t have to confront it with balled fists five days a week.
However, once these initial benefits become part of the overall structure of your life, once you have grown used to the benefits and reaped them to their fullest potential on a daily basis, once again our inherent human unhappiness of complacency starts to jab at our ribs and not always, but occasionally, a finger will slip through and poke at our heart, making us feel useless, without societal contribution, purposeless. So the job hunt becomes a calling, a mission, an expedition into the rear-end of the corporate infrastructure. The land of back-door politics known popularly as human relations.
So you make past the initial interest phase, they like you, they want you, they feel you may be qualified for the job. An interview is scheduled, you have anxiety and/or excitement leading up to said event. You go, they like you, or, they don’t, you don’t really know. You wait a week, they liked you, they schedule another interview, you have anxiety and/or excitement again leading up to it. You go, they like you, or secretly hate you but feel you are a good fit and need you. They’ll be in touch. You say thank you, you thank everyone, because that’s what you do. You show them how much you appreciate them even considering you for the job. Then you wait, they say they’ll be in contact, will they? They sweat you out, you sweat it out. You wait, and wait and wait. The end result means your future, either you work for them, they who like you, or secretly hate you and need you, or you’re back to being self-employed, gainfully driven and exploring the endless possibilities of the job market with your limited skill set. You start thinking, well I COULD do This, or I COULD do That thing, and even I guess I wouldn’t MIND doing something like THAT. But you won’t do it for long, don’t lie to yourself. Tell all your friends and strangers you meet that you’re freelancing and secretly live off of the savings you told yourself you’d never touch. Pay for things at hand from the earmarked funds for your future whatever that was, because the future is now when you’re unemployed and dangling in the wind. So you wait, you bide time and bate your breath. You sweat silently and let your stomach eat itself wondering, pondering, floundering. When will they call, when will they write, will they?
You listen to the radio and hear about how many other folks are in your position, lost their jobs, got laid off, cancelled their health plan, behind in their rent, calling public radio stations to justify their lifestyle. Calling strangers to validate the unfortunate state of the world, the unfortunate state of the economy. We find it far less daunting in trying times to be truthful with strangers about our situation than with loved ones, who seemingly would have a better perspective on your situation. However, strangers have a completely objective view, a long ways, farsighted, telescopic vision into our estranged bereavement with society’s failings and short-comings, our inability to speak up when the screws were being put to our futures, and the ease with which we replaced our tormentor with a savior to whom we weigh challenge with the shouldering of our collective burdens, not to mention his own possible performance anxiety because of the connotations his presidency brings not to mention the proxy benefits he brings to this country by simply being brilliant and idealistic.
The question of whether or not you’ll get that call, that demand for a weak mind and strong back for minimal compensation and cut-rate benefits, depends largely on people who are at the opposite end of the spectrum, it’s also pivotal upon the relative demeanor of said people and their own approach and attitude towards their positions. Those in short-term, dead-end positions they don’t plan on staying in and can’t see a future in will be quicker to offer a position than those who love their jobs simply because they don’t envision themselves sticking around to see the ramifications of their actions reach full fruition and therefore are likely to hire the best-looking candidate rather than the most qualified. Whilst those who love their jobs, their co-workers(in a plutonic capacity), and their work environment will be extremely careful and meticulous as to whom they staff in the open position based mostly upon not upsetting the careful balance and equilibrius synergy they have achieved in their office. You don’t want to BE the chainsaw in the abattoir. So you play it cool and calm, just like the interview itself, minimal contact, with maximum enthusiasm.
The truth is, it isn’t a decision that’s up to you, you can’t fake you. You can’t completely misrepresent yourself, especially in multiple visits, you wouldn’t be able to fake it twice the same way, you aren’t that good. So you’re real, you’re you, and at least you don’t fuck up being yourself. You’re nervous, you’re edgy, you’re trying your best to answer authorities thoughtfully and not dodge confrontational corners of questioning. It’s a bit like being accused of a crime, being accused of ineptitude, misrepresenting your abilities and your capabilities. Are you qualifications what they say, they assume you’re lying, they just don’t know what about, and if you’re totally honest, it confuses the hell out of them, because they start to assume everything is a lie, even though you know what you’re talking about. Hubris, that’s what hits them in the face, appropriately placed gallbladder oozing across the line into lines of quandary that qualm queries of quote and quickly quips into quixotic quelch, which is a made up word that means you drank a lemon-lime soda of medicinal resolution. It’s a decision out of your hands, it could be in the stars, the planets, the fates, but at the end of the day your career belongs to working people, folks who themselves must resolve that you will be around, a cog in their machine, and they want one with sharp teeth, not a squeaky wheel. So you’ll just keep rolling along, no matter where your gears turn, your wheels will spin and your machine will keep on working, at work, out of work, working on it, working it out, it’s an active part of your lifestyle, even just the thinking, the pondering, notions of working, earning, a return to joyless toil or the bubbling basis for all creative wellspring embodied in an office, or a cardboard cube and a fluorescent glow, it’s patience that defines progress, the patience of searching, the patience of finding, the patience of waiting itself, because the decisions are bourne out of patience, so everyone will wait, and see.
