Claire McCaskill, I love you today.
Rudy Giuliani, please suck it!
Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Express-o
After I lost my job, I did two things-
- Went to the Baltic States to clear my head (more on that later)
- Got a part time job at a cafe.
The cafe job is not about making money. I make about enough to keep gas in my car and food in my belly (and the cat’s belly). It’s about health insurance. I have had health insurance my entire life…until 4 months ago. The company is one of the few places that offer health insurance to part time employees, and I like getting my teeth cleaned 4 times a year. I also don’t like having to worry that a tumble on the ice might lead to a hospital bill that would bankrupt me.
So I have been making mochas and soy lattes, and have been happy to be chosen to do it (trust me, lots of folks experiencing joblessness are stopping in for an application). In exchange for working 20 hours a week, I will qualify for health insurance benefits on March 1st, and that’s more than a “Fair Trade” to me. But then the company announced layoffs and store closings, and then a week later announced more layoffs and store closings. Scheduled hours have been cut, enough that I may lose my insurance as soon as I become eligible to receive it.
So now I’ve had to make time in my search for a full time job to work a little damage control on my part time job. I’ve found some extra hours covering shifts at a couple of other locations inside and outside the city, so I’m good through next week.
I am now a traveling remote deployment barista.
So I have been making mochas and soy lattes, and have been happy to be chosen to do it (trust me, lots of folks experiencing joblessness are stopping in for an application). In exchange for working 20 hours a week, I will qualify for health insurance benefits on March 1st, and that’s more than a “Fair Trade” to me. But then the company announced layoffs and store closings, and then a week later announced more layoffs and store closings. Scheduled hours have been cut, enough that I may lose my insurance as soon as I become eligible to receive it.
So now I’ve had to make time in my search for a full time job to work a little damage control on my part time job. I’ve found some extra hours covering shifts at a couple of other locations inside and outside the city, so I’m good through next week.
I am now a traveling remote deployment barista.
Puff the Magic Asshole
I had a job interview early Saturday morning. It lasted all of 10 minutes, less time than I spent picking out the suit, shirt and tie to wear to it. In retrospect, the suit probably did me in from the get-go.
The interview was for a Community Organizer position with Acorn (of the voter registration fraud Acorns). I only half-heartedly sent my resume when I saw the job posting, so I was surprised when I received a response. And I wasn’t exactly excited about the opportunity. After all, Acorn has a reputation for being, um, how do I say this gently, an odd bunch of militant soap-dodgery freaks with self righteous hearts of faux gold. Still, an interview is an interview, and if nothing else, it was a chance to remind myself that I used to be someone who was a professional and wore suits.
As I left my car and walked towards the building, a man not unlike myself (wearing a suit and overcoat) approached and asked if I could help jump his car. He was on his way to an interview too. I thought maybe it was the universe telling me that my new career as someone who helps others was starting today. Plus, his car was sitting right in front of Acorn’s office, so this would make a great first impression when the hiring manager looked out the window and saw me helping a fellow citizen.
If only Acorn had windows.
I’m not sure why the front of the office was boarded up; I don’t know, I’m not a building inspector. But my first thought upon entering was that the space had been condemned and Acorn was squatting. When I had to avoid the holes in the floor created by the missing steps and floorboards, I was sure of it.
I knew from “hello, my name is…” that I was not getting this job. The man, dressed in grease-stained jeans, socks, sandals, and a torn sweatshirt with some sort of cutesy appliqué I wish I’d made a mental note of, eyed me from head to toe and passed judgment so obviously that I could see the thought bubble above his head.
He led me to two chairs, where he sat back into his, but I didn’t sit back in mine because I wasn’t about to spend $15 having my suit dry cleaned afterwards. He forgot to bring a copy of my resume, and then acted surprised when I produced one from my bag. He scanned it briefly and then put it down.
He was thinking something similar.
In my head, I eviscerated him in words before stomping out of his office, but I wasn’t sure the floor would support a good exit scene and so just thanked him for his time.
As I shook his hand and said goodbye, I decided to end things on a positive note. After all, you never know who someone else knows, especially in this town.
So a bar of soap and a nicely tailored side vent suit had foiled my plan to get a job. That’s fine. I’ll be the first to admit that I’d show up to a revolution perfectly coiffed with top notes in the air. That’s just me.
Speaking of a revolution, I love the French.
The interview was for a Community Organizer position with Acorn (of the voter registration fraud Acorns). I only half-heartedly sent my resume when I saw the job posting, so I was surprised when I received a response. And I wasn’t exactly excited about the opportunity. After all, Acorn has a reputation for being, um, how do I say this gently, an odd bunch of militant soap-dodgery freaks with self righteous hearts of faux gold. Still, an interview is an interview, and if nothing else, it was a chance to remind myself that I used to be someone who was a professional and wore suits.
As I left my car and walked towards the building, a man not unlike myself (wearing a suit and overcoat) approached and asked if I could help jump his car. He was on his way to an interview too. I thought maybe it was the universe telling me that my new career as someone who helps others was starting today. Plus, his car was sitting right in front of Acorn’s office, so this would make a great first impression when the hiring manager looked out the window and saw me helping a fellow citizen.
If only Acorn had windows.
I’m not sure why the front of the office was boarded up; I don’t know, I’m not a building inspector. But my first thought upon entering was that the space had been condemned and Acorn was squatting. When I had to avoid the holes in the floor created by the missing steps and floorboards, I was sure of it.
I knew from “hello, my name is…” that I was not getting this job. The man, dressed in grease-stained jeans, socks, sandals, and a torn sweatshirt with some sort of cutesy appliqué I wish I’d made a mental note of, eyed me from head to toe and passed judgment so obviously that I could see the thought bubble above his head.
He led me to two chairs, where he sat back into his, but I didn’t sit back in mine because I wasn’t about to spend $15 having my suit dry cleaned afterwards. He forgot to bring a copy of my resume, and then acted surprised when I produced one from my bag. He scanned it briefly and then put it down.
At this point, my thought bubble was that I could wrap this up and get home in time for a nap before I had to go to work at the coffee shop.Him: It looks like you’ve worked a lot of different places?Me: Actually, I was with my previous employer for 11 years.
Him: Yeah? I guess I didn’t see that.
Me: Maybe you’re referring to the volunteer experience with several organizations listed on my resume?
Him: Oh, have you volunteered? I didn't know that.
He was thinking something similar.
Him: Well, let me tell you what a Community Organizer at Acorn does. A Community Organizer is someone who can rally 50-60 people to storm the sheriff’s office and stop people from being evicted from their homes due to foreclosure.Oh, so he’s an asshole and a misogynist.
Me: Well, I’m not sure I’m the person to do that. I believe I can organize 50-60 people to come together to rationally discuss an issue and agree on a responsible course of action to address a problem or inequity, but I don’t think I want to lead a charge of fired-up folks into the office of an armed man.
Him: Yeah, I didn’t think so. I mean, no offense, but you’re very clean cut and well groomed, and we need someone who isn't afraid to take risks for "the cause" (he even air quoted). Maybe you should go work for an organization that doesn’t require grassroots activism, like Komen or Planned Parenthood.
In my head, I eviscerated him in words before stomping out of his office, but I wasn’t sure the floor would support a good exit scene and so just thanked him for his time.
As I shook his hand and said goodbye, I decided to end things on a positive note. After all, you never know who someone else knows, especially in this town.
Me: I’m going to keep your number, because I may need to call you in a few months and ask for 50-60 people to meet on my front lawn to stop my own home foreclosure.Yeah, all those dead people were so relieved when you helped them register to vote last November, pretentious hippie fuckwad.
Him: Well, you’d have to do a lot of work beforehand. Acorn only hopes those who help themselves.
So a bar of soap and a nicely tailored side vent suit had foiled my plan to get a job. That’s fine. I’ll be the first to admit that I’d show up to a revolution perfectly coiffed with top notes in the air. That’s just me.
Speaking of a revolution, I love the French.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The Other End of the Telescope
I am a jobless American. Yeah, I was one of those 2.6 million who lost their job in 2008. Take into account the 2.8 million jobs forecasted to be lost in 2009, and maybe you can understand how I’ve worked myself into a state of hopeless frenzy.
I was laid off after 11 years of service to the same company due to cost-cutting departmental restructuring and…oh fuck it, it’s a boring, clichéd story shared by, well, 2.6 million people. It has been 15 weeks since the last paycheck was deposited into my account (I have taken a part-time job as a barista for 9% of my previous salary…yeah, I did the math, but more on that later).
I am now living on a modest severance package and an even more modest 401k that I cashed in after it lost half its value. If I don’t find a job soon, in 4 to 6 months I will lose my home. 3 to 4 months after that, I will lose my car. My dignity was already repossessed sometime around Christmas and New Year’s.
I split my time on-line between reading about more job losses (40,000 on Friday), applying for jobs (approximately 80 to date) and researching painless ways to end myself (2 potential methods so far). I have had two interviews, and both told me I was overqualified for the position. How can you be overqualified if you want to do the work?
When this first began, I tried to see it as an opportunity. A chance to move from a career I fell into by happenstance to one of my own choice and design. An answer to a question I had never posed to myself. I would decide what work I feel passionately towards, what would leave a positive footprint in my world, and pursue that with the ambition of someone starting a new career. And to be honest, if I am going to have to learn to live on a smaller income, I wanted to find something that would satisfy a more personal motivation and fulfill me in a way more substantially than just being able to afford a lifestyle.
But where once there was hope, there is now a growing sense of more bad news to come, more to be lost, a rock whose bottom has still not been seen. Some days I am able to push this feeling back, to find little ways to smile. But there are also days when the only thing I am able to care about is my cat, how I will look after her if the worst comes true, or who will look after her if I am not able.
I never knew I could feel so small.
I was laid off after 11 years of service to the same company due to cost-cutting departmental restructuring and…oh fuck it, it’s a boring, clichéd story shared by, well, 2.6 million people. It has been 15 weeks since the last paycheck was deposited into my account (I have taken a part-time job as a barista for 9% of my previous salary…yeah, I did the math, but more on that later).
I am now living on a modest severance package and an even more modest 401k that I cashed in after it lost half its value. If I don’t find a job soon, in 4 to 6 months I will lose my home. 3 to 4 months after that, I will lose my car. My dignity was already repossessed sometime around Christmas and New Year’s.
I split my time on-line between reading about more job losses (40,000 on Friday), applying for jobs (approximately 80 to date) and researching painless ways to end myself (2 potential methods so far). I have had two interviews, and both told me I was overqualified for the position. How can you be overqualified if you want to do the work?
When this first began, I tried to see it as an opportunity. A chance to move from a career I fell into by happenstance to one of my own choice and design. An answer to a question I had never posed to myself. I would decide what work I feel passionately towards, what would leave a positive footprint in my world, and pursue that with the ambition of someone starting a new career. And to be honest, if I am going to have to learn to live on a smaller income, I wanted to find something that would satisfy a more personal motivation and fulfill me in a way more substantially than just being able to afford a lifestyle.
But where once there was hope, there is now a growing sense of more bad news to come, more to be lost, a rock whose bottom has still not been seen. Some days I am able to push this feeling back, to find little ways to smile. But there are also days when the only thing I am able to care about is my cat, how I will look after her if the worst comes true, or who will look after her if I am not able.
I never knew I could feel so small.
Shall we agree that just this once
I'm gonna change my life
until it's just as tiny or
important as you like
and in time, we won't even recall that we spoke
Words that turned out to be as big as smoke
like smoke, disappears in the air
there's always something smouldering somewhere
There was a time not long ago
I dreamt that the world was flat
and all the colors bled away
and that was that
And in time, I could only believe in one thing
the sky was just phosphourus stars hung on strings
and you swore that they'd always be mine
when you can pull them down anytime
Chorus:
I know it don't make a difference to you
but oh, it sure made a difference to me
You'll see me off in the distance, I hope
at the other end
at the other end of the telescope
There, there baby now, don't say a word
lie down baby, your vision is blurred
Your head is so sore from all of that thinking
I don't want to hurt you now
but I think you're shrinking
You're half-naked ambition and
you're half out of your wits
and though your wristwatch always works
your necktie never fits
Now its so hard to pick the receiver up
and when I call, I never noticed you could be so small
the answer was under your nose
but the question never arose
I know it don't make a difference to you
but oh, it sure made a difference to me
When you find me here at the end of my rope
when the head and heart of it finally elope
You can see us off in the distance, I hope
at the other end
at the other end of the telescope
Lyrics by Aimee Mann
I'm gonna change my life
until it's just as tiny or
important as you like
and in time, we won't even recall that we spoke
Words that turned out to be as big as smoke
like smoke, disappears in the air
there's always something smouldering somewhere
There was a time not long ago
I dreamt that the world was flat
and all the colors bled away
and that was that
And in time, I could only believe in one thing
the sky was just phosphourus stars hung on strings
and you swore that they'd always be mine
when you can pull them down anytime
Chorus:
I know it don't make a difference to you
but oh, it sure made a difference to me
You'll see me off in the distance, I hope
at the other end
at the other end of the telescope
There, there baby now, don't say a word
lie down baby, your vision is blurred
Your head is so sore from all of that thinking
I don't want to hurt you now
but I think you're shrinking
You're half-naked ambition and
you're half out of your wits
and though your wristwatch always works
your necktie never fits
Now its so hard to pick the receiver up
and when I call, I never noticed you could be so small
the answer was under your nose
but the question never arose
I know it don't make a difference to you
but oh, it sure made a difference to me
When you find me here at the end of my rope
when the head and heart of it finally elope
You can see us off in the distance, I hope
at the other end
at the other end of the telescope
Lyrics by Aimee Mann
Here You Come Again
So, welcome to my new blog. Again.
I had another one, years ago, but stopped writing and erased all evidence of it. Back then I was writing for the fun of it, just posting little observations and rants that didn't really add up to anything. Now my head is full of realities and unavoidable truths that are clogging my mind, and I can't afford therapy.
I had another one, years ago, but stopped writing and erased all evidence of it. Back then I was writing for the fun of it, just posting little observations and rants that didn't really add up to anything. Now my head is full of realities and unavoidable truths that are clogging my mind, and I can't afford therapy.
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