The futility of finding jobs, ah. I am on a never-ending search for a job, in-between suffering what could only be compared to a kind of purgatorial purging. Of ego, or, more accurately put, sanity. As in, I ain't got none left, my friends! Although I'm not sure I have anymore online, as I suspect the 1.3 people reading this have gotten bored and looked elsewhere. If you have, I won't hold it against you, because I don't have any nice color photos of myself, or of tulips, foreign countries, cheerful golden retrievers, or cool, abstract artwork designed to make you think about things like existential angst.
So! I interviewed recently with Starbucks. Starbucks is an excellent place to go if you're feeling really low, because the corporate baristas therein are all evidently on prozac times three. You would think that the queen had come to visit, or that someone there had just won the lottery, because it doesn't matter what I order, they are SO FRICKING HAPPY!!!! Have a nice day, they tell me, in joyous, pealing tones with big happy smiles plastered to their faces. The employee handbook must have an entire page devoted to things like, "Body Language: How to Sell Coffee With Your Biggest, Fakest Smile Without The Aid of Excessive Stimlants". Complete with perky pictures of well-groomed baristas pouring cappucinos until they're coming out of their asses. Or, less crudely put, until the sight, smell, or sound of coffee being poured is enough to make them puke.
And oh, that coulda been me. I guess I failed the Starbucks perkiness test, or else someone else was hired with loads more experience. I am faintly worried I have a shitty reference, incorrect dates on my resume, maybe I didn't use the right kind of perfume? God only knows. It was probably a question (let's hope, for my sake) of experience. At the very least, I will say they treated me very fairly, and were basically quite kind. Too bad I didn't get the job, but one must keep on keeping on, children. And there's always another place willing to abuse you for low wages! The good thing about Skcubrats is that if you work twenty hours, you are eligible for benefits. The kind that involve actual doctors and medical plans. I once had a temp agency medical plan that required me to cut out the little card they mailed me with scissors. It looked like the Sesame Street Medical Plan. It was fucking frightening.
So, there you have it. I am now esconsed in our local library on the happy laptop, which is much kinder to my fingers. I have put in two more applications today, to Borders and a local coffee shop where the baristas look like they lift cars in their spare time. Don't know why, just kinda big gals. I am tall, yet not all that big, although I am not going to be giving Cindy Crawford any competition anytime soon. Doesn't matter, though, because the one kind thing you learn in your thirties is to hell with being a popsickle stick. I like to eat, and eat I will. And to hell with anorexia!!
The funniest thing that's been popping through my antidepressant-addled head all day: a great bit by Mitch Hedburg, funniest comedian in the world. Sadly, dead at the age of 37. Anyway, he does this great riff where he's interviewing with this woman in an office for some kind of job. She asks him, "Where do you see yourself in five years?" He looks at her and says, "Celebrating the five-year anniversary of you asking me this question." You have to hear Hedburg say it, because it's priceless, in his floating, stoneresque voice. I did love that man so.
No more from this tiny teeny little laptop! I bid you adieu, much Starbucks coffee, and a husky barista, all coming to a theater near you.
Boo.
So! I interviewed recently with Starbucks. Starbucks is an excellent place to go if you're feeling really low, because the corporate baristas therein are all evidently on prozac times three. You would think that the queen had come to visit, or that someone there had just won the lottery, because it doesn't matter what I order, they are SO FRICKING HAPPY!!!! Have a nice day, they tell me, in joyous, pealing tones with big happy smiles plastered to their faces. The employee handbook must have an entire page devoted to things like, "Body Language: How to Sell Coffee With Your Biggest, Fakest Smile Without The Aid of Excessive Stimlants". Complete with perky pictures of well-groomed baristas pouring cappucinos until they're coming out of their asses. Or, less crudely put, until the sight, smell, or sound of coffee being poured is enough to make them puke.
And oh, that coulda been me. I guess I failed the Starbucks perkiness test, or else someone else was hired with loads more experience. I am faintly worried I have a shitty reference, incorrect dates on my resume, maybe I didn't use the right kind of perfume? God only knows. It was probably a question (let's hope, for my sake) of experience. At the very least, I will say they treated me very fairly, and were basically quite kind. Too bad I didn't get the job, but one must keep on keeping on, children. And there's always another place willing to abuse you for low wages! The good thing about Skcubrats is that if you work twenty hours, you are eligible for benefits. The kind that involve actual doctors and medical plans. I once had a temp agency medical plan that required me to cut out the little card they mailed me with scissors. It looked like the Sesame Street Medical Plan. It was fucking frightening.
So, there you have it. I am now esconsed in our local library on the happy laptop, which is much kinder to my fingers. I have put in two more applications today, to Borders and a local coffee shop where the baristas look like they lift cars in their spare time. Don't know why, just kinda big gals. I am tall, yet not all that big, although I am not going to be giving Cindy Crawford any competition anytime soon. Doesn't matter, though, because the one kind thing you learn in your thirties is to hell with being a popsickle stick. I like to eat, and eat I will. And to hell with anorexia!!
The funniest thing that's been popping through my antidepressant-addled head all day: a great bit by Mitch Hedburg, funniest comedian in the world. Sadly, dead at the age of 37. Anyway, he does this great riff where he's interviewing with this woman in an office for some kind of job. She asks him, "Where do you see yourself in five years?" He looks at her and says, "Celebrating the five-year anniversary of you asking me this question." You have to hear Hedburg say it, because it's priceless, in his floating, stoneresque voice. I did love that man so.
No more from this tiny teeny little laptop! I bid you adieu, much Starbucks coffee, and a husky barista, all coming to a theater near you.
Boo.
posted by lakeofthelongsun72 at 11:16 AM
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