In other news, I'd like to tell you a little story of blessings and gratitude or something.
The Truly Horrible, Really Bad Day that Only Got SO Much Better By Going Home
I have, in the forefront of my mind, multi-colored sticky notes that keep me organized. Some folks use their smartphones, others use an online calendar system, like Microsoft Outlook, others use a physical calendar that hangs on a wall or drapes across a desk, others use Post-Its around the room. I use MS Outlook with a mental, multi-colored sticky notes one-two punch sort of system.
This morning, I awoke to read the sticky notes:
- lime green: "Job Interview at 11:30 - when are you going to buy a big wall clock for the living room, APE?"
- hot pink: "Job Interview at 11:30 - Is your computer up and running MS Outlook, so you'll get an audible and visual reminder in time?"
- yellow: "Job Interview at 11:30 - check your map again, and don't forget quarters for parking!"
- purple: "Job Interview at 11:30 - for Goodness' sake, woman - start getting ready by 10:00!"
and so on.
So I did all the things my sticky notes reminded me to do, and then my day went Truly Horrible:
- 10:45 - carry the computer down to the car, just in case they need me to print out another resume (HA! Who wastes paper like that anymore?); drive out of the lot and head into traffic
- 11:15 - find parking, too far away to walk. Venture toward a very busy boulevard and manage to get across it without aid of a light. Write a mental sticky note: "Don't return this way."
- 11:20 - get parked under a tree, check and re-check the street parking signage, walk to the building and try to decipher the intercom system.
- 11:21 - get sent upstairs to the office by the two interviewers, who are heading out to walk their dogs
- check out the open office and get really overwhelmed with sensory overload. There's not another soul in the building, as far as I can tell, but the TV's on one of those annoying morning talk-show channels, and there's a "Hall of Fame" with pics of celebrities I can't necessarily identify, and bottles of perfume and notes on white boards and STUFF and STUFF and THINGS and CRAP and now I know why they're hiring a "Secretary" (who advertises for a "Secretary" anymore? Isn't Admin Assist or Exec Assist or Office Manager more in line with what they need in this really cluttered and overwhelming office?)
- 11:35 - the two chicks are surprised to see me waiting outside the office, and when I mention that I didn't know exactly where I should sit that was non-dog-permissible, I get an explanation that, while the dogs are allowed anywhere, they don't shed. No shedding = less work for the "owners." How nice for them. I am ushered into the French chick's office and offered a beverage, which I decline. French chick has excused herself to the rest room.
- 11:40 - after what can be considered "pleasantries" only in French chick's mind, I am given a verbal beat-down on how the industry that I love is "not a profession" and that "you should have a JOB at your age" and by applying for a position as their Secretary, "you are wasting our time." Those Bitches should be grateful I didn't set the damn office on fire as I exited the building. I was still in earshot when one said to the other, "Can you believe her?"
- 12:15 - I arrive at home, fuming but grateful that I didn't let Those Bitches see me cry. I had turned off my music for the drive home because I had so many thoughts of where I was going to post my bile.
and then I changed into my swimsuit and got in the pool.
I am so happy and grateful that I could waste only five minutes of someone else's day and have only two hours of my own day (plus 16 miles and change on my car) wasted in order to reach this place where I currently am. I know what I need to be doing for a living. I know that I just need to keep putting out feelers with folks in my preferred industry, and if it comes down to begging, I am not above that. I know that I will succeed in an office environment if I only put myself out there for temporary or temp-to-hire gigs. I know that those two I met with this morning will find a young brown-nosing troll to do their bidding, and that I will likely never have to deal with them again. I've deleted the map; I've moved the emails into "junk"; I've torn up the mental stickies.
Life is good. It's only going to get better. Thank you for reading my little story. Should you have any contacts (or contracts, as I was about to type - that word works well here, too) in the industry you know I love, PLEASE help a sistah OUT! I'm really not proud. I'll do any job I'm qualified to do. And I'm qualified (some might say "over" qualified, but I don't say that) for just about anything!
Good Day to you, Gentle Ladies and Sirs.