Yesterday I heard an interview with John McCain. I didn't get to transcribe it fully but here's the gist from memory:
Welcome to Beat the Press. Today's guest is Senator John McCain (R-Lockheed).
Good morning, Senator.
WHERE?
Here, Senator.
Oh.
Senator, we're discussing the recent bombing of a hospital in Afghanistan.
Yes, it's a crying shame (that we didn't get more of the commie bastards).
But Senator, the hospital was full of sick people.
Taleban. TALEBAN. Kill. KILL!
Doctors Without Borders says there was no Taleban in the hospital.
Doctors Without Borders is a terrorist organization, bent on getting in the way of exporting democracy.
Were there any Taleban in the hospital?
No, but they were certainly in the area. Somewhere.
But not in the hospital?
No. But those Doctors were, so we stepped up and dropped a few. Dropped. DROPPED. KILL. BOMB! EVISCERATE!!!!!
Senator, there has been some criticism over using the B-34 Flying Uncontrolled Country Killer (FUCK). This plane features enough tactical killing power to take out small regions of the planet. Do you believe this was the correct way to take out a small hospital?
Bob...
My name is Ted, Senator.
Bob... I believe the right tool is the one that gets the job done. We flew in and took out the target. If we could have used more bombers, we could have taken out the hospital and the rest of the country where the Taleban must be hiding. But we are using more surgical strikes lately, so as not to interrupt the cocaine trade. President Kennedy pissed the CIA off once and look what happened to him. And Bob, I'm no John F. Kennedy.
But there were innocent sick people in the hospital.
Bob, have I said ISIS yet? Because ISIS. New munitions needed. More contracts. Boeing, Lockheed, Halliburton.. MORE CONTRACTS!!! CIA Secret Missions!!!! Think of the economy, BOB!!!
Ted.
Casualties of war, Bob. Collateral damage. We are very sad at the loss of life but it's the black guy's fault. If he didn't start that drawdown, we could have continued our mission indefinitely. More troops. We will complete our mission, even if it takes longer than Vietnam. ISIS, Bob.
What is our mission in Afghanistan?
We are working towards ramping up our casualties... errr.... troops... because of a very large contract with a huge, influential defense contractor. We just gave them hundreds of billions for new explosive killing vehicles (EKVs). It would be a horrible waste of taxpayer money not to use them. Killing vehicles... killing... KILLING.. BOMBING... WIDESPREAD DEATH AND DESTRUCTION!!!! baaaaaa........ [falls off chair, foaming at the mouth]
Beat the Press would like to thank the (very) late senator John McCain.
Showing posts with label interview. Show all posts
Showing posts with label interview. Show all posts
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Thursday, September 18, 2014
The Unemployment Follies (#7) - Dusty White Shirts
[In this post, our hero has amazing difficulty in the act of becoming employed, in spite of major effort.]
COMING OUT OF THE CLOSET
The bedroom closet is a bit shallow but extremely wide. I'd estimate that it could sleep two people, foot to foot. Four people foot to foot and breast to breast; twenty-four people if you slice them correctly. How, you ask, does this relate to employment? By a damn fine thread, as most of my output tends to go.
When interviewing, I discovered it is strongly advised not to wear Hawaiian shirts. A wag suggested I flout the system and wear Hawaiian underwear but the jury is still out on that. After paying an absolutely frightening amount for a new dress shirt in the wrong size, the wife came up with about seven of them in the correct size. From the closet, of course. I'm beginning to think that this closet occupies several more dimensions than we know of, as stuff seems to appear and disappear when searching. It probably also does this when we're not searching, but I'll leave this to the quantum mechanics to work out (Shroedinger's shirt?). Speaking of quantum effects, most everything in the closet has dust on it but only the very top.
So there are seven additional shirts in the correct size. This indicates that at some point, it was possible to purchase shirts off the shelf in the correct size. Just not anymore, plus they're a lot more expensive. Ain't progress grand? I'm not good at math (or history or science or databases) but I'm going to say that these business shirts in the correct size look incredible for what must be sixteen years old. No, really, they look every bit as good as the hideously expensive new shirt, including one that's almost the same shirt.
Speaking of Hawaiian shirts, I have a strange fondness for them. Because of their dusty-topped condition, the wife decided to wash them. As it turns out, I have rather a lot of them. Really rather a lot of them. The beauty of Hawaiian shirts (or most things) is that if you hold onto them long enough, they'll be back in style in a few years. I don't want to say my shirts are old but they have come and gone out of style four times.
THE JOB SEARCH
One of my mentors suggested I arrange the Hawaiian shirts very close to the middle of the closet and the business shirts at the far unused end. This way the Universe knows I need a job in which Hawaiian shirts are just fine and business shirts are laughed at. So the Hawaiian shirts are just to the right of center, because if I cross the center line, my wife will bite me in a very sensitive place (and not in a good way).
Having located the jacket, with dust only on the top, I am now officially ready to go on interviews. That is, if there were any. According to the ads, there are many jobs available... just not for me, apparently.
The recruiters are driving me up a tree. The metric tonne of Indian recruiters have called about very old jobs and want to submit me for them regardless of skills or location. Last week I got calls about jobs in Colorado and Wyoming. One job search turned up a result for restroom attendant (don't laugh - I applied). Ok, maybe not. The local recruiters are a different species altogether. They call, spend some quality time with me, sound incredibly interested, all but promise me a job and then I never hear from then again. I suspect these folks are recent graduates from local used car lots. I don't want to tar all recruiters with the same slime - one of them has actually called me back.
I did find a government job. I couldn't understand the job title or description, so I figured I'd be perfect for it and applied.
I am going to depart from this blog's entertainment and sarcasm focus to mention that this whole thing is downright depressing.
SUPPORTING THE AUTOMOTIVE REPAIR AND RENTAL INDUSTRIES
No post to this blog would be complete without some new and exciting information about the car. The collision repair place for the insurer called to tell us the car was ready. When we got there, we discovered that there was yet another five-hundred-dollar deductible. This topic has actually gone to the realm of logic: how can an unemployed guy make five-hundred-dollars appear out of thin air? You might be surprised to learn that my piles of hundreds have been depleted by unemployment and tithing to Dunkin Donuts for the dog's coffee. And even if I had hundreds in the closet, they'd be dusty up top.
Not being independently wealthy has been complicated by another ironic phone call, this time from the insurance company. It seems we are just about to exceed the number of rental car days for the year. I've never even heard of this happening. So every day that passes is another day we have to pay for our rental.
Causing five-hundred-dollars to appear is no small feat. Do they expect me to pull it out of my buttocks? Let's face it - if I could, as my friend pointed out, I wouldn't need a job. Perhaps I'm just a masochist.
The entire process of getting the car repaired this time has been one of frustration. I suppose it's ironic that this is the only time the person who hit us had insurance. There was a huge amount of confusion over whose insurance was going to cover it and if theirs was, why were we paying a deductible. After weeks and many phone calls, the repair place overruled the insurer and our insurance is covering it. The lady in charge of the process possesses all the grace and charm of Genghis Khan.
Off we went to pick up our baby. The wife got back into the rental and just looked at me. What now? An additional part had to be repaired and the car, which was 'ready' the prior day, would take another hour or three. And we're racing the clock on the rental.
Know what? I have to give major points to Hyundai. As you've undoubtedly read, we have driven a lot of rental cars lately (stop laughing) and my wife still prefers her Hyundai. There are definitely features on the other cars that surpass ours (seats, stereo, handling) but the Hyundai is still the better car (or close) overall. The current rental is from a country known for its meatballs. We have this car because the choice was between it and a Mini Cooper. It hurts me to even look at a Mini Cooper; my eyes feel cramped and unprotected. I have never priced the Meatballmobile but I understand they're fairly expensive. And after driving it for a few weeks, I'm not impressed. It's bumpy as hell. Yes, the power seats have presets and lower back support and the engine has balls BUT that doesn't justify its premium over the Hyundai.
WHAT IS LIVING IN THE KITCHEN
We have an issue with trashcans in our house. By this I mean we have a Dog Issue. He loves trash, among other things. After the little monster kept getting into the trashcans, we bought the cans with the lids that you have to lift. This kept the dog out for all of two weeks. Between his innate intelligence and my wife's failure to put the lid back, he was back into things immediately. Failing that, he just knocked the thing over and took what he wanted.
I have no idea whose idea this is or where it was found but we have a new trashcan. This one is an automatic can, where you wave your hand over it and the lid opens by itself. Then closes by itself. Until the dog figures this one out, it's a perfect solution, plus it's pretty neato for the people.
The other night, we heard a weird noise in the kitchen. Then the dog started barking in its general direction. My parents would say we had ghosts - I'm skeptical. It turned out to be the can, opening and closing by itself. If the dog hadn't barked, I'd swear he just figured out how to operate it.
Bright as he is, he sometimes fails to notice his mortal enemy, the mailman, coming up the drive but the moment you put your coffee cup on the table, he starts barking like a rabid animal and circling the door. I yell between hysterical barks and he somehow manages to completely ignore me. If ignoring me weren't a regular occurance with everyone in the house, I'd be upset.
COMING OUT OF THE CLOSET
The bedroom closet is a bit shallow but extremely wide. I'd estimate that it could sleep two people, foot to foot. Four people foot to foot and breast to breast; twenty-four people if you slice them correctly. How, you ask, does this relate to employment? By a damn fine thread, as most of my output tends to go.
When interviewing, I discovered it is strongly advised not to wear Hawaiian shirts. A wag suggested I flout the system and wear Hawaiian underwear but the jury is still out on that. After paying an absolutely frightening amount for a new dress shirt in the wrong size, the wife came up with about seven of them in the correct size. From the closet, of course. I'm beginning to think that this closet occupies several more dimensions than we know of, as stuff seems to appear and disappear when searching. It probably also does this when we're not searching, but I'll leave this to the quantum mechanics to work out (Shroedinger's shirt?). Speaking of quantum effects, most everything in the closet has dust on it but only the very top.
So there are seven additional shirts in the correct size. This indicates that at some point, it was possible to purchase shirts off the shelf in the correct size. Just not anymore, plus they're a lot more expensive. Ain't progress grand? I'm not good at math (or history or science or databases) but I'm going to say that these business shirts in the correct size look incredible for what must be sixteen years old. No, really, they look every bit as good as the hideously expensive new shirt, including one that's almost the same shirt.
Speaking of Hawaiian shirts, I have a strange fondness for them. Because of their dusty-topped condition, the wife decided to wash them. As it turns out, I have rather a lot of them. Really rather a lot of them. The beauty of Hawaiian shirts (or most things) is that if you hold onto them long enough, they'll be back in style in a few years. I don't want to say my shirts are old but they have come and gone out of style four times.
THE JOB SEARCH
One of my mentors suggested I arrange the Hawaiian shirts very close to the middle of the closet and the business shirts at the far unused end. This way the Universe knows I need a job in which Hawaiian shirts are just fine and business shirts are laughed at. So the Hawaiian shirts are just to the right of center, because if I cross the center line, my wife will bite me in a very sensitive place (and not in a good way).
Having located the jacket, with dust only on the top, I am now officially ready to go on interviews. That is, if there were any. According to the ads, there are many jobs available... just not for me, apparently.
The recruiters are driving me up a tree. The metric tonne of Indian recruiters have called about very old jobs and want to submit me for them regardless of skills or location. Last week I got calls about jobs in Colorado and Wyoming. One job search turned up a result for restroom attendant (don't laugh - I applied). Ok, maybe not. The local recruiters are a different species altogether. They call, spend some quality time with me, sound incredibly interested, all but promise me a job and then I never hear from then again. I suspect these folks are recent graduates from local used car lots. I don't want to tar all recruiters with the same slime - one of them has actually called me back.
I did find a government job. I couldn't understand the job title or description, so I figured I'd be perfect for it and applied.
I am going to depart from this blog's entertainment and sarcasm focus to mention that this whole thing is downright depressing.
SUPPORTING THE AUTOMOTIVE REPAIR AND RENTAL INDUSTRIES
No post to this blog would be complete without some new and exciting information about the car. The collision repair place for the insurer called to tell us the car was ready. When we got there, we discovered that there was yet another five-hundred-dollar deductible. This topic has actually gone to the realm of logic: how can an unemployed guy make five-hundred-dollars appear out of thin air? You might be surprised to learn that my piles of hundreds have been depleted by unemployment and tithing to Dunkin Donuts for the dog's coffee. And even if I had hundreds in the closet, they'd be dusty up top.
Not being independently wealthy has been complicated by another ironic phone call, this time from the insurance company. It seems we are just about to exceed the number of rental car days for the year. I've never even heard of this happening. So every day that passes is another day we have to pay for our rental.
Causing five-hundred-dollars to appear is no small feat. Do they expect me to pull it out of my buttocks? Let's face it - if I could, as my friend pointed out, I wouldn't need a job. Perhaps I'm just a masochist.
The entire process of getting the car repaired this time has been one of frustration. I suppose it's ironic that this is the only time the person who hit us had insurance. There was a huge amount of confusion over whose insurance was going to cover it and if theirs was, why were we paying a deductible. After weeks and many phone calls, the repair place overruled the insurer and our insurance is covering it. The lady in charge of the process possesses all the grace and charm of Genghis Khan.
Off we went to pick up our baby. The wife got back into the rental and just looked at me. What now? An additional part had to be repaired and the car, which was 'ready' the prior day, would take another hour or three. And we're racing the clock on the rental.
Know what? I have to give major points to Hyundai. As you've undoubtedly read, we have driven a lot of rental cars lately (stop laughing) and my wife still prefers her Hyundai. There are definitely features on the other cars that surpass ours (seats, stereo, handling) but the Hyundai is still the better car (or close) overall. The current rental is from a country known for its meatballs. We have this car because the choice was between it and a Mini Cooper. It hurts me to even look at a Mini Cooper; my eyes feel cramped and unprotected. I have never priced the Meatballmobile but I understand they're fairly expensive. And after driving it for a few weeks, I'm not impressed. It's bumpy as hell. Yes, the power seats have presets and lower back support and the engine has balls BUT that doesn't justify its premium over the Hyundai.
WHAT IS LIVING IN THE KITCHEN
We have an issue with trashcans in our house. By this I mean we have a Dog Issue. He loves trash, among other things. After the little monster kept getting into the trashcans, we bought the cans with the lids that you have to lift. This kept the dog out for all of two weeks. Between his innate intelligence and my wife's failure to put the lid back, he was back into things immediately. Failing that, he just knocked the thing over and took what he wanted.
I have no idea whose idea this is or where it was found but we have a new trashcan. This one is an automatic can, where you wave your hand over it and the lid opens by itself. Then closes by itself. Until the dog figures this one out, it's a perfect solution, plus it's pretty neato for the people.
The other night, we heard a weird noise in the kitchen. Then the dog started barking in its general direction. My parents would say we had ghosts - I'm skeptical. It turned out to be the can, opening and closing by itself. If the dog hadn't barked, I'd swear he just figured out how to operate it.
Bright as he is, he sometimes fails to notice his mortal enemy, the mailman, coming up the drive but the moment you put your coffee cup on the table, he starts barking like a rabid animal and circling the door. I yell between hysterical barks and he somehow manages to completely ignore me. If ignoring me weren't a regular occurance with everyone in the house, I'd be upset.
Sunday, August 10, 2014
The Unemployment Files (#4)
Greetings, friends and neighbors, fellow bloggers, readers, and everyone here from the Wide World of Water Sports. This is the next in the Unemployment series, otherwise known as Episode 4 (or Why Am I Still Typing This Shit?).
As you know by now, I remain without work, unless you count the constant drone of the wife, barking out orders for me to do menial tasks like carrying stuff, cleaning stuff and mowing. I'm a knowledge worker - this kinda stuff is beneath me.
SEARCHING
You have been privy to all of the interesting search results I've gotten as well as all of the lovely recruiters who have called and emailed. This installment's Best Of would have to include the offers for work in Houston, New York, four counties over, and of course, the three month consulting arrangement in Arkansas. Come to Arkansas, work three months is their new state slogan.
A friend suggested a new game: collect all the coins for the states for which we're invited to work. The one with the most coins wins. No, I don't know what.
In my own searches online, I have come across a few winners also. Business to Business insurance sales, wound nurse and my absolute favorite: lactation consultant. I have to tell you that the last one had me considering a career change. I'm somewhat of a subject matter expert in that general area anyway, going pro wouldn't be that difficult. I can already properly size a bra and check for lumps, so I know wherefrom I speak. Ok, I am a bit lacking in lactation - it's simply a fetish better left for others.
THE HIRSUTE CANINE CHILD
The dog has been enjoying the hell out of having me home full time, according to my wife. As I type this, he's sitting next to me, putting his nose under my arm and insisting on all attention being provided to him and him alone. Unfortunately all the attention has spawned more of a little monster... when we go somewhere, he becomes Spaniel Detective and hunts down anything edible, no matter where it is. He used to be such a good dog when we left. Last week he got half a bag of my Reese's Pieces (the bastard). This was doubly evil, as my wife was supposed to get me Peanut Butter M&Ms, not Reese's Pieces.
He's defintely acting out. Yesterday he ate half a loaf of wheat bread... the kind with all that sawdust on the top. Wheat bread. No matter how bad chocolate is for dogs, he will consume whatever he can reach. Fortunately it doesn't bother him (it bothers me though). My wife, who is sometimes forgetful (like it's sometimes humid in PA), left a whole bag of trail mix on the floor. Strangely, the dog has left it there. Yes, we've finally found the single substance that the dog won't touch. Remember - this is the guy who has eaten raw brussels sprouts. Just not trail mix, please, Dad.
Meanwhile, the cat is also enjoying more attention. The fastest way to get one of them to come is to call the other one. Sibling rivalry at its finest.
Speaking of the cat, he has developed a new talent. If you remember, the dog has trained the (good) neighbor to come out and feed him upon his command (bark). The cat, no slouch himself, saw what was going on and figured he needed to get in on the action. So he, the cat who makes no noise at all, now sits on the fence and goes meow...Meow... MEOW and the neighbor comes out and feeds him too. We have unleashed two beggars upon the neighbor.
THANKS FOR THE HELP
The neighbor with the good intentions, who last time asked if the house was going up for sheriff's sale had another piece of wisdom the other day. He saw my wife smoking on the front step and lectured that she must stop smoking; it's costing us too much money. Of course the guy is one hundred percent correct; he's just lucky he didn't get a Subaru through his thorax. The wife is a little jumpy where ciggies are concerned.
Armed with this great information, my wife decided to save us some money on cigarettes. Whenever I hear 'save us money', I start to shake. This usually means that she has purchased two of something 'because it was on sale' or 'because it was cheaper'. When she gets home, she tells me how much money she has saved us. I volunteer to save us even more money.... Guitar Center is having a sale and I can get two guitars for just a bit more than one. Think of the hundreds I can save us! Oddly enough, it is at that exact point that her math fails her (as well as her sense of humor).
Where was I? Oh yeah, cigarettes. She saved us loads of money by buying.... are you ready? can you guess? wait for it... Roll Your Own cigarette parts. We now have a tray table dedicated entirely to assembling cigarettes. Or rather, a tray table dedicated entirely to holding all the paraphernalia required to assmeble cigarettes. I figure this is a practice best done when she has enough ciggies already. The moment she's out, she'll run shaking to the tray table, try putting together a single cancer stick, fail miserably, and run screaming to the store to buy a carton of regular old cigarettes (for $77 plus taxes). In fact, it turns out that the tobacco companies are the ones that started the Roll Your Own movement.
INTERVIEWS - WE GOT INTERVIEWS
Hey, I haven't spent the entire week sitting on my ass. I've spent the entire week looking for jobs, while sitting on my ass, thank you very much. I have to admit I've had a decent amout of 'hits' on my resume lately, some from actual caucasians (who aren't Indian and trying to pound me into any job they can fit me into).
The prospective employers are getting smart about things, as I mentioned, and doing phone interviews (screenings) to weed out the bad prospects before calling them in physically (if not mentally). I have had a bunch of phoners, as I call them. Each one teaches me something, namely that I hate interviewing and that I can learn from my mistakes. And I make rather a lot of them. And I insist upon making each one of them repeatedly. Getting feedback helps to learn what to do next time.
So I've learned a lot, largely by failing. Some call it Trial and Error. I call it Error and Error.
This week I got a call from a recruiter for a job that turned out to be pretty damn local. If there's anything I like (besides not having to mow the lawn), it's a very short commute to work. So I sat on the phone with the recruiter, very patiently, and answered questions. Very early in the process it became apparent that the technical recruiter had absolutely no concept of technical matters. It would only make sense, you know. I was charming and helped with technical acronyms. Having gotten through that, I was informed that there was another phoner with their actual technical person.
A few days later, their actual technical person called, only he wasn't entirely technical either; he just knew all of the terms and acronyms. I suspect I was less charming this time but I passed muster. I know this because I was then invited to meet him in person. In a small county, one state over. Tomorrow, if I didn't mind. For anybody keeping score, this was two phoners and an in-person, just to get past the recruiter. The visit was pleasant, he asked great questions, we all talked about pets, kids and the coffee situation brewing (get it?) in South America, causing prices to rise exponentially. I must have been in good form because I passed muster again.
How did I know I passed muster again? The recruiter was going to pass my resume along to his client. IF the client likes my resume, there will be... hang on..... guess what? a PHONER! If he likes the phoner, an in-person will be scheduled. For anybody still keeping score, I will have gone through three phoners and two in-persons before I know if I got the job or not. And this is for a consultant slot. This has city government or extreme corporate obfuscation written all over it. I hope they don't take measurements when I show up. I typically disappoint.
Then there was the other phoner/screener for a large retailer. It was being gang-interviewed, possibly by monkeys, judging from the zoo-like background noise. It felt like home because I used to work in a zoo. Well, not a traditional zoo, but they were really loud and sometimes smelled like animals. The secretary's husband likened calling there to a soccer riot.
And there we are - this week's installment. Although it would break my heart, I am perfectly willing to discontinue this series and get back to the (ab)normal stuff.
As you know by now, I remain without work, unless you count the constant drone of the wife, barking out orders for me to do menial tasks like carrying stuff, cleaning stuff and mowing. I'm a knowledge worker - this kinda stuff is beneath me.
SEARCHING
You have been privy to all of the interesting search results I've gotten as well as all of the lovely recruiters who have called and emailed. This installment's Best Of would have to include the offers for work in Houston, New York, four counties over, and of course, the three month consulting arrangement in Arkansas. Come to Arkansas, work three months is their new state slogan.
A friend suggested a new game: collect all the coins for the states for which we're invited to work. The one with the most coins wins. No, I don't know what.
In my own searches online, I have come across a few winners also. Business to Business insurance sales, wound nurse and my absolute favorite: lactation consultant. I have to tell you that the last one had me considering a career change. I'm somewhat of a subject matter expert in that general area anyway, going pro wouldn't be that difficult. I can already properly size a bra and check for lumps, so I know wherefrom I speak. Ok, I am a bit lacking in lactation - it's simply a fetish better left for others.
THE HIRSUTE CANINE CHILD
The dog has been enjoying the hell out of having me home full time, according to my wife. As I type this, he's sitting next to me, putting his nose under my arm and insisting on all attention being provided to him and him alone. Unfortunately all the attention has spawned more of a little monster... when we go somewhere, he becomes Spaniel Detective and hunts down anything edible, no matter where it is. He used to be such a good dog when we left. Last week he got half a bag of my Reese's Pieces (the bastard). This was doubly evil, as my wife was supposed to get me Peanut Butter M&Ms, not Reese's Pieces.
He's defintely acting out. Yesterday he ate half a loaf of wheat bread... the kind with all that sawdust on the top. Wheat bread. No matter how bad chocolate is for dogs, he will consume whatever he can reach. Fortunately it doesn't bother him (it bothers me though). My wife, who is sometimes forgetful (like it's sometimes humid in PA), left a whole bag of trail mix on the floor. Strangely, the dog has left it there. Yes, we've finally found the single substance that the dog won't touch. Remember - this is the guy who has eaten raw brussels sprouts. Just not trail mix, please, Dad.
Meanwhile, the cat is also enjoying more attention. The fastest way to get one of them to come is to call the other one. Sibling rivalry at its finest.
Speaking of the cat, he has developed a new talent. If you remember, the dog has trained the (good) neighbor to come out and feed him upon his command (bark). The cat, no slouch himself, saw what was going on and figured he needed to get in on the action. So he, the cat who makes no noise at all, now sits on the fence and goes meow...Meow... MEOW and the neighbor comes out and feeds him too. We have unleashed two beggars upon the neighbor.
THANKS FOR THE HELP
The neighbor with the good intentions, who last time asked if the house was going up for sheriff's sale had another piece of wisdom the other day. He saw my wife smoking on the front step and lectured that she must stop smoking; it's costing us too much money. Of course the guy is one hundred percent correct; he's just lucky he didn't get a Subaru through his thorax. The wife is a little jumpy where ciggies are concerned.
Armed with this great information, my wife decided to save us some money on cigarettes. Whenever I hear 'save us money', I start to shake. This usually means that she has purchased two of something 'because it was on sale' or 'because it was cheaper'. When she gets home, she tells me how much money she has saved us. I volunteer to save us even more money.... Guitar Center is having a sale and I can get two guitars for just a bit more than one. Think of the hundreds I can save us! Oddly enough, it is at that exact point that her math fails her (as well as her sense of humor).
Where was I? Oh yeah, cigarettes. She saved us loads of money by buying.... are you ready? can you guess? wait for it... Roll Your Own cigarette parts. We now have a tray table dedicated entirely to assembling cigarettes. Or rather, a tray table dedicated entirely to holding all the paraphernalia required to assmeble cigarettes. I figure this is a practice best done when she has enough ciggies already. The moment she's out, she'll run shaking to the tray table, try putting together a single cancer stick, fail miserably, and run screaming to the store to buy a carton of regular old cigarettes (for $77 plus taxes). In fact, it turns out that the tobacco companies are the ones that started the Roll Your Own movement.
INTERVIEWS - WE GOT INTERVIEWS
Hey, I haven't spent the entire week sitting on my ass. I've spent the entire week looking for jobs, while sitting on my ass, thank you very much. I have to admit I've had a decent amout of 'hits' on my resume lately, some from actual caucasians (who aren't Indian and trying to pound me into any job they can fit me into).
The prospective employers are getting smart about things, as I mentioned, and doing phone interviews (screenings) to weed out the bad prospects before calling them in physically (if not mentally). I have had a bunch of phoners, as I call them. Each one teaches me something, namely that I hate interviewing and that I can learn from my mistakes. And I make rather a lot of them. And I insist upon making each one of them repeatedly. Getting feedback helps to learn what to do next time.
So I've learned a lot, largely by failing. Some call it Trial and Error. I call it Error and Error.
This week I got a call from a recruiter for a job that turned out to be pretty damn local. If there's anything I like (besides not having to mow the lawn), it's a very short commute to work. So I sat on the phone with the recruiter, very patiently, and answered questions. Very early in the process it became apparent that the technical recruiter had absolutely no concept of technical matters. It would only make sense, you know. I was charming and helped with technical acronyms. Having gotten through that, I was informed that there was another phoner with their actual technical person.
A few days later, their actual technical person called, only he wasn't entirely technical either; he just knew all of the terms and acronyms. I suspect I was less charming this time but I passed muster. I know this because I was then invited to meet him in person. In a small county, one state over. Tomorrow, if I didn't mind. For anybody keeping score, this was two phoners and an in-person, just to get past the recruiter. The visit was pleasant, he asked great questions, we all talked about pets, kids and the coffee situation brewing (get it?) in South America, causing prices to rise exponentially. I must have been in good form because I passed muster again.
How did I know I passed muster again? The recruiter was going to pass my resume along to his client. IF the client likes my resume, there will be... hang on..... guess what? a PHONER! If he likes the phoner, an in-person will be scheduled. For anybody still keeping score, I will have gone through three phoners and two in-persons before I know if I got the job or not. And this is for a consultant slot. This has city government or extreme corporate obfuscation written all over it. I hope they don't take measurements when I show up. I typically disappoint.
Then there was the other phoner/screener for a large retailer. It was being gang-interviewed, possibly by monkeys, judging from the zoo-like background noise. It felt like home because I used to work in a zoo. Well, not a traditional zoo, but they were really loud and sometimes smelled like animals. The secretary's husband likened calling there to a soccer riot.
And there we are - this week's installment. Although it would break my heart, I am perfectly willing to discontinue this series and get back to the (ab)normal stuff.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
The Unemployment Follies (#3)
It's been a little while since the last update, largely because nothing funny has happened. Well, when I say nothing funny has happened, I mean the normal funny stuff has continued.
When you're under-employed, it is said that your job becomes working toward being employed. It's a full time job. Sometimes after chasing the Golden Paycheck down all day, I don't notice it's dinner time and I begin to wonder whether I've time warped or all that time flew by (when you're having fun).
The bizarre calls and emails continue to pour in. Job possibilities in all sorts of places, very few of which are in my state or commutable. I try my best to be nice to the recruiters, even though being nice isn't one of my strong points. I reply politely that California is thousands of miles away, which puts it just outside of my range for driving (or flying). One company has called me three times about the same job, only they can't seem to figure out if it's in north Delaware or south Delaware (not that it matters, as I'm not driving to either of the Delawares). And everybody knows that you lose one IQ point for every mile below Wilmington, Delaware (ducking).
When I specify that I'm in security, why do you send me emails seeking an email administrator? Or a network administrator? Or a database administrator. Or a drive halfway across the state?
Searching for jobs is amusing in itself because when one searches for Security jobs, one gets mostly results for security guards. It must be an interesting and exciting field, as there are so many ads, each one listing an hourly rate below nine dollars. Hmm... I wonder if you get a gun... One of my searches was at a research hospital and came up with Chief Monkey Handler. Surprisingly enough, I did not jump at the opportunity (I live with enough animals as it is).
DAYTIME
So I'm home during the day, which delights the wife (and the dog). The only problem here, besides not having a job, is daytime television. We don't have cable tv, so we're kinda limited to broadcast tv. Have you seen broadcast tv lately? Will the last broadcaster turn the lights out before you leave? This is what a friend of mine used to call dog-meat television. Yes, I love my wife, but some of the stuff she watches makes me wish I were working, so I never knew about it.
There is a show called Wendy that comes on after the morning news (which is more concerned with Facebook than actual news). I'll try to be polite here (but will ultimately fail): the woman is about seven feet tall (plus wig and heels) and may in fact be a man. They say the transvestites always have better makeup and clothes because this is their area of expertise and they have to work harder. So she's tall and has a giant set of mammalian protuberances. She hoots and hollers, at which point the audience hoots and hollers. I knew this because my wife likes to listen to the tv at earth-shattering volumes, making it difficult to concentrate on more important things (like poking my eardrums out with a pencil).
This is considered a talk show, for lack of better term. When guests sit on the couch, the staff fires up the Shoe-Cam and they show the guest's shoes. This is the kind of show it is. And now you're ready to poke your own eyes out with a pencil.
If you can imagine it, the only thing more obscene than the alleged programming is the commercials. During the day, there are two types of commercials: SUE SUE SUE, the lawyer commercials and GET MONEY NOW commercials. It makes your head explode. It also makes me wonder who the audience is because this stuff is targeted to them.
SHOPPING?
I got another call from a recruiter who didn't seem anywhere near as slimy as the rest of them. The job sounded interesting, the commute reasonable and if they liked my resume, the interview was going to be the next day.
The next day?
This presented a small problem: I was with my previous employer for about fifteen years, meaning that the last time I wore a suit was about fifteen years ago. Oddly enough, I still have the suit but I suspect, fashion maven that I am, that it may look a bit out of date. So I was brutally honest with the recruiter, who said just wear something business appropriate. I lied and told him I had clothes that fit the description.
Let me be honest with you too: when I say I'm a t-shirt and jeans kinda guy, I'm not kidding. I have more t-shirts than most people have hair. And some sneakers - that's it. I don't dress up for anything or anyone, past a nice Hawaiian shirt. They're lucky to have me at events in the first place so nobody complains about my clothes.
So it became time to go shopping. I instantly knew I was going to regret this but it had to be done. As it couldn't be done without the wife, I had to jump up and down upon the bed (it was daytime and she seems to sleep about twelve hours off my schedule, if at all). We were on the road by 6:30 (I started waking her at 3:30) and off to the local mall. The local mall has been undergoing changes for some time. A lot of the really interesting stores have closed, making way for cell phone shops and more women's shoe stores.
We went into JC Penneys, which was wonderfully devoid of patrons. My wife instantly went into BUY MODE, looking at the clothes and handbags and shoes and trinkets and clothes as if she hadn't been shopping in years. I had to keep reminding her that one of us was still unemployed so it wasn't a particularly good idea to buy that eighty dollar dress (or that five dollar trinket - she doesn't care). Eventually it hit me, bright observant guy that I am, that this store was not divided by men's and women's - it was divided by designer. Again, I don't get out much but it seemed ridiculous because you have to walk around the entire store if you're comparison shopping for any clothing at all. Perhaps this is the idea but it seems like a lot of wasted time and effort to me. My wife looked at me like I had three heads, which isn't all that abnormal. Hey - I've never seen this before. And it's stupid.
Once I got the wife back on task, we went to find a shirt. This task was almost impossible by itself because we'd have to find the men's section amid all the designer women's sections. When we finally located it, I had my choice of many brands in many colors. I figured white was a good choice, business-wise. We found it instantly but, of course, not in my size. In fact, none of the shirts came in my size. I had my choice between choking and too much shoulder (I chose the latter). Oh yeah, black socks (because, naturally, I only have white ones).
And now it was time for a tie. I thought my head was going to explode. There were more colors and designs than I've ever seen, none of which I liked. Putting on a tie ranks just above mowing the lawn or going to the dentist on the list of things I love to do. Finally something caught my eye: a Jerry Garcia tie. A hideously expensive Jerry Garcia tie. Now he was a guitar player, like me, but he's also dead, unlike me. It just seemed weird. And expensive. Fortunately it was on sale.
At this point I could take it no longer. I felt like I had multiple personalities: a child who kept saying, "I'M NOT GONNA WEAR THAT SHIT" and an adult who knew he had to but preferred to let the child vent.
As anyone who has been to a mall knows, all stores are required to have loud, annoying 'music' blaring throughout the store. Look, I know I'm not going to like the alleged music but does it really have to be loud enough that we have to shout over it in order to ask a question? I have amplifiers that can deafen a sales associate at fifty feet so I'm no stranger to volume. [Hey you kids - GET OFF MY LAWN!] At this point my phone keeps telling me I have a voicemail. Mind you there's no signal in the store, so how can it be telling me anything? It was pretty insistent so I ran outside to check. Apparently there is an even newer law stating that there must be loud music playing outside the store too (I kid you not). It was so bothersome that I had to go out into the parking lot to check voicemail. Checking voicemail, I discovered I had none. Ok, now the phone is just screwing with me.
As if ties weren't bad enough, it was time for Shoes. Remember, I'm Mr. Sneaker. Everything that isn't a sneaker is horrid, ugly or for people who love to pay a lot of money for many pairs of shoes. My wife was quite lovely in this regard, picking out two pairs of shoes in the entire section that she thought I wouldn't lose my dinner over (bless her). So we took the shoe to the counter to ask for a pair in ten and a half, only there was nobody at the counter. We waited a while and still there was nobody at the counter. It's crap like this that makes me walk out. How can they take my money if they don't man their counters? I suggested taking the display shoe and walking out the door, setting off the alarm. Then coming back in and asking for someone to help us in Shoes. But I was trying to play nice, so I went and got someone from general checkout. Not only was the place deviod of customers, it was devoid of employees.
New cashier comes back and informs me they don't have ten and a half but she brought out a ten and an eleven (I see where this is going). My choices were largely limited to tight shoes or loose shoes. I chose loose. I'd prefer to have chosen another store but my wife's back hurt and she wasn't long for the mall.
Cashier rings us up, we hand over the card and POOF - the entire machine grinds to an immediate halt. Rather than rebooting, checking a manual or waiting, the young lady started pounding on the keyboard and the display. If it wasn't completely foobed before, it was then. Her eyes started rolling like a slot machine. Finally another employee happened by and as she was explaining it was stuck, it became unstuck. When he moved back, it was stuck again. It seemed to like him but unforunately not enough to complete our transaction. Unbag and over to the main cashier.
INTERVIEW
I have gone through a number of phone interviews/screenings recently. It seems to be a relatively new thing to weed out the riff-raff before calling people in for a personal interview. This guy didn't want to talk to me on the phone; he wanted me to come right in. Alrighty then, appointment set. Possibly with multiple interviewers.
It was obviously Time to Panic. Remember, like my suit, I haven't had an interview in fifteen years either. I'm no slouch jobwise but I don't interview (or test) well. Consulting some online resources, I read about the DO's and DON'Ts of interviewing. Combining it with what I got from phone interviews, I made a cheat sheet of stuff I'd have to remember, phrased appropriately. Since one cannot use a cheat sheet at an interview without looking like a total moron, I had to try to memorize everything. This was not a good thing, as I have the attention span of a pregnant ant and the retention of a Yak. The words kept running around the paper, like .. well... words do on paper.
So it's the morning of the interview and I'm still cramming. Things are starting to get interesting around the house, as there are two hurried and agitated people occupying it. I also discovered that one cannot wear a shirt from the package - it needs to be ironed (this is just too much change for one person). Wife tore the house apart for an iron while I brought up the ironing board. Up went the ironing board then down went the ironing board with a mighty CRASH; the holding upper thingie wasn't holding up. After a quick visual mechanical inspection, I made a temporary repair with locking pliers.
The wife also turned up some spray starch (which quickly failed to spray or starch). The atmosphere got more tense as the people got more agitated. The poor dog kept being in the way, as if on purpose. Where's the tie? Over there where you left it. Hang the shirt up and don't put it on til before you leave.
DID I JUST PAY FIFTY DOLLARS FOR A SHIRT? No, you don't look gay in those shoes. Do I remember how to tie a tie? I think I do. Good lord, I'm choking. And I'm melllting......
Out the door I went, accosted by my elderly neighbor (the sane one), who clapped in approval of my bozo attire. I left myself an hour to get there early, as any more wouldn't be worth the daily drive to me (picky bastard for being unemployed, no?). Here's a pro-tip: DO NOT USE MAPQUEST for anything, unless you just like the colors. Especially do not use Mapquest for directions. You simply cannot turn right where there is NO ROAD. Really. I finally got to the address, which looked suspiciously like a private home, not a business building. Giving up, I got out the GPS, which got me where Mapquest couldn't, with fifteen minutes to spare.
I sat in the lobby, cramming for the exam, checklist on my phone. I couldn't help but notice the amount of very attractive women passing by at regular intervals. This company obviously hires wisely, as opposed to the last one, which was so severely lacking that attractive people would occasionally picket the place and demand that they hire at least one or two of them.
I met my contact and went to a room. I'm shaking like a leaf and sweating like a person who is very nervous. Even with no caffeine, I noticed my foot tapping. I read that in interviews, you DON'T tap your foot. Then I started to swing the chair left and right a tiny amount, which you should also not do. So I had to hold myself still, except for the shaking, and nod appropriately at the nice man interviewing me.
The strangest thing happened... he completely failed to ask me about myself. He did not ask me about my triumphs and failures. What I do to blow off steam. If I beat the wife or the dog. Nothing. He simply asked me how I'd go about doing the job. He didn't even ask me if I were a tree, what kind I'd be. There was no firing squad of interviewers. I didn't even spill my water on myself (because I put it on the floor, knowing what would happen if I tried). He thanked me repeatedly for coming by, then asked about my availability to start.
So that's all until I hear from the recruiter.
When you're under-employed, it is said that your job becomes working toward being employed. It's a full time job. Sometimes after chasing the Golden Paycheck down all day, I don't notice it's dinner time and I begin to wonder whether I've time warped or all that time flew by (when you're having fun).
The bizarre calls and emails continue to pour in. Job possibilities in all sorts of places, very few of which are in my state or commutable. I try my best to be nice to the recruiters, even though being nice isn't one of my strong points. I reply politely that California is thousands of miles away, which puts it just outside of my range for driving (or flying). One company has called me three times about the same job, only they can't seem to figure out if it's in north Delaware or south Delaware (not that it matters, as I'm not driving to either of the Delawares). And everybody knows that you lose one IQ point for every mile below Wilmington, Delaware (ducking).
When I specify that I'm in security, why do you send me emails seeking an email administrator? Or a network administrator? Or a database administrator. Or a drive halfway across the state?
Searching for jobs is amusing in itself because when one searches for Security jobs, one gets mostly results for security guards. It must be an interesting and exciting field, as there are so many ads, each one listing an hourly rate below nine dollars. Hmm... I wonder if you get a gun... One of my searches was at a research hospital and came up with Chief Monkey Handler. Surprisingly enough, I did not jump at the opportunity (I live with enough animals as it is).
DAYTIME
So I'm home during the day, which delights the wife (and the dog). The only problem here, besides not having a job, is daytime television. We don't have cable tv, so we're kinda limited to broadcast tv. Have you seen broadcast tv lately? Will the last broadcaster turn the lights out before you leave? This is what a friend of mine used to call dog-meat television. Yes, I love my wife, but some of the stuff she watches makes me wish I were working, so I never knew about it.
There is a show called Wendy that comes on after the morning news (which is more concerned with Facebook than actual news). I'll try to be polite here (but will ultimately fail): the woman is about seven feet tall (plus wig and heels) and may in fact be a man. They say the transvestites always have better makeup and clothes because this is their area of expertise and they have to work harder. So she's tall and has a giant set of mammalian protuberances. She hoots and hollers, at which point the audience hoots and hollers. I knew this because my wife likes to listen to the tv at earth-shattering volumes, making it difficult to concentrate on more important things (like poking my eardrums out with a pencil).
This is considered a talk show, for lack of better term. When guests sit on the couch, the staff fires up the Shoe-Cam and they show the guest's shoes. This is the kind of show it is. And now you're ready to poke your own eyes out with a pencil.
If you can imagine it, the only thing more obscene than the alleged programming is the commercials. During the day, there are two types of commercials: SUE SUE SUE, the lawyer commercials and GET MONEY NOW commercials. It makes your head explode. It also makes me wonder who the audience is because this stuff is targeted to them.
SHOPPING?
I got another call from a recruiter who didn't seem anywhere near as slimy as the rest of them. The job sounded interesting, the commute reasonable and if they liked my resume, the interview was going to be the next day.
The next day?
This presented a small problem: I was with my previous employer for about fifteen years, meaning that the last time I wore a suit was about fifteen years ago. Oddly enough, I still have the suit but I suspect, fashion maven that I am, that it may look a bit out of date. So I was brutally honest with the recruiter, who said just wear something business appropriate. I lied and told him I had clothes that fit the description.
Let me be honest with you too: when I say I'm a t-shirt and jeans kinda guy, I'm not kidding. I have more t-shirts than most people have hair. And some sneakers - that's it. I don't dress up for anything or anyone, past a nice Hawaiian shirt. They're lucky to have me at events in the first place so nobody complains about my clothes.
So it became time to go shopping. I instantly knew I was going to regret this but it had to be done. As it couldn't be done without the wife, I had to jump up and down upon the bed (it was daytime and she seems to sleep about twelve hours off my schedule, if at all). We were on the road by 6:30 (I started waking her at 3:30) and off to the local mall. The local mall has been undergoing changes for some time. A lot of the really interesting stores have closed, making way for cell phone shops and more women's shoe stores.
We went into JC Penneys, which was wonderfully devoid of patrons. My wife instantly went into BUY MODE, looking at the clothes and handbags and shoes and trinkets and clothes as if she hadn't been shopping in years. I had to keep reminding her that one of us was still unemployed so it wasn't a particularly good idea to buy that eighty dollar dress (or that five dollar trinket - she doesn't care). Eventually it hit me, bright observant guy that I am, that this store was not divided by men's and women's - it was divided by designer. Again, I don't get out much but it seemed ridiculous because you have to walk around the entire store if you're comparison shopping for any clothing at all. Perhaps this is the idea but it seems like a lot of wasted time and effort to me. My wife looked at me like I had three heads, which isn't all that abnormal. Hey - I've never seen this before. And it's stupid.
Once I got the wife back on task, we went to find a shirt. This task was almost impossible by itself because we'd have to find the men's section amid all the designer women's sections. When we finally located it, I had my choice of many brands in many colors. I figured white was a good choice, business-wise. We found it instantly but, of course, not in my size. In fact, none of the shirts came in my size. I had my choice between choking and too much shoulder (I chose the latter). Oh yeah, black socks (because, naturally, I only have white ones).
And now it was time for a tie. I thought my head was going to explode. There were more colors and designs than I've ever seen, none of which I liked. Putting on a tie ranks just above mowing the lawn or going to the dentist on the list of things I love to do. Finally something caught my eye: a Jerry Garcia tie. A hideously expensive Jerry Garcia tie. Now he was a guitar player, like me, but he's also dead, unlike me. It just seemed weird. And expensive. Fortunately it was on sale.
At this point I could take it no longer. I felt like I had multiple personalities: a child who kept saying, "I'M NOT GONNA WEAR THAT SHIT" and an adult who knew he had to but preferred to let the child vent.
As anyone who has been to a mall knows, all stores are required to have loud, annoying 'music' blaring throughout the store. Look, I know I'm not going to like the alleged music but does it really have to be loud enough that we have to shout over it in order to ask a question? I have amplifiers that can deafen a sales associate at fifty feet so I'm no stranger to volume. [Hey you kids - GET OFF MY LAWN!] At this point my phone keeps telling me I have a voicemail. Mind you there's no signal in the store, so how can it be telling me anything? It was pretty insistent so I ran outside to check. Apparently there is an even newer law stating that there must be loud music playing outside the store too (I kid you not). It was so bothersome that I had to go out into the parking lot to check voicemail. Checking voicemail, I discovered I had none. Ok, now the phone is just screwing with me.
As if ties weren't bad enough, it was time for Shoes. Remember, I'm Mr. Sneaker. Everything that isn't a sneaker is horrid, ugly or for people who love to pay a lot of money for many pairs of shoes. My wife was quite lovely in this regard, picking out two pairs of shoes in the entire section that she thought I wouldn't lose my dinner over (bless her). So we took the shoe to the counter to ask for a pair in ten and a half, only there was nobody at the counter. We waited a while and still there was nobody at the counter. It's crap like this that makes me walk out. How can they take my money if they don't man their counters? I suggested taking the display shoe and walking out the door, setting off the alarm. Then coming back in and asking for someone to help us in Shoes. But I was trying to play nice, so I went and got someone from general checkout. Not only was the place deviod of customers, it was devoid of employees.
New cashier comes back and informs me they don't have ten and a half but she brought out a ten and an eleven (I see where this is going). My choices were largely limited to tight shoes or loose shoes. I chose loose. I'd prefer to have chosen another store but my wife's back hurt and she wasn't long for the mall.
Cashier rings us up, we hand over the card and POOF - the entire machine grinds to an immediate halt. Rather than rebooting, checking a manual or waiting, the young lady started pounding on the keyboard and the display. If it wasn't completely foobed before, it was then. Her eyes started rolling like a slot machine. Finally another employee happened by and as she was explaining it was stuck, it became unstuck. When he moved back, it was stuck again. It seemed to like him but unforunately not enough to complete our transaction. Unbag and over to the main cashier.
INTERVIEW
I have gone through a number of phone interviews/screenings recently. It seems to be a relatively new thing to weed out the riff-raff before calling people in for a personal interview. This guy didn't want to talk to me on the phone; he wanted me to come right in. Alrighty then, appointment set. Possibly with multiple interviewers.
It was obviously Time to Panic. Remember, like my suit, I haven't had an interview in fifteen years either. I'm no slouch jobwise but I don't interview (or test) well. Consulting some online resources, I read about the DO's and DON'Ts of interviewing. Combining it with what I got from phone interviews, I made a cheat sheet of stuff I'd have to remember, phrased appropriately. Since one cannot use a cheat sheet at an interview without looking like a total moron, I had to try to memorize everything. This was not a good thing, as I have the attention span of a pregnant ant and the retention of a Yak. The words kept running around the paper, like .. well... words do on paper.
So it's the morning of the interview and I'm still cramming. Things are starting to get interesting around the house, as there are two hurried and agitated people occupying it. I also discovered that one cannot wear a shirt from the package - it needs to be ironed (this is just too much change for one person). Wife tore the house apart for an iron while I brought up the ironing board. Up went the ironing board then down went the ironing board with a mighty CRASH; the holding upper thingie wasn't holding up. After a quick visual mechanical inspection, I made a temporary repair with locking pliers.
The wife also turned up some spray starch (which quickly failed to spray or starch). The atmosphere got more tense as the people got more agitated. The poor dog kept being in the way, as if on purpose. Where's the tie? Over there where you left it. Hang the shirt up and don't put it on til before you leave.
DID I JUST PAY FIFTY DOLLARS FOR A SHIRT? No, you don't look gay in those shoes. Do I remember how to tie a tie? I think I do. Good lord, I'm choking. And I'm melllting......
Out the door I went, accosted by my elderly neighbor (the sane one), who clapped in approval of my bozo attire. I left myself an hour to get there early, as any more wouldn't be worth the daily drive to me (picky bastard for being unemployed, no?). Here's a pro-tip: DO NOT USE MAPQUEST for anything, unless you just like the colors. Especially do not use Mapquest for directions. You simply cannot turn right where there is NO ROAD. Really. I finally got to the address, which looked suspiciously like a private home, not a business building. Giving up, I got out the GPS, which got me where Mapquest couldn't, with fifteen minutes to spare.
I sat in the lobby, cramming for the exam, checklist on my phone. I couldn't help but notice the amount of very attractive women passing by at regular intervals. This company obviously hires wisely, as opposed to the last one, which was so severely lacking that attractive people would occasionally picket the place and demand that they hire at least one or two of them.
I met my contact and went to a room. I'm shaking like a leaf and sweating like a person who is very nervous. Even with no caffeine, I noticed my foot tapping. I read that in interviews, you DON'T tap your foot. Then I started to swing the chair left and right a tiny amount, which you should also not do. So I had to hold myself still, except for the shaking, and nod appropriately at the nice man interviewing me.
The strangest thing happened... he completely failed to ask me about myself. He did not ask me about my triumphs and failures. What I do to blow off steam. If I beat the wife or the dog. Nothing. He simply asked me how I'd go about doing the job. He didn't even ask me if I were a tree, what kind I'd be. There was no firing squad of interviewers. I didn't even spill my water on myself (because I put it on the floor, knowing what would happen if I tried). He thanked me repeatedly for coming by, then asked about my availability to start.
So that's all until I hear from the recruiter.
Saturday, July 19, 2014
The Unemployment Follies (#2)
So, as you might have guessed, I remain without job. I could go ahead and suggest that I'm only doing this to provide my readers with more of what they expect from this blog (whatever that is) but I'll cop to simply continuing to be without employment (temporarily). Ok, it's only been two weeks or so but I'm an impatient little (&$#er.
As I mentioned, Unemployment Compensation comes in at roughly half of what I was making, resulting in a few small changes. The lavish parties, complete with drugs and loose women, have had to stop. Now it's just allergy meds and the wife. No more buying stuff because it's on sale. I know Guitar Center is having a sale too and I can get a bigger discount if I buy two guitars. Something tells me this logic isn't going to fly with the Shoe Buying Person.
QUANTUM COCKERS
We've even had to cut down on the amount of cat food the dog gets. This is what really hurt.
The last time I left the house, I came back to discover that the dog hadn't eaten or drank anything. We started to wonder if he was like Schroedinger's Dog, wherein he stopped existing when we weren't there to observe him. We devised all sorts of clever scientific tests to answer the question but in the end, we couldn't come up with anything that would prove the case once and for all.
Not to worry. Marshall, as usual, came to our rescue. When we got home, this is what we found:
He had gotten into the recyclables, spreading them out nicely across the floor. There's our PROOF that he still exists when we're not there to observe him. BUT WAIT!!! He not only spread the recyclables out, he bloody sorted them. Most of what you see is soda cans. He separated the soda cans (in the kitchen) from the cat food cans (in the dining room). Each cat food can was lovingly placed in the next room and licked clean of any miniscule bits of cat food that might remain after rinsing them out.
I think we should get him a job in recycling and he can support us for once.
MORE JOB STUFF
So there has been another great rush of recruiter contacts this past week. More jobs in Ohio, Wisconsin and across the state from me. One genius saw my resume and wanted to know if I wanted a job in the exciting field of insurance sales. I put my own resume together and can assure you that the words insurance and sales do not appear ONCE. Are they truly that desperate? Do they get paid for each email sent out?
Some of the Job Nonsense is caused by 'someone' putting out the wrong or incomplete job description. I applied for a network security job that turned out to be helpdesk; installing and supporting programs and being on call to answer users' questions and running the phones. Ummmmm... no. I didn't work my butt off in security so I could get a job placating end users who can't grok rebooting their machines, as well as making sure they're plugged in (no offense to the great and tolerant people who do this).
The next job someone sent me wasn't for security at all; it was for a high level engineering job. Also no. I would hate to repeat what someone told me once about recruiters: some of these folks can't get a job selling used cars (not all of them, of course).
Many have asked me about consulting. Well, since I hit the FULL TIME button on all the applications, I dare you to take a stab at my answer.
Perhaps I should consider that insurance sales gig after all.
Quite frankly, I'm not sure I could make it to a job interview anyway. As I was driving down the street, two out of three lanes had been blocked off by those nice men in their day-glo green t-shirts. It seems that the local authorities released some cash for a Neighborhood Improvement Project. Since our area didn't get hit as badly this winter with potholes, the local government decided to heed the loud cry of the area for parity and take some time to install potholes and a few new trenches in the road. I don't know about you but I feel better about the hood now.
I will also have to allow a lot more time to get to an interview due to my unique ability to make any traffic light turn red, simply by approaching it. My wife looked at me in great surprise at a light, informing me that she always makes this light (except when I'm in the car). As if that weren't enough, when I hit the aforementioned hole-installing project, the guy holding the SLOW sign immediately turned it around to STOP. Some people would see this as a curse. Thus far I'm choosing to see it as amusing (or not see it at all).
NEIGHBORS
My dear neighbor (the good one) wanted to know if the house was going up for sheriff's sale (bless his pointy little head).
My other dear neighbor (the 437 year old crazy demon from Uranus) bitched my wife out because some trees were hanging over the fence and all she ever does is sit on the steps and smoke cigarettes and why doesn't she ever clean anything.. yet shooting a neighbor is still illegal. It's a good thing the Crazy Lady is terrified of me... I'd unleash a verbal barrage that would blast her back into her cave before I even noticed what was coming out of my mouth. It would fail, though, as everything else has, because she's crazy AND mostly deaf.
I finally realized what the best (legal) revenge is: keep the place in disarray. She has nothing better to do than look at our property and seethe because it's not up to her standards. So I'll make sure to keep it that way, while still adhering to the letter of the law.
As I mentioned, Unemployment Compensation comes in at roughly half of what I was making, resulting in a few small changes. The lavish parties, complete with drugs and loose women, have had to stop. Now it's just allergy meds and the wife. No more buying stuff because it's on sale. I know Guitar Center is having a sale too and I can get a bigger discount if I buy two guitars. Something tells me this logic isn't going to fly with the Shoe Buying Person.
QUANTUM COCKERS
We've even had to cut down on the amount of cat food the dog gets. This is what really hurt.
The last time I left the house, I came back to discover that the dog hadn't eaten or drank anything. We started to wonder if he was like Schroedinger's Dog, wherein he stopped existing when we weren't there to observe him. We devised all sorts of clever scientific tests to answer the question but in the end, we couldn't come up with anything that would prove the case once and for all.
Not to worry. Marshall, as usual, came to our rescue. When we got home, this is what we found:
He had gotten into the recyclables, spreading them out nicely across the floor. There's our PROOF that he still exists when we're not there to observe him. BUT WAIT!!! He not only spread the recyclables out, he bloody sorted them. Most of what you see is soda cans. He separated the soda cans (in the kitchen) from the cat food cans (in the dining room). Each cat food can was lovingly placed in the next room and licked clean of any miniscule bits of cat food that might remain after rinsing them out.
I think we should get him a job in recycling and he can support us for once.
MORE JOB STUFF
So there has been another great rush of recruiter contacts this past week. More jobs in Ohio, Wisconsin and across the state from me. One genius saw my resume and wanted to know if I wanted a job in the exciting field of insurance sales. I put my own resume together and can assure you that the words insurance and sales do not appear ONCE. Are they truly that desperate? Do they get paid for each email sent out?
Some of the Job Nonsense is caused by 'someone' putting out the wrong or incomplete job description. I applied for a network security job that turned out to be helpdesk; installing and supporting programs and being on call to answer users' questions and running the phones. Ummmmm... no. I didn't work my butt off in security so I could get a job placating end users who can't grok rebooting their machines, as well as making sure they're plugged in (no offense to the great and tolerant people who do this).
The next job someone sent me wasn't for security at all; it was for a high level engineering job. Also no. I would hate to repeat what someone told me once about recruiters: some of these folks can't get a job selling used cars (not all of them, of course).
Many have asked me about consulting. Well, since I hit the FULL TIME button on all the applications, I dare you to take a stab at my answer.
Perhaps I should consider that insurance sales gig after all.
Quite frankly, I'm not sure I could make it to a job interview anyway. As I was driving down the street, two out of three lanes had been blocked off by those nice men in their day-glo green t-shirts. It seems that the local authorities released some cash for a Neighborhood Improvement Project. Since our area didn't get hit as badly this winter with potholes, the local government decided to heed the loud cry of the area for parity and take some time to install potholes and a few new trenches in the road. I don't know about you but I feel better about the hood now.
I will also have to allow a lot more time to get to an interview due to my unique ability to make any traffic light turn red, simply by approaching it. My wife looked at me in great surprise at a light, informing me that she always makes this light (except when I'm in the car). As if that weren't enough, when I hit the aforementioned hole-installing project, the guy holding the SLOW sign immediately turned it around to STOP. Some people would see this as a curse. Thus far I'm choosing to see it as amusing (or not see it at all).
NEIGHBORS
My dear neighbor (the good one) wanted to know if the house was going up for sheriff's sale (bless his pointy little head).
My other dear neighbor (the 437 year old crazy demon from Uranus) bitched my wife out because some trees were hanging over the fence and all she ever does is sit on the steps and smoke cigarettes and why doesn't she ever clean anything.. yet shooting a neighbor is still illegal. It's a good thing the Crazy Lady is terrified of me... I'd unleash a verbal barrage that would blast her back into her cave before I even noticed what was coming out of my mouth. It would fail, though, as everything else has, because she's crazy AND mostly deaf.
I finally realized what the best (legal) revenge is: keep the place in disarray. She has nothing better to do than look at our property and seethe because it's not up to her standards. So I'll make sure to keep it that way, while still adhering to the letter of the law.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)