[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.
Showing posts with label recruiter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label recruiter. Show all posts
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Friday, August 29, 2014
The Unemployment Follies (#5)
Well, it's been a real whirlwind since I last wrote. And when I say a whirlwind, I mean that much effort has been put forth for absolutely nothing of any consequence in terms of gain. Oh sure, I've been solicited for jobs halfway across the state, in the next state over, the state on the other side, up north of the next state over; for security guard, software engineer, governance manager (?), relationship director, project manager, and of course, my monthly offer for insurance sales.
I even had a call from a recruiter who was excited about a position, wanted to send my resume and references right over, set up a lunch for us, and never called back or responded to emails. I specifically avoided references to his mother or family members and farm animals, as I'm told this could be considered offensive by some people.
As I type this, I just discovered that my Linked-In picture was taken down for violation of their terms. When you consider that the picture is of my pets, I fail to get this alleged violation. Let's face it, a large number of Linked-In pictures are not pictures of the account owner.
HOUSE
My wife has gone on a house cleaning spree. This came as a shock to both of us, causing me to join her. We've taken untold amounts of bags to the curb, freeing untold amounts of space inside the house. I even discovered there is carpet next to my bed. While I will cop to being a slob, I'm not claiming responsibility for this, instead preferring to blame it on the dog. I tidied and arranged all reading material on the side of the bed. The dog proceeded to untidy every single page, in addition to tearing the trash apart on a nightly basis. After two or three times, I gave up and let him rearrange things to his liking. Even after we got a flip-top trash can, he still goes there first, every single evening, to see if there is any more tasty trash that needs to be shredded (all over the bed).
With all of this wonderful new-found space, the items in my house are having a difficult time adjusting. In fact, they're having such a difficult time, they're acting out. I just watched my wife carry some wash downstairs and a vacuum randomly put itself in her way and got knocked over as a result. Whenver I reach for something on a clean table, something else falls off. It's only a matter of time until things start leaping about the house on their own. One guest swore a cup hurled itself at her. She was probably correct.
CAR
You know what's coming, right?
It's been quite a few weeks.
Our insurer has missed us.
Yes, someone hit the car. Again. In fact, I stopped counting a while ago. Guitar players can't count past four anyway (and I know my limitations.. 1-2-3-4!). I can only estimate and I refuse to estimate, as it would make me sad(der). We didn't even report the last time it happened.
This time, some idiot stopped short, caused my wife to stop short, causing the brand new black Mercedes behind her to slam right into her. He tried to avoid the car, managing to only ruin one rear corner of the Target Hyundai. This being Philthydelphia, they had to wait two hours for the police. I suppose she was lucky, as the Philthy cops don't usually respond to anything that doesn't involve a gun. Did I mention that the idiot who caused the accident drove away?
This morning I am yanked out of bed at some horrid hour (before noon) because someone's coming over. Why should I care? Because something happened and the bank account needs money or we won't be able to pick up a rental car. So someone's coming over with money, bless them.
I am horrified.
I got into the car for the first time, post-accident, this morning. As we're driving down the street, I hear a really bad rubbing of some sort. Turning to the wife with that look, she explained that she told me about this.
Huh?
Yeah, it's ok.
Huh? The horrible rubbing noise is ok?
Yeah, the guy(?) said it was ok.
What guy?
The guy from the accident.
Ah.
So I'm driving, my heart (and wallet) pounding due to the rubbing noise (that's ok). When we parked, I took a look for the root of the rubbing. No problem, I said... it's only the broken, very hot exhaust pipe, sitting against a rear tire. No, it's ok.
Is your skull coming apart at the seams yet? Mine is.
Finally we managed to obtain a rental car. It's a lot nicer than our car, even if we're just talking about the extreme lack of dents and parts hanging off it. Since it's black, the polar opposite of white, our luck will be much better with this one. And I say this because the last rental we got when the last bit of body work had to be done after the last accident, had to have its mirror replaced after someone hit that. The cost of the Mirror Operation exceeded the amount I paid for each of my first three cars.
Following the wife to the dealer, I pulled in behind her. This was made more difficult by the random parking arrangements of the existing cars. But all of this was no matter, as this was the wrong location. The correct body shop location was a few blocks down the road (it's all the same dealership).
After locating the correct body shop, we somehow managed to park (this place had the same Parking IQ as the last one). Some lady, with an 'I just sucked on a lemon' look, came past me and drove our car to the garages. A few minutes later my wife comes up to me and says we may have to cancel the entire operation, as they won't look at the car for a few weeks if it's driveable. I point out that it's not driveable, given the rubbing (that's ok). Lemon Face brought a mechanic out, pointing out the correct area of damage (differentiating it from the other areas of damage). Mechanic agree with me. As it turned out, the rubbing noise (that's ok) turned out to be not ok.
Wife explained that Lemon Face was agitated and didn't want to admit the car for repair. Regardless, the repair would take two to three weeks. For some reason, business is good for the humongous dealer's body shop (with twenty bays or more). And I thought it was just us....
GIMPY
I casually asked my wife why her walking was worse than normal. She casually answered that her knee had been bothering her since the accident.
DING!
I didn't want to overstep my boundaries or appear parental but I suggested that she stop cleaning for a few moments and if her knee hurt, maybe, perhaps, she should get it looked at professionally.
I didn't want to bother you.
DING!
I want my wife back.
And my car.
And my typing, which has gotten extremely dyslexic lately.
Meanwhile, the dealer, body shop, car rental place and insurance person all know us on a first-name basis.
I even had a call from a recruiter who was excited about a position, wanted to send my resume and references right over, set up a lunch for us, and never called back or responded to emails. I specifically avoided references to his mother or family members and farm animals, as I'm told this could be considered offensive by some people.
As I type this, I just discovered that my Linked-In picture was taken down for violation of their terms. When you consider that the picture is of my pets, I fail to get this alleged violation. Let's face it, a large number of Linked-In pictures are not pictures of the account owner.
HOUSE
My wife has gone on a house cleaning spree. This came as a shock to both of us, causing me to join her. We've taken untold amounts of bags to the curb, freeing untold amounts of space inside the house. I even discovered there is carpet next to my bed. While I will cop to being a slob, I'm not claiming responsibility for this, instead preferring to blame it on the dog. I tidied and arranged all reading material on the side of the bed. The dog proceeded to untidy every single page, in addition to tearing the trash apart on a nightly basis. After two or three times, I gave up and let him rearrange things to his liking. Even after we got a flip-top trash can, he still goes there first, every single evening, to see if there is any more tasty trash that needs to be shredded (all over the bed).
With all of this wonderful new-found space, the items in my house are having a difficult time adjusting. In fact, they're having such a difficult time, they're acting out. I just watched my wife carry some wash downstairs and a vacuum randomly put itself in her way and got knocked over as a result. Whenver I reach for something on a clean table, something else falls off. It's only a matter of time until things start leaping about the house on their own. One guest swore a cup hurled itself at her. She was probably correct.
CAR
You know what's coming, right?
It's been quite a few weeks.
Our insurer has missed us.
Yes, someone hit the car. Again. In fact, I stopped counting a while ago. Guitar players can't count past four anyway (and I know my limitations.. 1-2-3-4!). I can only estimate and I refuse to estimate, as it would make me sad(der). We didn't even report the last time it happened.
This time, some idiot stopped short, caused my wife to stop short, causing the brand new black Mercedes behind her to slam right into her. He tried to avoid the car, managing to only ruin one rear corner of the Target Hyundai. This being Philthydelphia, they had to wait two hours for the police. I suppose she was lucky, as the Philthy cops don't usually respond to anything that doesn't involve a gun. Did I mention that the idiot who caused the accident drove away?
This morning I am yanked out of bed at some horrid hour (before noon) because someone's coming over. Why should I care? Because something happened and the bank account needs money or we won't be able to pick up a rental car. So someone's coming over with money, bless them.
I am horrified.
I got into the car for the first time, post-accident, this morning. As we're driving down the street, I hear a really bad rubbing of some sort. Turning to the wife with that look, she explained that she told me about this.
Huh?
Yeah, it's ok.
Huh? The horrible rubbing noise is ok?
Yeah, the guy(?) said it was ok.
What guy?
The guy from the accident.
Ah.
So I'm driving, my heart (and wallet) pounding due to the rubbing noise (that's ok). When we parked, I took a look for the root of the rubbing. No problem, I said... it's only the broken, very hot exhaust pipe, sitting against a rear tire. No, it's ok.
Is your skull coming apart at the seams yet? Mine is.
Finally we managed to obtain a rental car. It's a lot nicer than our car, even if we're just talking about the extreme lack of dents and parts hanging off it. Since it's black, the polar opposite of white, our luck will be much better with this one. And I say this because the last rental we got when the last bit of body work had to be done after the last accident, had to have its mirror replaced after someone hit that. The cost of the Mirror Operation exceeded the amount I paid for each of my first three cars.
Following the wife to the dealer, I pulled in behind her. This was made more difficult by the random parking arrangements of the existing cars. But all of this was no matter, as this was the wrong location. The correct body shop location was a few blocks down the road (it's all the same dealership).
After locating the correct body shop, we somehow managed to park (this place had the same Parking IQ as the last one). Some lady, with an 'I just sucked on a lemon' look, came past me and drove our car to the garages. A few minutes later my wife comes up to me and says we may have to cancel the entire operation, as they won't look at the car for a few weeks if it's driveable. I point out that it's not driveable, given the rubbing (that's ok). Lemon Face brought a mechanic out, pointing out the correct area of damage (differentiating it from the other areas of damage). Mechanic agree with me. As it turned out, the rubbing noise (that's ok) turned out to be not ok.
Wife explained that Lemon Face was agitated and didn't want to admit the car for repair. Regardless, the repair would take two to three weeks. For some reason, business is good for the humongous dealer's body shop (with twenty bays or more). And I thought it was just us....
GIMPY
I casually asked my wife why her walking was worse than normal. She casually answered that her knee had been bothering her since the accident.
DING!
I didn't want to overstep my boundaries or appear parental but I suggested that she stop cleaning for a few moments and if her knee hurt, maybe, perhaps, she should get it looked at professionally.
I didn't want to bother you.
DING!
I want my wife back.
And my car.
And my typing, which has gotten extremely dyslexic lately.
Meanwhile, the dealer, body shop, car rental place and insurance person all know us on a first-name basis.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)