The Unemployment Follies - Final: The Pets' Lament

Thanks for hanging in there with Thermionic Emissions through this most interesting time (all three of you).

As you might have noticed, this is the final installment of The Unemployment Follies.  This can mean a number of things: 1. I'm going to shoot myself (or someone else), 2. I somehow managed to become employed.  As amusing an idea of shooting would be, I'm going to have to go with number two; I somehow managed to become employed.

This blog is nothing if not logical.  Now follow this logic: as we know, I'm am information security guy. And as we've all read, there are tons of hacking incidents happening all over the place, each worse than the previous one. Therefore, there is a huge demand for security people, so I should get a job very quickly.  While this blog is logical, little outside of it is, thus the five month desperate search for a new position.

My wife is very supportive. She's been dealing with everything well but for some reason lately she's been reminding me (constantly) that I only have one month of unemployment compensation left. It's not that I didn't appreciate the rather frequent, panic-filled reminders, but I was somewhat well-acquainted with the impending date. No pressure, of course. Mowing lawns and McDonalds were starting to look good. And you know about my almost paralyzing fear of mowing. Not to mention my almost paralyzing fear of eating anything from McDonalds.

I started looking outside my specialty. Interviews started picking up. I spent hours each day looking for a job. My in-laws were holding prayer vigils outside the house at night, complete with candles that kept me up until daylight. The neighbor's children added me to their school's prayer list. Two people read my tarot cards and put me in a job before the end of the year. A friend said I was working way too hard and to simply ask for a new job within forty-eight hours, also writing it down on a piece of paper.

One, some, or all of the above held a conference, wherever these types of conferences are held and laid one on me. Within a few hours, someone called about a job. Within a week, I was provisionally hired. When I say provisionally, I mean that they have to do a little snooping around in my past. You're thinking that I'll be back on the unemployment rolls again, aren't you? I wish them luck - since I can't remember a bunch of it, perhaps they'll have better luck (and tell me a little about it). Hopefully neither of us will discover what I did with the bodies.


ADJUSTMENTS

There will have to be many adjustments made after me being home for such a long time. The ones affected most would be the poor pets.  Not that we weren't bonded well before this but now I have two quadrupeds almost physically attached to me all day.  Since I'm not exactly an athletic guy, this means there are two pets fighting for lap and sofa space all day. If one lays against my leg, the other one hops up on my lap. This is less than optimal, as there's usually a laptop there. The damn dog can do things I can't do on my laptop, with just one paw. I suspect my wife will have to take them through some sort of Pet De-Attachment Program. They won't know what to do without Daddy sitting around the house all day.

Inter-species same sex sibling relationships are the best.

The humans will have to make adjustments too, like having electricity and heat. Ok, more like having better chocolate and paying bills. I have a genuine fondness for paying bills. Well, maybe not a genuine fondness and maybe the wife pays the bills, but you get where I'm going with this.

Speaking of the little four-legged darlings, the cat has taken to peeing on a mat by the kitchen sink. Even after I've just gotten up, the mat does not resemble his litter box in any way, shape, or form. Now picture my sheer delight when washing the dishes, to discover I'm standing on a mat made wet by cat urine. Serves me right for not wearing shoes when I wash dishes. Or for having a lovely little furball who decided not to use his litter box that particular time.

The dog, not to be left out, has decided I take too much time to let him in from outside. Today I had to apologize for him having to bark twice before I let him in. I looked at the cat and asked him why he couldn't let his brother in - after all, he's a very bright cat. Of course he's bright... he gets ME to open the door.

THE BIG EVENT

Once in every decade or two comes an event so spectacular as to defy belief.  Yes, we started cleaning the house. Marshall was especially grateful for us removing all of the clutter that had deposited itself on the dining room chairs. This allowed him to use a chair as a step stool, gaining access to the table itself, whereupon he proceeded to eat the remaining half of a fresh cherry cheesecake. Let this serve as a lesson to each and every one of you: DO NOT CLEAN. EVER.


STARBUCKS

Most of you know Starbucks as a place to get overpriced, over-roasted coffee with a whole lotta smug appeal. Did you know it's also a great place for a sociology lesson?  Someone asked me to meet him there last week, in spite of my begging and pleading to go anywhere else, even Denny's.  While I waited in the parking lot, I observed the following:

• Some genius in an SUV pulls up to the NO PARKING HERE sign and parks (with a half-full parking lot).
• A BMW driver getting into his car with his double espresso half latte nonfat cream. He closes the door then opens it again and proceeds to pour out his old coffee onto the parking lot.
• A sixty-something with dyed black hair and boots so high she couldn't walk in them, attempting to navigate the lot and somehow open the door.
• Two more people spilling old coffee onto the lot.
• Several other people randomly inventing their own parking spaces, again with a half-full lot.

WESTERN UNION - WORSE THAN DENTISTRY

Speaking of paying bills, it became important to pay one bill immediately, as in now; and when I say now, I mean yesterday. I was advised to use Western Union, Moneygram or Wells Fargo. So I went online and did the transaction with Western Union. A day later, I realized that Western Union had not only not bothered to complete the transaction, they hadn't bothered to let me know they didn't complete the transaction.

So I called Western Union. Apparently the transfer was on hold. Apparently notifying me was on hold too. The nice non-English as a first language speaking fellow told me that it could not be completed. So I asked him why and he didn't know. Then he told me I could go into any Western Union office. I informed him that if I wanted to go into an office, I wouldn't have called him in the first place. He suggested I try online. I already tried online, using two operating systems and four browsers. Online help told me that people were having trouble online and to use the phone. Are you following me still?

He promises me a coupon. I don't want a coupon, I want him to put the damn transaction through. It was like the Cheese Shop sketch:

You are Western Union, right?

Yes, sir.

You send money, correct?

Yes, sir.

You have been around since long before I was born?

Yes, sir.

Are you telling me you can send money for everyone but me?

Well... let me check.  Ok, I checked and we can perform the transaction again. All I need is all of your information over again. And we're processing. And it has rejected again.

What has rejected - Western Union or the bank?

Western Union.

So you're telling me that Western Union cannot send money.

I didn't say that.

But you can't send my money.

You can try again but not for twenty four hours when our computers reset.

CLICK.

So I tried Moneygram online.  Oops, they don't have the correct receiver number - have to go to one of their locations. At their location I set up the payment, got my transaction number, went to the counter and POOF - they couldn't take credit cards for wire transfer.

My friend looked at me in wild-eyed wonder.

This morning I decided to go straight to Wells Fargo bank, as the money was being transferred to Wells Fargo anyway.  I called to make sure this was ok and off I went. After giving them cash, they took the opportunity to mention that the payment wouldn't post for up to three days. At this point my eyes were rolling like a slot machine. My ears were buzzing and the voices in my head were telling me to do things that were quite illegal, immoral and generally Not Nice.

The bank's staff were incredibly helpful and set out to find out how to let another division of Wells Fargo know that this division of Wells Fargo got a payment for them.  After another thirty minutes, we all discovered, to our shock and surprise, that it was faster to use Western Union or Moneygram than their own branch.

Since I will pull all of my own body hair out, one by one, before I visit Western Union, I opted for Moneygram. Within three minutes, the money had transferred. Two entire days to pay a bill by wire transfer. My brain hurts and there are still pieces of my cranium on the ceiling at Wells Fargo.

I'd like to close this merry missive with the words of the latest email I received:

Love the Monkees? Don't miss this!!!  

When I opened the email, it was an ad for an Aretha Franklin concert.

The Unemployment Follies (#6) - Lefty's Flying CIrcus

Yes, it's another installment of the Unemployment Follies, starring the leftystrat household; the wives, the pets and me.  Judging by the title, you know I'm still without serious employment (or even non-serious employment).

SINKING?

How are things, you ask?
Things are, by and large, still things, only shrunk down by fifty percent. It getting time to call some creditors.  Do you think I can explain to them that since my income dropped by fifty percent, my payments will drop accordingly?

Perception is everything, though.
To anybody looking in, I must look like I'm on some pretty heavy drugs. I spend every day looking for jobs for a few hours, then do some housework (while my wife holds me at gunpoint).  But I'm surprisingly calm.

Of course, I'm probably the only one who's calm. The wife is absolutely Not Impressed with my state of Not Working.  She (et.al.) is in a state of PTSD-induced unrest.  She keeps me on the straight and narrow, memorizing my phone and in-person interviews and asking me if they're still happening.  While the dog is still loving having me home, the wife is definitely not.  Since I have been home, she has taken up a new hobby: laundry.  Nobody knows why but a girl has to have her recreation time.  I tired telling her that it's not necessary to wash clothes every day but there's no dissuading her.  I was kinda hoping she would take up nymphomania but things don't always work out the way one would like.

The neighbor who asked if the house will be going up for sheriff's sale has been really nice, bringing over stuff from the garden.  The other neighbor has been leaving care packages.  For some reason, they include a lot of bread.  Fortunately the dog loves bread, as if we could keep him out of it.  My mom just made us dinner.  We're not destitute by any means but I feel rich in friends and family (ok, and slightly embarrassed).  I even took down the NOT STARVING sign on the house.

AUTO-MOBILE

I'm not exactly certain which neighbors know what but the reactions are priceless. The lady across the street came over to congratulate my wife on the new car.  My wife had to tell her it was a rental.  The good neighbor took one look at the rental car and said, "Oh dear... not again!"  Several other neighbors no doubt think we own a car lot (or are drug dealers).

I have come up with a solution for our next car.  The first part is to NOT LET HER DRIVE.  The other part is to purchase the car and three entire sets of bodies (to be stored at the body shop).  This way, when people hit us (and they WILL hit us), all we have to do is drop the car at the shop and have them replace the body part(s) from our existing inventory.  We won't even have to call the insurance company (at least until we're through the three entire sets of bodies).

Speaking of accidents, my dear wife finally realized that she has a sprained knee and opposite ankle.  This is somewhat compounded by both of her feet swelling like clown feet.  The neighborhood children want to use them for pool floats.  In fact, she's sitting next to me as I type this, blissfully unaware of the content.  Swelling feet are going to look minor in comparison with what she's going to do to me.

Speaking of doing things to me, I have to do my part to help by wrapping ace bandages around her ankles.  Here we are, with this perfect deviant sexual aid, and we're using it for health reasons. Again, I am embarrassed.


WHAT DO YOU DO ALL DAY?

So when I'm not job-hunting, doing housework at gunpoint or wrapping my wife's ankles for health reasons, there is always TV.  I prefer internet tv, as there's almost always something I want to watch. My wife, on the other hand, lives on broadcast tv. You know, old style, plug in the rabbit ears, horrible reception television.  What makes this really horrible is that she likes to watch ancient black and white movies (from just after they added sound) and really old, horrible sitcoms from before we were born. Leave it to Beaver, anyone?

The absolute worst time of the day is during the day, when all the court shows are on. Judge Lynn, Judge Stanislaus, and the most repugnant (and famous) show of all, Judge Judy.  I am convinced that we can eliminate the national debt by selling tickets to have a whack at Judge Judy with a two-by-four (with a railroad spike in it).  There's Divorce Count, People's Court and Banana Nut Bread Court. After being an involuntary spectator in all of these courtrooms, I figure there's really only one court we need: Grammar Court.  Have you heard how these people speak?

With any tv, you get the absolute best part - commercials.  There is a current commercial for a digital tv antenna that boasts tremendous reception and no cable costs.  For those of us with a functional brain, this is a rabbit-ears equivalent that's being sold as a small miracle.

I also discovered that with a certain cable service, one can DVR up to fifteen programs at once.  This is stunning news, that must be reported at once to either Guiness World Records or your local exterminator.  The first thing that occurs to me is why you need to record up to fifteen programs at once when you can barely find one program that's even halfway decent at any time.

Then there's the sue Sue SUE attorney ads.  No matter what the ailment, they can get you MONEY. And they can do it NOW!  Their close cousins are the drug ads.  If you have suffered from a sore groin, hypertension or death, please call 1-800-SUE-YOU2.

Huh? If you have suffered from death, please call?  Dunno about you, but I'd love to be there to watch that phone call.

Today we got an extremely rare treat.. we got to watch CHIPS on the Antedeluvian Channel.  I never saw the show when it came out but I was aware of it and the fact that it was a joke.  Today I found out precisely why it was a joke.  Absolutely the worst acting, writing and shooting job I have ever seen.  You know things are bad when you find yourself longing for the clarity, wit, and fashion sense of The Fresh Prince of BelAir.

We watched stuff like that?
CHIPS was bloody huge in its day (tell them, Eric).

Also amusing were the wacky antics of the police in ADAM-12.  This museum-view of the police took place when people used dial phones and before police started randomly beating people, shooting dogs, and breaking into apartments, shooting babies, then discovering they had the wrong house.  They used antiquated phrases like 'Yes Sir', 'Yes Ma'am' and 'You get it, Pete.'  There was something odd about police in California arresting lowlifes with southern accents.


THE JOB

So how goes the job hunt?
Apparently pretty poorly, judging from the title of this post.  I hope I'm still going to be amusing when I get a new job.

Since I last wrote, I've been approached for jobs in Arkansas, New York, New Jersey and possibly Saudi Arabia (relocation costs covered!).  When travel time is over an hour, the job stops being local.

I'm told this is the time for information security people.  You'd think that the recent breaches at Target, Home Depot and (horrors!) Dairy Queen would indicate the need for security professionals.  One recruiter told me all the security people are employed (except for this one, obviously).

But I'm online, on phone and on the toilet a lot.  Things are opening up (so to speak).  I'm even in a pilot program from the state to help the unemployed find jobs.  The last time I went to the pilot program, the doors were all locked.  I suspect the pilot crashed.  It does make me wonder why I was specially chosen.  Is it because I'm the first ex-Jew they have ever seen?  Maybe it's because my dog is black.

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.

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.

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.

The Unemployment Follies

So, as I mentioned, I got laid off about two weeks ago.  It wasn't that I didn't see it coming, it was more like I didn't see it coming that day.

Now that things have semi-stabilized, I figured I need to get back to the premise of this blog; that is, your gain from my pain.  Along those lines, I'm going to start noting Random Shit<tm> from life while I'm unemployed. When I get re-employed, I'll switch back to a different set of Random Shit<tm>.

DAY ONE

Not being completely without sense, I filed for Unemployment Compensation immediately.  The last time I filed, about thirteen years ago, it was primarily phone-based.  These days, it can all be done online.  This is a great thing for me, as you know of my great love for my fellow man (especially those fellows that work in city or state jobs).

I have to hand it to Pennsylvania - they did a great job of making the entire process quick and painless. Some would say that they haven't yet funged up the entire quick and painless process of signing up for unemployment. They told me I'd receive paperwork within ten to twelve business days.  Several days later, my paperwork arrived (not that paperwork).  Most impressive, PA.

My nephew assured my wife that total compensation came to 60-80% of normal income.  Fortunately I was approved immediately.  My nephew turned out to only be off by ten percent, in that it is much closer to fifty percent of my regular income.  My wife figured this out quickly (she's the brains and the beauty of this outfit, begging the question of what I'm doing here in the first place) and got a worried look on her face, as we weren't exactly doing too well when I was employed.

As I've mentioned,  I have interesting timing.  This time, however, life had interesting timing.  The wife's uncle was in hospice, dying from cancer.  The combination of a terminal uncle and an unemployed spousal unit kind of set the pot boiling over its own lid.  By this I mean that she went on a little internal vacation, as in checking out for a bit.

My wife's first exclamation after discovering my new and improved employment status was that it was about time I left and that it would be good to have me home for a while.  Oddly enough, yesterday was the first full day we spent together

So yeah, I'm officially on the unemployment rolls of PA.  They apparently try to discourage potential recipients of unemployment by sending them several envelopes with various colored papers, in various languages.  I think they're weeding some portion of us out.  There were so many papers that it became overwhelming.  Perhaps they were thinking survival of the fittest, as in the ones able to navigate the morass of paperwork and procedure were going to receive any compensation.

DAY TWO

This was resume day.  It was time to fine-tune the resume and start shooting it out to the right places. Or at very least, the online job boards.

A resume is where you write fine prose about your past employment, duties and accomplishments, making sure to embellish in every category possible.  Downright lying is apparently encouraged in some circles.  If you performed some task in some department, tell them you were the manager of that department... it was close.  If you did something once, make it an important full time job skill.  Invent all sorts of higher education that can't be verified.  Throw in an actual certification or two.  Vastly inflate your salary. Have your friends cover for you.  Make a lot of connections and annoy a lot of connections on LinkedIn and various other forms of evil that is social media.

Now let's talk facts: I have been out of the job-searching market for thirteen years or so. It wasn't so much updating the resume as writing one.  So no resume, no job-hunting skills and no real idea how to proceed was the order of the day.  I got right to work, made the resume look semi-impressive and sent it off to large job boards like Monster and Dice.

Recently, at my recent job, I had a recent neighbor. It was interesting to watch him take phone calls, get frustrated and slam down the phone.  Recruiters were calling him all the time about jobs. He told me it was predictable and inevitable... there were a bunch of Indian recruiters who would call, mispronounce his name and offer him jobs in different states, areas of the country or the other side of the same state (a nine hour drive one-way).  It happened several times per week.  I took to mispronouncing his name too, just to annoy him (that's the kind of guy I am).

Within two days of posting the resume, I had many emails from Indian recruiters for jobs in Chicago, Pittsburgh (a nine hour drive), San Francisco and many other job functions that weren't on my resume and that I wasn't willing to perform.  Boy, my ex-coworker wasn't kidding....

DAYS LATER

I'm not going to make stuff up; I am much more well-rested.  I get up early enough to scour job listings and respond to emails, phone calls and invent creative ways to look for jobs.  The custom-made job for me is around the corner but it hasn't exactly made itself known as yet (not for lack of trying).  All things in time.

My wife sure was happy to have me around.  So happy, in fact, that I got to go food shopping with her. This trip ranks just slightly above dentistry for me on the Things I Love to Do list.  One does not food shop with my wife; one follows silently, answering questions only when spoken to and never, NEVER wandering off or getting out of sight.  If one commits any of these transgressions, one will pay the price for throwing off her groove.  As silly (or painful) as it sounds, I have seen it a few times before. My wife normally does the shopping and does a great job of it.  The moment I come with her, she forgets where she's going and doesn't pick up items that were on her list in the first place.  Imagine having that kind of power.... I got to thinking that this is yet another reason people hate unemployment.  We like to go to work so we don't have to be home.

The wife shops at Costco (where all good things come from), which I don't get to see too often (fortunately).  They have weird hours and the parking lot is full at any time of the day or night.  Like many places in which I've shopped, they hire people to follow us around and see what we buy more than once.  When they figure it out, they immediately stop carrying them. I love these chocolate chip bars.  Because of this, they stopped carrying them. Now they have lemon bars.  Wife explained to me that lemon is the replacement for chocolate.  IN WHAT KIND OF UNIVERSE IS LEMON AN ACCEPTABLE SUBSTITUTE FOR CHOCOLATE?  I've seen people eat their own pocket lint before eating lemon bars.

Costco has extra wide aisles, so old people have to work much harder to put their cart in the exact center and block most of the pathway while they stand there, confused.  Mind you, old people succeed nonetheless.  The store also features people sampling random stuff at every other aisle.  When buying vitamins, neither of us were interested in cherry-flavored laxative samples, thank you very much.  One old sampling person asked if we'd like to try lemonade, just like Grandma used to make.  I was smarter than that - my grandmother never made lemonade.

Seven hundred dollars later, we were out of there.  Of course I kid... but I'd have no trouble getting the bill over seven hundred dollars, especially if I liked televisions large enough to take up an entire wall of my house.  I swear... that place has everything. Everything but suits.

Fcuk... SUITS!

SUITS?

Another thing I haven't done in thirteen years is wear a suit (I'm still post-traumatic about it).  The last suit got me the last job, damn near paying for itself.  Since it still fit, I figured I could wear it for interviews.  Well, even I am occasionally intelligent enough to question whether an ancient suit would look silly and ancient on me (as opposed to just plain stupid).  The general consensus was that it was New Suit Time. Have I mentioned how much I hate suits?  I'd rather mow the lawn and you know how much I hate mowing the lawn.

Costco had shirts, though.  The only problem there was that I had to know what my size was.  And again, in thirteen years, I had never thought about my shirt size or retained any of the numbers.  There were certainly a lot of numbers on the hideously colored dress shirts there but they weren't making any sense.  We figured we'd just get a shirt with a suit and be done with it.  And, heaven forbid, a tie.

Have I told you how much I hate ties?  In all this time, I haven't worn ties or dress shirts.  If there is a sad event like a funeral or wedding, I either don't show up or show up in my normal uniform (a clean t-shirt and jeans).  Because I spend so much time not showing up, when I do show up, everyone's so happy to see me that no one notices I'm wearing sneakers.  It's an interesting life.

Out of nine million things my wife has purchased over the years, she remembered one: the tiny little sewing kit that contained a tape measure.  She located the sewing kit, which was a minor miracle in itself, and proceeded to try to measure me.  This was made impossible by the fact that she had no idea how to measure.  While she called her mother for advice, I had looked it up on the internet, where all good things come from.

Since that was so much fun, I looked up how to measure someone for a suit.  Since neither of us had much higher education, it took quite a while, a straight edge, two rulers and some KY Jelly to finally ascertain my suit size.  Then it was time for the pants.  Do you know there is a seat measurement? They should have put it in plain language: ass size.  I kept asking my wife if she was Mr. Humphries taking an inside leg [Are You Being Served?].

Apparently I have the neck of a football player, the shoulders of a weight lifter and the lower torso of someone who was just over the required height for a dwarf.

The only thing worse than buying a suit is wearing a suit.  I wanted this circus done.  But the other thing worse than buying a suit is having it altered.  Some people, meaning me, don't really care if the suit fits and the pants are eight inches too long.  Apparently I'm not the only one: stores only sell suits in my size that come with pants better suited to a guy who consumes a case of beer in one sitting, several times a week.

Another ex-coworker was talking about going to some outlets and seeing really cheap suits... you know... like three hundred dollars.  At this point, my eyeballs bounced off the back of my skull and I thanked my lucky stars that I didn't have to buy a suit.  As it turned out, my lucky stars were more like meteors, plummeting to earth.  Or recent cruise ships, plummeting to the bottom of the ocean.

Three hundred dollars is rather a lot for an unemployed guy.  It's too much for an employed guy too. That's a lot of t-shirts, folks.  At this point we remembered that all good things come from the internet, so we set about searching for them.  The suits were a mix of cheap and Oh My God.  The only uniformity was that they were ugly.  Some were uglier than others.  Some looked like they'd be better suited (get it?) for waiters.  Some for gangsters.  Some for golfers. The sharkskin purple ones, well, I have no idea who they were for.  When we finally found an acceptable price on an ugly black straightjacket.. uh... suit, we discovered that it would take up to ten business days to arrive.  I told her this was a sign that I was not supposed to purchase a suit.  She refused to take that for an answer, so we'll be shopping locally soon.

So you can't wear sneakers and jeans to an interview?  I figure it shows individuality and creativity.  You mean nobody wants individuality and creativity?  Oh.

YOU TELL THEM

On the way out the door, my wife greets the neighbor across the street.  I'm not exactly busting out with social grace but I generally manage a hi, hello or at least a grunt.  Immediately after hello, the wife starts telling the neighbor about my being laid off.

I stood there, partially humiliated, wondering what to do.  Never being short for words, I waited for my wife to finish, then blurted out, "And my genitals are too small also."

I realize the benefits of telling people... maybe someone knows someone who's looking for someone. But telling the mailman and the cashier at Wawa probably isn't going to do much for me, other than affording me another opportunity to tell people about my genitals.  As it turns out, many people now know about my genitals.


I'll continue this as things continue to happen.  Try not to become unemployed.