Jobless days: 66
August Unemployment Log
Jobless, unemployed loser scum days: 66
Jobless days left: Unknown.
Rejections: Too many to count.
Goals:
1. Find a job.
2. To infinity and beyond, find a job.
Thoughts for the day:
The books on how to find a job stress that the search looks something like a ton of "NOs" followed by a single "YES!" When I land a job it’s going to be "Yes, Yes, Yes!"
Ten a.m. Starbucks. Downtown. Across from the Northwest Institute of Sneaky, Egomaniac, User Men. Bright sunshine the only thing holding me up. Thank goodness it’s not the rainy season in Seattle or I’d have to commit suicide. Or at least daydream about it. Or make despondent notes in my journal.
Inside, Roger already had a table. Candy, Hank, Jean, Bud, and Barn, who was looking thinner every time I saw him, were all there, the core group, crowded around him.
On seeing me, Barn popped up and dashed to the order counter. "Venti mocha with whip, heavy on the chocolate sauce." He shot me a look. "On me. You like lots of chocolate, right?"
Small nod by me. I felt tears in my eyes at his kindness. Cara had gotten a good one for once, thanks to me.
Roger looked up. "I thought Sean would be here."
I glanced at my watch. "He’s interviewing at WAR with my sister right now." I couldn’t help the grimace.
Roger had his cell, laptop, a pad of paper, a mechanical pencil, and a copies of various books on finding a job, including the classic What Color Is Your Parachute? in front of him.
Bud stood up and held a chair out for me. The barista called out my order and Barn brought it over. I took a sip. Chocolate coffee heaven.
Roger looked around the table at us all. "All right. You know why we’re here." Significant look at me. "One of our own is in trouble, and in this group, we have a motto." Then he paused.
I didn’t know we had a motto. From the blank expressions around the group, I don’t think anyone else did, either. Even Roger who’d brought the topic up. He frowned.
"All for one and one for all?" Jean volunteered.
"That’s the Three Musketeers." Roger scratched his head.
"Semper fi?" From Bud.
"Marines. We were navy." Roger paused. "We need something unique. All our own."
"No job-hunter left behind?" Candy on the uptake. Roger must have been telling her military stories.
Roger beamed. "Excellent! That’s it! No job-hunter left behind. No member left hanging." He typed it into his laptop. "Everyone’s been briefed. Leesa, here, is our member in most dire need. It’s time to put into action an effective, quick, shock and awe job-getting battle plan for her." He held up the copy of Parachute. "This is the job-hunting bible. We’re going to apply the techniques in here to get Leesa a job. And once we have, we’ll apply them one by one to the rest of the group. Anyone who wants help."
Nods bobbed around the group.
"Okay, so we’re in agreement. Since we’re under a time constraint and have no time to lose, we’re starting directly with the section on the most effective job hunting techniques and how to use contacts to find a job. Combining all our efforts, we’ll be job hunting at warp speed." He looked at me. "Sound good?"
"Warp speed, you bet! I’ve always wanted to try warp speed."
Roger beamed. "Good attitude. Positive. I like that. First step. Leesa, which company have you always wanted to work for?"
Okay, no-brainer here. "You mean, as in anywhere?"
"Dream big!"
"Engineering Associates in Redmond. They do fun stuff. They pay big. They’re all prestige." I paused and frowned. "And they’re extremely selective. They turned down Carl Hall and he graduated top of my class with a perfect four point. He was Tau Beta Pi president and everything. They said they couldn’t take him because his degree was only from the University of Washington and they only took Stanford or MIT grads. Very snooty." I sighed. "I graduated with a three-point-two. I don’t have a chance. They’ll screen my résumé and delete it the moment it hits their filter."
"Nonsense. You’re a unique, valuable prospective employee." Roger consulted Parachute. "Look at this." He pointed to the page. "You have more than a chance. All we have to do is get you in touch with the person-with-the-power-to-hire."
He scanned the group. "To do that, we’ll use our LinkedIn contacts, Facebook accounts, Twitter, and general knowledge, and IM, text, tweet, or call everyone we know and ask them if they know anyone at EA and can they recommend Leesa. By doing this we’ll be using one of the most effective job finding techniques—the power of the Job Camp Group!"
The group cheered.
"Everyone bring their cell phone?" Roger pulled his out. "Other accessories—laptops or iPads, notebooks, pens?"
The Gang assembled their weapons. This group was prepared!
"First, a little training." Roger held up a copy of The Seattle Times.
"Résumé spam is tiring those hiring. This is an actual headline from a recent column. The article goes on to say that in just six months one large company received 920,000 online applications. How is Leesa going to stand out? Be one in almost a million that gets called for an interview?" Roger looked around. "Seem impossible? Not if we know how to find the-person-with-the-hiring-power."
Then Roger taught us the secret of jumping past screeners in a single bound, of getting past watchdogs, admins, and all other gatekeepers to find the-person-with-the-hiring-power. He taught us how to network with our contacts and he gave us a new mantra. "Everyone you know is a contact. Everyone. Your priest, your auto repair guy, the garbage man, the clerk at the store. Everyone.
"We ask everyone the same questions. ‘Do you know anyone who works for or used to work for EA? Do you have their phone number and/or address? Would you be willing to call ahead and tell them who Leesa is?
"Once you have a name at EA, Leesa calls and asks the next set of questions." He paused. "Get it?"
We nodded.
"We inch-bug our way to a personal contact while hurdling over the unenlightened masses of online applicants." Roger looked at me. "If you need to, Leesa, give yourself a pep talk before beginning just like we learned at ‘greatness’. And remember, everybody, don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, especially not from HR."
"Greatness." He had to remind me.
"Phones at ready," Roger said.
Seven cell phones snapped to attention.
Roger, "On my signal, commence calling. Three, two, one, dial!"
And we were off.
I gave myself the pep talk, stealing key virtues from the list in Parachute. I was competent, honest, ethical, educated, patient, understanding, punctual (hey, punctual’s a virtue), and hardworking. I was a quick study. I practiced hard and played for keeps. I was going to score an interview—an actual hiring interview.
First, I tried the easy way. I called EA’s human relations department and asked if they were hiring. Nope. I hung up.
Did I believe them? I mentally repeated the response Roger had taught me—no! Don’t believe anybody. Leave no stone unturned. And any other applicable clichés. Half the time those HR people were nothing more than screeners, people trying to keep candidates out of jobs so that HR had job security.
I checked my LinkedIn contacts, even though I knew I didn’t know anyone at EA. Ryne’s picture popped up in my contact list. I reached to unconnect with him, which is when I noticed EA was listed as one of his clients. I popped over to his website. Yep, EA was listed as a satisfied client there, too.
No way. I wouldn’t contact him and ask for a favor if he was the last person on Earth who knew someone at Engineering Associates. I’d rather go to work for Dad.
I went back to LinkedIn and unconnected with Ryne.
To cheer myself up, I picked up my phone again, and began calling safe, friendly contacts. I had a great talk with Sheila, the girl at the cleaners, and promised to let Dad know about their half off special for draperies. Sheila didn’t even know what EA was.
I called my neighbor, Mrs. Vanhorn, to see if she was back from vacation early. Nope. I got her machine. I’d still need to be feeding Fluffy. I called my automated banking system and found out my account balance was now a measly $243.56. It didn’t know of any jobs at EA, either.
Next to me, Jean was a cold call machine. Making professional call after call. Speaking pleasantly. Forging ahead on my behalf.
Inspired by Jean, I got serious. I called ex-coworkers.
"Geez, Leesa. EA? They don’t hire real people. You gotta be a frickin’ genius or something to get their attention."
"I knew a kid who delivered pizzas there once. Can’t remember his name. He went back to college anyway. Down in Oregon somewhere."
"You need connections to get in there, kiddo. Can’t help you."
These were the kinds of helpful responses I got.
Friends. Nothing. Dad’s golf buddies. Nada. Julie’s manicurist. Remind her that she has a complete hand massage and manicure scheduled for the fifth. Ten thirty. Sharp. So much for everybody!
An hour later, I banged my head against the coffee table in defeat. Jean, who sat next to me, gave me a concerned look,
"I’m a failure. I failed at the sure-fire-warp-speed-find-a-job method."
"Failure is an event, not a person." She must have learned that from Roger, who learned it from . . . Ryne. Everything came back to him. Jean patted me on the back.
"Sure." I sat back up. My forehead throbbed. "Then I just went from two failures to hundreds, keep that in mind."
"Cheer up, Little Miss Sunshine. You couldn’t have called everybody. You haven’t been on the phone long enough."
"Yeah, that’s the excuse. But I’m down to the real long shots." I sighed. "I’m not about to call Top Foods and ask for the clerk who usually works check stand seven."
"I’ll do it for you!" Jean stood up and rubbed my shoulders, laughing to herself.
"The problem is our automated society," I said. "Cash machines. Self-service gas stations. You-scan at the grocery store. Think how many human contacts that cuts down on." I sighed.
We went back to it, dialing until our fingers got sore. Leaving voicemail and text messages up the ying-yang. No one was ever in when you wanted them. We talked until we grew hoarse and had such a bad case of phone-ear that we all felt like we had cauliflower attached to our heads instead of ears. And all for nothing. No one knew anyone, anywhere, anyhow.
Finally, Roger called a cease-fire. "Okay gang. Good progress. Before we blow through all our cell plan minutes, we’ll pack it up and continue at home. If any of you hit the jackpot, give Leesa a call ASAP."
Candy came over and gave me a hug. "Don’t worry, Lees. Something will turn up. And when we score you that big interview, Hank and I are going to give you the makeover of your life. You’ll walk in there looking so killer they’ll make on offer on the spot."
Yeah, but what kind of offer?
Jean nodded. "Candy’s right. When Dan gets home tonight, I’ll hit him up for contacts. Did I tell you how much he loved the new office? He thinks you’re a perfect genius. And he knows scads of people."
Barn chimed in. "Cara and I plan to put our heads together on it tonight."
Everyone was so helpful, they brought me almost to tears. Then one by one, they packed up and began drifting off, leaving me to wait for my bus with the dregs of my mocha. If I stuck my face deep into the cup, do you think I could get that last bit of chocolate sauce with my tongue?
Which is exactly what I was trying when something else almost made me cry, but not in a good way. Ryne Garrett strolled in for an afternoon iced frappuccino. At least that’s the order the clerk called out to the barista as Ryne paid at the counter. I ducked low in my chair. He didn’t see me at first. I considered making a graceful retreat, but then—
Ryne turned around. His eyes lit up when he spotted me. "Leesa!" He walked over to me. "Hey, how are you? Can I buy you a drink?"
"No. Thank you." I spit the words out.
How could that two-timing, people-studying, egghead-paper-writing cheat even have the nerve to speak to me?
Oblivious to my cold shoulder, he pulled up a chair without asking. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for the bus." As angry as I felt, I was amazed I could even speak to him somewhat civilly.
He held his drink up. "Sure? It’s hot out there. This hits the spot." He winked. "And they let you take them on Metro."
As I shook my head, I felt my anger rising and fighting to be unleashed.
He looked at me and frowned. "Is it just my imagination or has the temperature in here suddenly taken a dive?"
"Very astute, Einstein." I made very thin, angry eyes at him. The thinnest I could make. "I saw you on Northwest PM yesterday. Why didn’t you mention your television appearance to me on Friday?"
Pause. Look up and to the left. Ryne Garrett was at a loss for words. He’d even lost his straight-ahead eye control. Could it be he was thinking up a lie?
"You gave that ice wine, the ice wine you asked me to pick out, to your girlfriend." I slammed my empty cup down on the table. It crumpled like the cardboard it was.
"You great big people-reading fake. Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend and that wine was for her birthday? Why did you flirt with me and let me get the wrong idea? What kind of a jerk does that?"
"Look, I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression. Portia is no secret. I just assumed you knew about her." He tried to win me over with a fake grin. "You know everything else, even my work schedule."
"Yeah? Yet your Facebook status says ‘single’ and there’s not one post about her or picture of you together."
"I keep my private life separate from my professional image." He sighed. "Let’s not make a big deal out of this. I’d like to be friends."
I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. "Friend! You want to be my friend? Great. Here’s the deal. My great job offer fell through and I’m in a bit of pinch. I need a new one immediately if not sooner. The JCG gang is trying to help me out with a contact. Do you know anyone at Engineering Associates?"
Another pause. Eyes up to the left. "No, sorry, Leesa. I don’t."
I stood up and collected my things. "You really ought to practice your lying. I know more than your schedule. I know EA is a client of yours. You’ve done at least three seminars for them in the last six months. You probably know the big muckety-mucks there. How many words have you defined for them? Maybe you should try ‘friendship’ next time."
He stared at me a moment before opening his mouth. "Leesa, like you just stated, EA’s a client. I can’t use my professional relationship with them to help you."
"Like hell you can’t."
He stood and grabbed my arm to keep me from storming off. "Wait. If I used my clients to help everyone, I’d have no clients left."
"So what happened to help enough people get what they want and you’ll get what you want? Is that just a platitude you spew? Something for the masses to follow, but not you, the elite one?"
Unfortunately, when I get mad, my voice pitches an octave higher and wanders into shrill. This time, I was way past shrill almost into only-dogs-can-hear-it territory. "You know what I think you are? A charlatan, a fake."
Several other patrons had turned to stare at us. But I was way past caring.
"You can just forget about friendship. Friends respect each other. Help each other out. Friends don’t study other people to write them up in papers as oddities and use as case studies and stories in seminars." I stared him in the eye, resisting the urge to spit in his face. "One thing is certain, Ryne Garrett. You are definitely not great."
I shook loose from his grip and stormed out.
The problem with storming out when you have to wait for the bus to swoop you away is that the dramatic exit seems kind of hollow. I stormed out the door, but then what? The bus stop was right there. I was considering stomping down the street to the next stop when—
"Hey, Legs!" Big grin and wave from Mr. Street Music Guy. "You’re heading the wrong direction." He nodded back toward Starbucks. "Mr. Wonderful is still in there."
"Mr. Wonderful is an ass. Definitely not the great man he thinks he is."
Street Guy grinned even bigger. "Trouble in paradise? You were giving him hell, weren’t you? Shrill is usually a giveaway. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could hear the high pitch way out here." He winced.
My lips quivered like a cry was coming on.
"Hey, don’t get me wrong. I’m on your side. Men need a scolding from time to time. Keeps them in line."
That’s when I felt tears well up in my eye. I crumpled and sat down on the curb. I pulled a dollar out of my bag. I might as well blow my wad. I waved it in front of him. "I’ve had a shit of a day. Play me some blues."
"Put that money away. I don’t take pay from friends or depressed ladies with great legs." He sat down next to me. "Tell Greg all about it."
So I did, in infinite detail. About Howard, Willie, the fire, the job, the insurance, my whole sucky life. And I got so into it, I didn’t pay any attention to whether Ryne sneaked out behind us or not. But somehow he must have, because I thought I caught sight of him darting into his building across the street.
You know the great thing about street musicians? They understand down-and-out better than almost anybody. Greg was full of sympathy and it was genuine.
Finally, he said, "Hey, I got a gig at a jazz club. A good one. Who am I kidding? A great one. And it’s all because of you. If you hadn’t given me that twenty, I’d have been kicked off the streets. The jazz club owner wouldn’t have heard me playing two days later and hired me."
I looked at him through my tears. "That’s great. Really."
He nodded. "This whole story has a point I’m getting to. The jazz club owner has a brother who’s a forensic insurance investigator, a regular PI. I promised to do a gig for him at his twenty-fifth anniversary party next week. I bet I can work a deal where he takes a look at your insurance report and fire scene if I give him a break on the gig."
I simply stared at Street Guy. "You’d do that for me?"
"You betcha."
"But I only gave you a twenty. And your time must be worth so much more—"
"That twenty saved me." He gave my shoulders a squeeze. "Your JCG folks are gonna get you that job, and I’m gonna get you your insurance money, Legs. Count on it."
Then he began playing the beautiful blues. And Street Guy was good. I began to feel just faintly better.
There was a nice, big, fat, manila envelope tucked in the door for me when I got back to Dad’s. Delivered Fed Ex. A present? Great. Just what I needed to perk me up, if perking were possible at this point.
I held it under my arm as I unlocked the door and dumped my junk in the entryway. Then I tore it open and out fell a stack of papers with a letter paper-clipped to the top. An offer letter. From Hawk Engineering.
Dear Ms. Winsome,
We apologize that we were unable to connect for a second interview.
More accurately, that I never returned their calls, and with good reason.
We have checked your references and reviewed your qualifications. Congratulations! We would like to offer you the position of senior test engineer at our Redmond facility at a generous starting salary of—
Generous! If I hadn’t been so down I would have worked up more outrage. This offer ranked several notches below pathetic, right up there with depressing. And I felt low enough as it was.
Doing a quick mental calculation, I figured I might be able to make my current monthly bills on it, if I didn’t care too much about eating. And that included making only minimum monthly payments on all that credit-card debt, which would then take me until I was three-hundred and two to pay off in full. Assuming I never charged another thing in my unnaturally long life.
Plus test engineering? Test engineering is the dregs of the engineering world. And if you fall into it, you have slim to none chance of getting out of the pit. Stuck in test engineering hell, you’re doomed to the bottom rung of the engineering career ladder, constantly testing other people’s work or designing test equipment to test other people’s work. No run for glory there. So chances of increasing the salary and attaining executive status—nil. Then there were the idiots I’d have to work with. And I’d be the token female.
I should have been excited. It was a job.
Out of morbid curiosity, I read on.
Blah, blah, blah. Pass a drug test. No company matching for the 401k. Two weeks one-leave to be accrued throughout the year—
Wait a minute! Two weeks one-leave! Who were they kidding? I’d had three weeks of vacation and two weeks of sick leave at WI. Two weeks was sliding back to just-out-of-college vacation level. This was an all-around bad offer. A career killing setback. But none of that was going to matter to the Employment Security bureaucrats. And I did need work.
I called Roger to get a reality check.
"Sit on it, kiddo. String out the negotiations until they ante up or give up. Or we get you that job with EA."
I sighed. "You’re right. I’m panicking. It’s just I’ve got a COBRA payment due—"
"Geez, Leesa, are you still making COBRA payments? Didn’t anyone ever tell you about temporary insurance? Costs less than a third of COBRA. You can sign up online, get approved, and be covered the next day. I’ll e-mail you the info. You should have come to me earlier."
He mumbled, "I really have to finish The Layoff Survival Guide. People need it."
Roger heaved a heavy sigh. "Look, the real deal here, Leesa, is to buy yourself some time to land a great job, a career move, not a job slide. Got it?"
"Got it."
"So get busy and hang tough."
Julie walked in from work just as I hung up. I was thinking Roger was a genius and why hadn’t I brought my problems to him before? Stupid pride, and maybe some arrogance and misplaced faith in a sure-thing job that turned out to be nothing. I guess it really is true that pride comes before a fall. But maybe when pride falls, recovery is possible.
Julie wore that Cheshire cat look again, only her hair was down today, so she didn’t have the fake ear thing going.
"You look like the cat that ate the canary," I said. "Good day?"
"One of the best."
Was my sister glowing?
"I hired a most talented designer today."
"You hired, Sean?" I tried not to look too smug.
I was happy for him, even though he’d be working at WAR. That was his problem.
"I told you he was good," I said.
"Er, yes, he is. In fact, he’s fabulous, and full of ideas, and adventurous."
"Not to mention hot," I added, just to goad her along a bit. "And charming."
Julie pretended to be interested in her shoe. She leaned down to adjust the strap, probably to avoid direct eye contact. "Yes, certainly." I think even her voice had a grin in it. "I think I’ll be able to use him in a variety of positions."
It may have been my imagination, but I sensed a bit of double entendre going on.
"What about you? How was your day?" Julie cocked her head to study me.
What! My sister taking an interest in me? What had Sean done to her?
"The pits," I said.
She stepped up to me, licked her finger, and rubbed at my forehead.
"Ouch!"
"Sorry. Thought that was a smudge," Julie said. "Must be a bruise. And do you realize, you have a little knot on your forehead, too?"
"Banged it against a table," I explained. "A little too hard, I guess."
She cocked an eyebrow. "On purpose?"
"I was actually going more for a light, dramatic tap, just to release a little frustration. Only it turned out I was more frustrated than I thought. Or I miscalculated the height of the table."
"Do you want an ice pack?"
My sister the alien.
"Does it look that bad?" I asked.
She paused, assessing the damage. "I wouldn’t call it an asset. You’re going to have a big bruise. Concealer stick, some of that yellow stuff to cover the bruising, and lots of foundation should hide it. But it looks like it hurts."
I stepped to the entry table to peer in the mirror above it.
That’s when Julie spotted my Hawk offer sitting on the entry table where I’d left it. Uh-oh.
"What’s this?" She grabbed it before I could stop her. And held it up over her head as I jumped for it and tried to snatch it back. Why did I have to be the short sister?
"That’s private correspondence." I made another pass at it.
She brushed me aside and ran to the other side of the room, reading as she went. "Leesa’s got an offer."
I watched her eyes scan the page. Then she frowned, and added, "This is all you make? No wonder you’re in trouble. You should have come to us. We could match this at WAR."
Insult to injury.
I walked over and snatched my lousy offer out of her hands. "This is not my market value. I made way more at WI." I tapped the pages. "This is a substandard offer. Below industry standards.
"I should probably report this to our trade organization, the Institute of Electrical and Electronic Engineers, the IEEE, for their annual salary survey. That would embarrass and black-ball Hawk!"
Julie looked skeptical at best. "If you’re worth so much more, why is a company making you a puny offer?"
Julie settled in on the sofa and kicked off her killer shoes.
"Because they’re a start-up and running on the cheap. And the Seattle job market sucks right now. So they think I’ll bite."
This is where I had to tread carefully. Because Julie was likely to blab to Dad. And then Dad would sing that annoying song and give me Hobson’s choice. Take that stupid offer or come back to WAR or he’d kick me out.
Playing for sympathy, I explained my day to Julie, in the condensed version due to her short attention span and her tendency to run off at the lips with my secrets.
Shock of shocks, she gave me a stiff hug. Hugging wasn’t really her thing. I respected the effort, even if she was a little inept at it.
"You can always come back to WAR. We could pony up a few bucks to beat that offer." She sort of snorted when she said it, confirming my belief that Hawk had given me a real insult with that petty salary offer. I mean, if cheapskate-pay-rock-bottom-dollar WAR could pay more?
"That’s the last thing I want. Believe me. Dad and I were created to fight with each other. I don’t know how you do it, stay there and work for him. I wouldn’t last two weeks."
Julie softened under the praise and put on her I’m-a-great-girl posture. "I’ll help any way I can," Julie said. "What can I do?"
"Don’t tell Dad about this offer." I tapped the papers again and tried not to sound too pleading. "Keep Dad off my back?"
"You got it."
Something had changed Julie. Weren’t lust and fabulous industrial designers grand?