As the last couple of weeks of summer trickle down to nothing, and I stare hatefully at the calendar, I invariably start to think "I hate this job."
I hate this job mostly because it's a job, period, and I don't particularly like working. If anyone was meant to be a dilettante, I'm the guy. I do like teaching because-- oh, wait, if you're waiting to hear how much I love children, or how I'm trying to make a difference in the world, skip this part. I loathe children, and as far as I'm concerned, other than a few neighborhoods Baltimore is pretty much irreparably broken and can't be fixed without a well-placed warhead or six. I do, however, love the English language. The job is never boring, and I really really love having the summer off.
When I contemplate this hideous return-to-work thing, though, I'm also forced to contemplate some of the other jobs I've had over the years. Invariably, some dippy co-worker will tell me that I need to write a book. I do, but I'm too lazy, so I thought it might be amusing to start relaying some of the experiences on here. Thus, here begins a brief series:
THE SAGA OF THE CHRONICALLY UNDEREMPLOYED.
You see, the United States has painted itself into a very dangerous corner. At one point in our history, everything balanced out. Some people worked the farm, some went to college and did "professional" stuff, some people worked in factories, some fixed toilets, some robbed banks. Whatever. There was a niche for pretty much everyone that fit in with levels of ability.
Those days took a hike around the same time that the first Datsun cars started showing up on the roads, and now we're in deep trouble.
See, almost everyone now has a bachelor's degree. This seems all happy and egalitarian, but what it has really done is to render the degree meaningless. I've met people with bachelor's degrees whom I strongly suspect need help tying their shoes. Plumbers routinely make more than college grads. Why? Well, you see, now most people believe that plumbing work is "below" them, so they go to college...so there are no more plumbers...but LOTS of college grads...who end up doing crappy low-paying jobs...while the guys they look down upon, all three of them in the state, get paid considerably more to install faucets.
In other words, there just aren't enough High-Power Executive positions going around for all of the people who think that they should be filling them. This leads to a lot of underemployed people, and a lot of bitterness. It also leads to having a damned hard time finding a job at all.
Since I graduated from college, I've been through an annoying little parade of crappy jobs. The worst part of the crappy job market is that interviewers will invariably say "But you have a degree from (insert prestigious college here). Why are you applying for this job?"
What you want to say: "You stupid bitch, because my rent is three months behind and I'm fighting with the cat over the last bit of kibble. It's take this shitty little job or die in the gutter."
What you are supposed to say: "I understand this is entry-level, but I'm looking for some new opportunities, and this job seems like a great way to explore some different paths!!!"
In my treatment of crappy jobs, I should probably address my favorite form first.
No matter how bad the economy gets, there's always a sick receptionist, so you can always temp.
Temping can be among the most satisfying of jobs, because it really isn't a job. I've done plenty of it. Oh, yes, there's work, but rarely does it involve any actual labor or thought process, and you get paid for it. Sometimes it does lead to a real job, and it's possible to make some good connections. I've made some very good friends through temp work.
Baltimore is a great city to test the temping waters for one major reason: This town is full of really, incredibly, mind-numbingly STUPID people. The mere ability to type vaults you light years ahead of most others in the regional temp pool. File six lousy pieces of paper between 8AM and noon, and people will be so impressed that they'll buy you lunch.
Some of my favorite temping highlights:
--a credit-card company in the suburbs. This place was the dregs of Planet Temp, and it seemed to be even worse for its real employees. You had to scan in with your ID; if you didn't have it, you didn't get in to report for work. One guy got canned for letting someone else borrow his ID to scan in. The company's whole business model was the issuing of credit cards to people who really shouldn't have had credit cards. I ended up working for a week in their human resources department. This was creepy. Everyone in there had a degree, but I knew that the mung in the breakroom fridge could outmaneuver them. Each cube had a set of binders with impressive titles, but each binder had about six pieces of paper inside. The function of the HR workers seemed to be limited to finding the most ghetto-ass people in Baltimore to work for the company, and then summarily firing them before having to pay out any discernible benefits. My job was to file and type. They were all seriously freaked out when I produced the typed versions of three letters within fifteen minutes. They'd expected that to take all day. Also, a mockingbird in the parking lot hated me, and attacked me no matter where I parked.
--The swanky downtown advertising agency. This one was kind of fun, because I always thought the ad game seemed interesting. It can be. Unfortunately, I was filling in for the receptionist. My job for three days was to occupy a beautiful granite desk in a sleek lobby with leather furniture. And I do mean occupy--not much else. If people came in, I'd simply announce them to the person they wanted to see, who'd come out to meet them. If the phone rang, I transferred the call. Also, it became clear that they usually had hot chicks as receptionists. A lot of people were quite surprised to see a guy at the desk. One of the nice things was that, since I occasionally had to broadcast calls over a PA system, everyone complimented my voice. A couple of people even mentioned that I should try doing some ad work. (In retrospect, I'm not sure why I didn't follow up on the idea.) One of the other cool things was that it was in the World Trade Center, which is the world's tallest pentagonal building. It's Super Seventies at its weirdest, but it makes for trippy corridors.
--The chemical shipping company way down in one of the industrial sections. This was only a few days' stint, but it was kind of fun. Everyone there was genuinely pleasant. I had to report to a woman whose name was...really...Ginger Rogers. I also got to hang out in one of the offices on an industrial floor, which meant that I had to wear hard hat and protective gear to get to the computer. The whole place was full of old-fashioned blue collar Baltimore types, and it was the closest I ever got to being surrounded by normal people while temping.
Coming Soon: Who needs insurance if you've Accepted Jesus as Your Personal Savior?
I hate this job mostly because it's a job, period, and I don't particularly like working. If anyone was meant to be a dilettante, I'm the guy. I do like teaching because-- oh, wait, if you're waiting to hear how much I love children, or how I'm trying to make a difference in the world, skip this part. I loathe children, and as far as I'm concerned, other than a few neighborhoods Baltimore is pretty much irreparably broken and can't be fixed without a well-placed warhead or six. I do, however, love the English language. The job is never boring, and I really really love having the summer off.
When I contemplate this hideous return-to-work thing, though, I'm also forced to contemplate some of the other jobs I've had over the years. Invariably, some dippy co-worker will tell me that I need to write a book. I do, but I'm too lazy, so I thought it might be amusing to start relaying some of the experiences on here. Thus, here begins a brief series:
THE SAGA OF THE CHRONICALLY UNDEREMPLOYED.
You see, the United States has painted itself into a very dangerous corner. At one point in our history, everything balanced out. Some people worked the farm, some went to college and did "professional" stuff, some people worked in factories, some fixed toilets, some robbed banks. Whatever. There was a niche for pretty much everyone that fit in with levels of ability.
Those days took a hike around the same time that the first Datsun cars started showing up on the roads, and now we're in deep trouble.
See, almost everyone now has a bachelor's degree. This seems all happy and egalitarian, but what it has really done is to render the degree meaningless. I've met people with bachelor's degrees whom I strongly suspect need help tying their shoes. Plumbers routinely make more than college grads. Why? Well, you see, now most people believe that plumbing work is "below" them, so they go to college...so there are no more plumbers...but LOTS of college grads...who end up doing crappy low-paying jobs...while the guys they look down upon, all three of them in the state, get paid considerably more to install faucets.
In other words, there just aren't enough High-Power Executive positions going around for all of the people who think that they should be filling them. This leads to a lot of underemployed people, and a lot of bitterness. It also leads to having a damned hard time finding a job at all.
Since I graduated from college, I've been through an annoying little parade of crappy jobs. The worst part of the crappy job market is that interviewers will invariably say "But you have a degree from (insert prestigious college here). Why are you applying for this job?"
What you want to say: "You stupid bitch, because my rent is three months behind and I'm fighting with the cat over the last bit of kibble. It's take this shitty little job or die in the gutter."
What you are supposed to say: "I understand this is entry-level, but I'm looking for some new opportunities, and this job seems like a great way to explore some different paths!!!"
In my treatment of crappy jobs, I should probably address my favorite form first.
No matter how bad the economy gets, there's always a sick receptionist, so you can always temp.
Temping can be among the most satisfying of jobs, because it really isn't a job. I've done plenty of it. Oh, yes, there's work, but rarely does it involve any actual labor or thought process, and you get paid for it. Sometimes it does lead to a real job, and it's possible to make some good connections. I've made some very good friends through temp work.
Baltimore is a great city to test the temping waters for one major reason: This town is full of really, incredibly, mind-numbingly STUPID people. The mere ability to type vaults you light years ahead of most others in the regional temp pool. File six lousy pieces of paper between 8AM and noon, and people will be so impressed that they'll buy you lunch.
Some of my favorite temping highlights:
--a credit-card company in the suburbs. This place was the dregs of Planet Temp, and it seemed to be even worse for its real employees. You had to scan in with your ID; if you didn't have it, you didn't get in to report for work. One guy got canned for letting someone else borrow his ID to scan in. The company's whole business model was the issuing of credit cards to people who really shouldn't have had credit cards. I ended up working for a week in their human resources department. This was creepy. Everyone in there had a degree, but I knew that the mung in the breakroom fridge could outmaneuver them. Each cube had a set of binders with impressive titles, but each binder had about six pieces of paper inside. The function of the HR workers seemed to be limited to finding the most ghetto-ass people in Baltimore to work for the company, and then summarily firing them before having to pay out any discernible benefits. My job was to file and type. They were all seriously freaked out when I produced the typed versions of three letters within fifteen minutes. They'd expected that to take all day. Also, a mockingbird in the parking lot hated me, and attacked me no matter where I parked.
--The swanky downtown advertising agency. This one was kind of fun, because I always thought the ad game seemed interesting. It can be. Unfortunately, I was filling in for the receptionist. My job for three days was to occupy a beautiful granite desk in a sleek lobby with leather furniture. And I do mean occupy--not much else. If people came in, I'd simply announce them to the person they wanted to see, who'd come out to meet them. If the phone rang, I transferred the call. Also, it became clear that they usually had hot chicks as receptionists. A lot of people were quite surprised to see a guy at the desk. One of the nice things was that, since I occasionally had to broadcast calls over a PA system, everyone complimented my voice. A couple of people even mentioned that I should try doing some ad work. (In retrospect, I'm not sure why I didn't follow up on the idea.) One of the other cool things was that it was in the World Trade Center, which is the world's tallest pentagonal building. It's Super Seventies at its weirdest, but it makes for trippy corridors.
--The chemical shipping company way down in one of the industrial sections. This was only a few days' stint, but it was kind of fun. Everyone there was genuinely pleasant. I had to report to a woman whose name was...really...Ginger Rogers. I also got to hang out in one of the offices on an industrial floor, which meant that I had to wear hard hat and protective gear to get to the computer. The whole place was full of old-fashioned blue collar Baltimore types, and it was the closest I ever got to being surrounded by normal people while temping.
Coming Soon: Who needs insurance if you've Accepted Jesus as Your Personal Savior?
posted by Daniel | 12:57 AM
2 Comments:
You NEVER cease to amuse me!! :) WPK
"[O]ccupy[ing] a beautiful granite desk in a sleek lobby with leather furniture" seems like the ideal position for you.
As a temp, I once spent a day handing out samples of Lauren perfume at T. Westmoreland. The woman who "trained" me urged me to hand them to women under 25, I think it was. Needless to say, when a pair of sweet elderly ladies asked for the scented papers I was distributing because "you know, we like to keep them in the drawer with our underthings," I did not demur.
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