Job Update, Part the Next
Not quite two weeks ago, I had a job interview in Findlay with the Hancock Regional Planning Commission, for the position of Grant Writer/Administrator. I was ecstatic when I saw the announcement, because it was the exact sort of job that I did for five years at BGSU. I was eminently qualified for it, the interview went awesomely, would’ve provided comfortable pay with benefits, and I was told that I’d hear a decision by the end of that week. So, of course, I was watching my phone like a hawk that Thursday and Friday, all the way up to yesterday—not to mention that I was checking my Yahoo email on an hourly basis during the days. If you haven’t guessed, the vibe I felt was positive.
So, of course, needless to say, I was devastated last night when I got the rejection letter from them. I really do mean devastated too…I was in tears. Honestly, that was the lowest I’d felt since my ex left me over two years ago. I was despondent, furious, depressed, bleak, and I wanted to hit something. To be blunt, I wanted to brutalize something. And then, of course, I found out that I owe $214 to the city of Bowling Green in taxes, money which I don’t have at the moment, and have to hope that I can scratch together by April 17th.
Part of what made me feel so bleak is the fact that I’m well-suited to get jobs that are in short to non-existent supply in the area where I live. I’ve got a Master’s, almost all of my doctorate completed, been working since I was 15, got good practical work experience in administration, higher education, and community service (not to mention grant writing and research), and am apparently undesirable to any job that would actually allow me to flourish professionally and personally. Not to mention the fact that job openings like that are extremely few and far between in the Lima/Findlay area. If I were a truck driver, manual laborer, food service jockey, or in health care, I’d be set. Sadly, however, Lima and Findlay have had precious little to offer in what I’m looking for. Since I’m too far away from Columbus, Toledo, Cleveland, and Dayton, Findlay’s the only city in driving distance that seems to offer, at least on occasion, jobs that I’m suited for.
Last night also drove home the fact that, ever since last May, when Adelante began screwing me over visibly, I’ve been struggling unsuccessfully to establish myself professionally. Six months of unemployment and assorted interviews that have led to nowhere mean I get to stay at CRI for my foreseeable future. And while I suppose I’m grateful to the company for SOME measure of income, it’s disheartening to consider that there’s not many options other than driving 36 miles to work for pay that’s laughable at best, carries no benefits whatsoever, and promotions are seen as death sentences. I make barely enough to keep my own steerageway against my own bills, not to mention helping with groceries and household stuff as best I can. The only redeeming aspect of working at CRI is that my immediate co-workers in the editing department are cool as hell. Since we’re all working for the same amount of piss-poor beans, it’s created a pretty good bond of camaraderie—not to mention a communal sense of gallows humor about our job status and the administration there. Disillusionment and distrust and lack of workplace loyalty run rampant here, and in our own way, we revel in it. I’m seriously considering starting a betting pool to see if one of the administrators gets on such a power trip that they soil themselves.
Seriously—the administration at CRI seems to be convinced that we, the little peon workers seemingly comparable (to them) to the browbeaten children in Pink Floyd’s “The Wall,” are stuck in the 4th grade. Email is monitored, as is our usage of the internet that’s non-work related. Our attendance system is point-based, and to keep from losing a point for an unexcused absence, we have to bring in a note or documentation of what we were doing. There are video cameras up in a few different areas so we can, I dunno, be monitored on how we’re walking or slouching during the day. The at-home editors and call center people, from what I’ve been told, are paid piece-rate—in other words, per job. If we have the CEO taking people on tours through here, we’re not allowed to have trash cans out or have our jackets hanging over the backs of our chairs. I’ve worked here for almost three months, and after reaching that point of service (on March 18th), I’ll finally have earned two whole HOURS of vacation. It’ll be hard not to use it all at one time.
The final irony is that I’ve had to take a couple of days off during the past few months to interview for the HRPC and Ohio Northern jobs…days for which, of course, I called in sick and didn’t get paid, but thought that the effort for the interviews was worth it—which, of course, it wasn’t. Now that I’ve been legitimately and badly sick for the past week, I haven’t been able to take time off for it. My soon-to-be-new supervisor said that I should go to the doctor’s office earlier this week. I looked at her and said, “And how the hell, exactly, will I pay for it?” She gave me a look that was a cross between a grimace and a sheepish grin, and said, “Oh…yeah.”
Even my doctorate, which I’d like to start work on again this year, is based on whether or not they’ll let me do any work without actually registering for the hours. I sure as hell won’t have the money to pay for it if I do. That, and I have to arrange a new committee, something that I need to start doing before the end of the month. If I can somehow get going again on it, though, I can probably have it done by August of 2008. That said, though, I’m not sure what practical job-related good it’ll do me. Sure, it’d be nice to have it done after all these years, but even if I find myself wanting to go back to teaching at college, opportunities for my field are few and far between down here still.
It’s times like this that do, however, make me more appreciative for the good things still in life. I live with the woman I love, who’s been incredibly patient and supportive. I can still play guitar, and am drooling for the next time Groovemaster plays again. My parents are healthy and vibrant, despite the fact that Dad recently got diagnosed with diabetes. Becky pulled my ass out of the fire and paid for my recent car repairs. I’m losing weight, thanks to eating fresher food and less junk. I’ve got great friends, although they live a ways away and I don’t get to see them as often as I used to, although we’re playing in a wallyball tournament in Zanesville this weekend.
All that’s left is to somehow get a better job…
So, of course, needless to say, I was devastated last night when I got the rejection letter from them. I really do mean devastated too…I was in tears. Honestly, that was the lowest I’d felt since my ex left me over two years ago. I was despondent, furious, depressed, bleak, and I wanted to hit something. To be blunt, I wanted to brutalize something. And then, of course, I found out that I owe $214 to the city of Bowling Green in taxes, money which I don’t have at the moment, and have to hope that I can scratch together by April 17th.
Part of what made me feel so bleak is the fact that I’m well-suited to get jobs that are in short to non-existent supply in the area where I live. I’ve got a Master’s, almost all of my doctorate completed, been working since I was 15, got good practical work experience in administration, higher education, and community service (not to mention grant writing and research), and am apparently undesirable to any job that would actually allow me to flourish professionally and personally. Not to mention the fact that job openings like that are extremely few and far between in the Lima/Findlay area. If I were a truck driver, manual laborer, food service jockey, or in health care, I’d be set. Sadly, however, Lima and Findlay have had precious little to offer in what I’m looking for. Since I’m too far away from Columbus, Toledo, Cleveland, and Dayton, Findlay’s the only city in driving distance that seems to offer, at least on occasion, jobs that I’m suited for.
Last night also drove home the fact that, ever since last May, when Adelante began screwing me over visibly, I’ve been struggling unsuccessfully to establish myself professionally. Six months of unemployment and assorted interviews that have led to nowhere mean I get to stay at CRI for my foreseeable future. And while I suppose I’m grateful to the company for SOME measure of income, it’s disheartening to consider that there’s not many options other than driving 36 miles to work for pay that’s laughable at best, carries no benefits whatsoever, and promotions are seen as death sentences. I make barely enough to keep my own steerageway against my own bills, not to mention helping with groceries and household stuff as best I can. The only redeeming aspect of working at CRI is that my immediate co-workers in the editing department are cool as hell. Since we’re all working for the same amount of piss-poor beans, it’s created a pretty good bond of camaraderie—not to mention a communal sense of gallows humor about our job status and the administration there. Disillusionment and distrust and lack of workplace loyalty run rampant here, and in our own way, we revel in it. I’m seriously considering starting a betting pool to see if one of the administrators gets on such a power trip that they soil themselves.
Seriously—the administration at CRI seems to be convinced that we, the little peon workers seemingly comparable (to them) to the browbeaten children in Pink Floyd’s “The Wall,” are stuck in the 4th grade. Email is monitored, as is our usage of the internet that’s non-work related. Our attendance system is point-based, and to keep from losing a point for an unexcused absence, we have to bring in a note or documentation of what we were doing. There are video cameras up in a few different areas so we can, I dunno, be monitored on how we’re walking or slouching during the day. The at-home editors and call center people, from what I’ve been told, are paid piece-rate—in other words, per job. If we have the CEO taking people on tours through here, we’re not allowed to have trash cans out or have our jackets hanging over the backs of our chairs. I’ve worked here for almost three months, and after reaching that point of service (on March 18th), I’ll finally have earned two whole HOURS of vacation. It’ll be hard not to use it all at one time.
The final irony is that I’ve had to take a couple of days off during the past few months to interview for the HRPC and Ohio Northern jobs…days for which, of course, I called in sick and didn’t get paid, but thought that the effort for the interviews was worth it—which, of course, it wasn’t. Now that I’ve been legitimately and badly sick for the past week, I haven’t been able to take time off for it. My soon-to-be-new supervisor said that I should go to the doctor’s office earlier this week. I looked at her and said, “And how the hell, exactly, will I pay for it?” She gave me a look that was a cross between a grimace and a sheepish grin, and said, “Oh…yeah.”
Even my doctorate, which I’d like to start work on again this year, is based on whether or not they’ll let me do any work without actually registering for the hours. I sure as hell won’t have the money to pay for it if I do. That, and I have to arrange a new committee, something that I need to start doing before the end of the month. If I can somehow get going again on it, though, I can probably have it done by August of 2008. That said, though, I’m not sure what practical job-related good it’ll do me. Sure, it’d be nice to have it done after all these years, but even if I find myself wanting to go back to teaching at college, opportunities for my field are few and far between down here still.
It’s times like this that do, however, make me more appreciative for the good things still in life. I live with the woman I love, who’s been incredibly patient and supportive. I can still play guitar, and am drooling for the next time Groovemaster plays again. My parents are healthy and vibrant, despite the fact that Dad recently got diagnosed with diabetes. Becky pulled my ass out of the fire and paid for my recent car repairs. I’m losing weight, thanks to eating fresher food and less junk. I’ve got great friends, although they live a ways away and I don’t get to see them as often as I used to, although we’re playing in a wallyball tournament in Zanesville this weekend.
All that’s left is to somehow get a better job…
posted by Reggae Joe at
8:36 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home