Interviews

I hate telling people when I have an interview. It's like telling people you're expecting your AP scores in the mail. Or you're waiting to hear back from a grad school. People expect you to follow up with how things turn out. And if you don't follow up, people assume the worst: they didn't get the job/they got a 2/they didn't get in. And, let's be honest, they're usually right. The real monsters do the following up for you and ask, "Did you get the job?/What did you get on your AP tests?/Did you get in?" They just want to see you squirm in your defeat. Thus, I avoid talking about anything that involves trying and potentially failing. If no one knows you tried, then no one knows you failed.

However, I'm going to break my rule and tell you that I had an interview this week. I'm only going to break this rule because when you're unemployed, it's fairly self-evident that you're constantly trying and failing. And because I'm pretty sure I didn't get the job. So no need to follow up. Really.

Trying and failing aside, I mention this interview to ruminate on how completely weird the hiring process is. The first crazy weird part of the hiring process is that someone makes the decision about who to interview based on two pieces of paper (or, more accurately, two PDFs attached to an email). A resume and a cover letter. And sure, these documents can speak volumes about you--your education, the jobs you've had, your relevant skills. But they're still just two little documents with about 750 words written by the applicant about themselves. They don't give any essential information like "this girl never stops telling annoying stories about her cat," or "this guy will always refill the office candy bowl if it's his turn." I guess that's where the interview comes in.

Which brings me to the second really weird part of the hiring process: the interview. The hirer is selecting one person to offer employment, which means that as an interviewee, going to an interview could mean that you are driving your soon-to-be commute and meeting your future coworkers.

My interview this week was on Thursday afternoon at 4:00pm with The Outlook, a community newspaper in Gresham (just east of Portland). I google-mapped directions--16.5 miles and 27 minutes. I left at 3:00pm in case I hit traffic or got lost. And as I took exit 16 off of I-84, I, of course, tried not to throw up because I was so nervous, but I also thought about how natural the drive seemed. I made my way through Gresham, and it really looked like somewhere I could work. I got to the parking lot (35 minutes early) and could imagine myself pulling into a spot every day. And, as I sat in my car waiting for 3:55pm, I nervously chewed a piece of gum and looked around the area. The parking lot was charmingly covered in moss (as most things in Oregon and Washington), and just south of the parking lot was a cute apartment complex with little balconies. I imagined getting an apartment there and walking to work every morning without having to worry about traffic. I imagined walking to Safeway across the street to get groceries. I imagined driving up to Vancouver every Sunday to have dinner with my parents.

And as I met Joanna, David, Cheryl, and Josh, I made sure to remember their names in case I did end up as their coworker. And as they asked me questions about my resume and my portfolio, I thought about, if I got the job, how odd it would be to look back on this interview and joke about how Cheryl said this or how Josh made this joke, which was really out of character for him. But as I walked out of the old brick building, opened my car, and tossed my portfolio onto the front seat, I felt pretty sure that I hadn't just driven my soon-to-be commute and hadn't just met my future coworkers. This would just turn into a brief anecdote, and I'll likely never see any of these people again.

And all this imagining may sound crazy, but the third craziest thing about the hiring process is that at some point a company takes those two documents, the interview and maybe a background check/drug test, and they make a decision to hire someone to work with every single day. And when (if?) this is ever me, I have to take the little "About Us" section of a company website, a job description, and a thirty-minute meeting and decide if I want to spend every single day working with them.

And, yes. I got a 2 on the AP calc test. No need to judge. Math is hard! U substitution? Come on.

Temp Work

I've been doing some temp work for the past 3 days at a company called New Media Management. Or is it New Events Media. Or Media Management for Events? Doesn't matter, I'm a temp. I first got started doing temp work for NMM/NEM/MME last fall through a guy in my ward. His dad owns the company, and he organizes/manages temp workers when his dad needs extra stuff done. He is 18, which is the first depressing part of this story. On the first day I worked with him, he showed me to my station and quickly demonstrated my task for the day. Then he handed the work over to me and said, "See, this is the easiest $10 an hour you'll ever make!" He's clearly never worked at the BYU Internship Office. Or had a real job.

So, let me tell you what I've been doing for the past three days. NMM/NEM/MME has an order for 3,000 headrest covers. Think this:

They put vinyl stickers on each side of these cloth headrests and then de-sticker/wash/press/re-sticker for the next order. On Monday, 18-year-old was at the laundromat, and I was on pressing duty. I'll note here that I was working with a super sweet girl who's age was never verified, but she's taking her driving test today! Good luck Krystal/Krystle/Crystal! (Is this depressing part #2 or am I losing track?) But back to my work. I took a headrest, put it on the ironing press (think oversized waffle maker), closed the press, waited ten seconds for it to beep, opened it, flipped the headrest, closed it, waited ten seconds for it to beep, then put the steaming headrest on a cooling rack to dry. Repeat 1,500 times. 7 hours Monday. 6 hours Tuesday. 

I have to say, as jaded as I may sound, I was actually quite good at this. When there's absolutely nothing to do except lift and lower and flip and wait, it gives you time to think about how to be more efficient. (And how you're 25 and standing in someone's garage getting steam burns and yet still trying to eke a second or two off the process.) 18-year-old and driving-test girl both commented on my speed. I said it's probably because of my masters degree. We all laughed heartily. (Cue inner weeping.)

Today I was on sticker duty, which is even more straightforward than pressing. You peel off a sticker, stick it on the front, flip, peel off a sticker, and stick it on the back. That's it. But you have to do it fast. And while pressing includes the really nice 10-second downtime where there's nothing to do but wait for the beep, there is no downtime with stickers. You peel and stick as fast as you possibly can. And I am the master of stickers. I timed myself, and I was finishing about 120 headrests an hour. Since there are very few opportunities to boast when you're unemployed, I'd like to note that 18-year-old was only doing 60. 

All-in-all this was all fine and great. We listened to the radio, we chatted, and, for the most part, I really didn't mind the work. I didn't have to answer phones or sell anything. I didn't get dumped into some complex new task with no training. I just stood there in jeans and a t-shirt, did a simple task well, made some money, and went home for the day. And part of me even started thinking that it wouldn't be so bad to have a mindless job like this where I could show up every day, do what little was expected of me, and punch my time card. 

And then I got to the final two-hour stretch of my shift today and things got dark. First of all, I was physically exhausted. Standing on your feet all day is tiring, but constantly moving your hands and arms with the right combination of speed and precision is extra exhausting. Plus, my 80-year-old-woman back problems started flaring up. Second, I started hating every single song on the radio. Third, I started to think about how I was giving NMM/NEM/MME my absolute best while everyone around me was just getting through the day. And maybe the logical response would be to do things more slowly, but that's just not in me. If I have a task, I do my best. And this is the point where I (thankfully) remembered that I don't want to be exploited daily to complete some meaningless task. I want to be putting my energy towards something that I'm interested in, that will build my resume, and that takes more than 20 seconds to master. 

I've known this all along, but it was a nice reminder. Being unemployed has put me in a funk. I've been working really hard to find a job, but, at the same time, the thought of actually getting a job is a little bit intimidating. Jobs are complex, and you have to adjust to your role, your coworkers, and a new company. Since I've been met with nothing but rejection for the past few months, it's pretty easy to lose sight of my ability to tackle hard things. So yes. For the first week of a job, it does sound nice to just have a waffle iron  steamer in front of you and lift/close. But anything worth 40 hrs/week of my time is going to be difficult at first. But I can do it. And by day three, instead of hating my life, hopefully I'll be getting comfortable and learning new things. Now, to just get a job. 

Did I mention that in 9 hours and 14 minutes I will, once again, be placing stickers on headrests? 

The Conversation

Just like "how's school going?" and "how's the dating scene?" were common questions I got asked during trips home from school, now I get asked, "how is the job hunt?" This is a legitimate question since I am, after all, unemployed. But it is also the most annoying question in the world because obviously the job hunt is not going super great if I am still unemployed after months of "hunting." I don't mind this question in emails from good friends because I know they commiserate with me, and I have complete control over how much I talk about it. But in person, this question inevitably leads to the exact same conversation over and over. Below I have documented this conversation, which I have had (with little variation) at least 127 times since moving back to Vancouver. My inner commentary in italics.

Person X: Kristin, it's good to see you!
ME: You too, it's nice to be back in Vancouver.
Person X: You're looking for a job, right? Always. They always bring up the job hunt. It's like they can't help it. Like when you see someone who's clearly pregnant and everything within you knows not to comment immediately on their pregnant state, but you can't help it. It comes out. I understand. I try not to hate them for this. 
ME: Yeah, I graduated with my masters in August, moved back, and I've been looking for a job. I'm not sure why I always give specific information like, "I graduated in August." I can immediately see their little minds ticking away the math to calculate how long I've been jobless. Why can't I simply say, "I recently graduated, and I'm taking some time off. How's the dating scene?" or "You're pregnant, huh?" End of conversation. 
Person X: A masters? Congratulations. What did you study?
ME: English. So, pretty useless when it comes to getting a job. Really. I always say this. What is wrong with me? I'm just asking for what comes next. 

We laugh.

Person X: What are you hoping to do, then? Teach? I have quickly learned that no one has any idea what English majors actually study. People mostly associate English majors with their high school English teachers and with Jane Austen. When asked about it, I've tried explaining my thesis topic to some people, and they seem completely caught off guard when I don't say something like, "I compare and contrast Pride and Prejudice with Little Women." 
ME: No, I did some teaching while getting my masters, and it turns out I don't enjoy it that much. You would think that saying, "I don't like teaching" would end a conversation like saying, "I don't like babies and joy," but it doesn't. They continue. 
Person X: Well, what then? And this is where I get annoyed. Mostly because they start to seem a little annoyed that I don't seem to be taking this whole job thing very seriously. 
ME: I've been applying to a variety of jobs. I get more vague. 
Person X: What's your dream job? Like, if you could have your pick of jobs, what kind of work would you like? I can never quite tell if people are asking this because they really want to know or because they're trying to ask me some soul-searching question to make me finally realize my true hopes and dreams. If it is the latter, thank you, Person X. All I needed was someone to ask me this soul-searching question. Problem solved. I will now go out and achieve them all!
ME: I think I would really enjoy a job that combines writing and design. I could be really good at creating promotional materials like catalogs or leaflets for a company. And this is true. And I would be really good at it. But it sounds like I don't know what I'm talking about. Leaflets? Who makes leaflets anymore? Also, enough people have asked me this that I really should have a made-up answer that I can say concisely and confidently like postmaster general! or, dog walker! 
Person X: Well, have you . . . and this is where they start giving me advice. There is quite a range. Some people say obvious things like, "have you considered a writing job?" And some people say extra annoying things like, "have you considered expanding your job search beyond Vancouver/Portland?" Mostly, I don't like receiving unsolicited advice because I am stubborn, and it is often offered in a condescending way as if I haven't given this subject any thought.

I humor their advice, and I try to end things on a positive note by mentioning that I have had some interviews. And I'll keep on applying. And I exit the conversation.

I understand why people ask me about the job hunt. Everyone has that one big thing going on in their life that everyone asks about. Like the "how's school?" question. Or the "how is your family doing?" question. They're being polite. They're making conversation. I just don't like talking about it. I don't like talking about it because I really don't like that I graduated in August with a masters and I still don't have a job. I don't like that even though I've applied to tons of jobs, when I talk about it with people it still feels like  I should be doing things better or differently. I especially don't like that I probably should be doing things better or differently, but I'm not sure how to adjust because there is so little concrete feedback from "the hunt." When people start asking probing questions, I feel like I have to justify myself to them. Like they don't believe that it's difficult to find a job right out of college. Like a small part of them is really thinking that if I were just working harder or being a better person that I would already have a job. And then a part of me starts to feel that way too.

And that is why I hate The Conversation.

Panther Creek

My dad took the afternoon off from work, so we drove East on Highway 14 to Panther Creek to spend the afternoon taking autumn nature pictures. It was a lovely drive up the Washington side of the Columbia River. We spent our first chunk of time at the creek and then drove further to the falls. Employment has its benefits (money, people don't judge you, and . . . ?), but you can't beat the flexibility of unemployment.

The Dreams of the 90s are Alive in Portland

Today I had to venture to downtown Portland to meet with a recruiter (stressful). Since I was already paying to drive and park, I decided to wander around afterwards and take some pictures. (Of course I awkwardly changed out of my dress and heels into jeans and a tshirt in the back seat of my car.) I constantly go back and forth between wanting to live in a city and wanting to board up in a remote cottage and never speak to anyone. Either way, I have a special place in my heart for P-town.

Car Update

After charging my battery overnight, my car finally started. However, my check engine light still came on. I disconnected my battery for about an hour, hoping that this would help my car recognize that it was fixed (some random interneter recommended this). Devastatingly, the check engine light still came on once I had reconnected the battery. In the midst of my repair research I had emailed an auto repair place to get a repair estimate--they said it would take over $100 just to diagnose the exact problem in addition to the parts and labor to fix it. Since I am unemployed and have made a total of $40 in the past two months, this estimate had motivated me to continue with my quest to fix the problem myself. So, it was extra devastating when my check engine light didn't turn off: I was now $42 into the project, hadn't made any progress, and had hundreds of dollars between me and a fixed car. My car was still driving ok, so I considered ignoring the problem indefinitely (always sensible), but I needed to register my car in Washington (I was supposed to do this a month ago), and in order to do so I needed to pass an emissions test (I'm pretty sure you can't pass with a check engine light on).

But. Then I drove it on a couple short errands. And. Wait for it. The check engine light turned OFF. I passed my emissions test today and am back to having Washington plates. All is right with the world.

And I was able to fix my car window, which stopped working this summer. Estimates to repair this were around $400. I found the motor/regulator that fit my car, and now, $55 and about 7 youtube videos later, my window rolls both up and down and is sealed from rain without the help of plastic bags and door stops. Look at me go!

Day 29: Purchased

This is an output shaft speed sensor. My check engine light came on a couple weeks ago, so I took it to an auto parts store to get a free scan (who knew this existed?), and the result was p0720 Output Shaft Speed Sensor Circuit. So, after hours of research and many visits to jeepforum.com, I decided I could fix this myself. I took three trips to Napa Auto parts this morning, and $42.95 later, I finally had my hands on the correct part. This lovely output  speed sensor. I shimmied under my car, which was an incredibly claustrophobic experience because you're actually supposed to raise your car to work underneath it (who has time/knowledge/tools for that?), located the part on the transmission, and, after a small battle with the electrical plug and a wrench, I removed the faulty part and installed the new one.

And now, instead of a check engine light and a little jolt when my car tries to shift, my car won't even start. Did I mention that owning a car is the WORST?

Back at Home

In attempts to distract my parents (and myself) from the fact that I'm 25 and once again sleeping in my childhood room, I've taken up various projects around the house to appear useful. Projects like yard work, tearing down our old playhouse, painting, scanning woodworking magazines, and organizing the kitchen. I know, riveting. So, the other day I was going through the paint cabinet in the garage, opening old paint cans in order to see what paint had dried out to clear space for new cans. One by one I'm wedging the lids off each can of paint, almost vomiting at molding paint in more than one can (who knew paint could mold?), when I come to the wood sealer. Now at this point I'm about 23 paint cans into the project, so I'm in my efficient mode. I know exactly how many locations I need to wedge the paint can opener in order to loosen the lid just enough to get it off. So, I'm on my second of three wedges, in the zone, when the lid to the wood sealer explodes onto my face. Explodes. I'm talking lid slowly spinning towards my chin before impact as the contents of the can spray all over my clothes and face. Immediately, my ninth-grade science lab training kicks in (thank you Science Officers Kojis and Houck), and I run to the sink to rinse out my eyes. As I'm standing with my head sideways, cold water running through my eyes, I begin to accept my new life as a blind person. I wonder who will remain my friend in my new condition, and I begin to slowly panic when I realize that EVERYTHING involves seeing. Using a computer--all about sight. Driving--all about sight. Texting. Playing boggle. Eating. I humbly accept my fate. And then I turn the water off, and slowly open my eyes. While I am still completely covered in sealer that probably won't come off until I grow a new layer of skin, my vision is fine.

And thank goodness because my mom and I are in the middle of season 7 of Gilmore Girls, and listening to GG is just not the same. BTW--I'd forgotten how fun it is to watch GG with someone who's never seen it before. My mom was SHOCKED when Christopher and Lorelai got married. It's been so long since I've been anything but mildly annoyed by that minor-road-block-in-the-way-of-the-meant-to-be ending.

Goodbye!