Two blog posts in one:
Life gets really strange when you’re unemployed. Oh, how I
hate that word. Unemployed. Using it
makes me sound like one of those twenty-somethings draining the government’s
money because I think a college degree earns the me the right to be CEO of a
company and nothing less. For the record, I’m not even collecting unemployment.
I’m one of the stubborn cases who would rather watch her savings slowly and
painfully deteriorate than ask the United States government- or even my dad-
for money. That being said, unemployed life can get weird.
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| My view while writing this. |
Example: I don’t have a car, but I live in Arlington,
Virginia. A car, while not entirely necessary, would mean that I could drive
myself home right now instead of sitting at a rotted picnic table overlooking a
busy, not-so-scenic multi-lane road. My boyfriend picked me up and took me to
the gym on his lunch break, but the plan to sit in Starbucks when I finished backfired due to the large group of men who hold daily gossip sessions
in all the available seats. I’ve arrived before them a few times and had the
pleasure of eavesdropping while their chairs surrounded me (I pretended not to
notice due to my headphones). Still, I never captured any of the gossip
because, unfortunately, I don’t speak Swahili. You heard it right, folks. A
nice group of old men from Tanzania meet in Starbucks (the location will remain
undisclosed) every afternoon at 2 p.m. If you feel like this club would benefit
you, please email me for further information. Anyway, now I’m sitting here. On
moldy wood. In front of a busy street. Hidden by 12 trees. Writing a blog post
until my boyfriend is ready to go home. Anyone who comes out of the nearby office
building is probably shooting me nervous/judgmental glances, but that’s
why I’ve chosen to sit with my back to the door.
….
Nearly a week has passed since I was sitting with my back to the door, so here's part two of this blog post. The forest-writing saga ended because Chris swooped in a saved
me from my wooded blogging nightmare. A few days later, accepting a
job offer saved me, as well. I must say that as thrilled as I was to receive
multiple offers, few things can trigger anxiety quite as
debilitating as the process of
waiting for, deciding on, negotiating, and
accepting a job. Last week, I thought a few excited toucans were throwing a
fiesta in my upper stomach and rib cage. It seriously felt like their rainbow-colored beaks were scratching up my insides, leading to a deep, unresolvable
ache. Similar to the feeling I get after eating a full bag of Dove chocolates.
If you can’t quite wrap your head around having the Fruit Loops bird inside
your tummy or what it’s like to eat 35 Dove chocolates in one sitting, imagine
a giant air bubble hanging out right below your sternum. Luckily, as with most
things, champagne was the answer. After three days of sometimes searing,
sometimes annoyingly dull and persistent pain, I decided to drink some bubbly.
Hallelujah. Needing an excuse to drink champagne is always welcome, but I never
want to go through that kind of decision/waiting process ever again.
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| Not these. Definitely not these. |
On the bright side, it’s over and I have a truly spectacular
job! The company I’ll be working for is small, full of the brightest minds I’ve
ever met, will help me grow a legitimate career, and keeps its wine
coolers (not to be confused with Seagram’s wine coolers) full at all
times. Actually, they’re mostly a red wine group, so I guess they were wine
racks I saw, not refrigerators. I can’t remember. All I know is that I liked
it.
Back in the post about job hunting from a few weeks ago, I
said that I didn’t have any great advice after snagging an initial interview.
Now I do- and it is cheesier than Plaza’s queso dip. Be yourself. But only if the yourself you’re willing to accept is
that really quirky side of you. Everyone has one waiting to be set free, so
everyone can relate to it- even your interviewers. I went into each interview
professionally, but also as the Shannon who can’t control her weird faces or
habit of bringing up wine and/or teacup toy poodles in every conversation. In
response, I had incredibly enjoyable interactions that not only highlighted my
ability to do the job well, but also left me wanting to hang out with each person more (and seemingly vice versa). Even the really quiet people who
interviewed me ended up laughing by the end of the session because we were just
having a fun conversation that happened to be an assessment of my capabilities.
I’m no Kathy Griffin, but I definitely found that everyone appreciates a little
non-PC honesty. We’re all human, and no one wants to work with a robot (unless
it's as cute and witty as R2-D2).
