Odd Jobs

I'm starting a new temp job on Monday and the extensive interview process has caused me to fondly reminisce about the jobs of my past.

Babysitter:  Throughout junior high and high school I was the queen of all babysitters.  I started at the ripe age of eleven and babysat for family members, family friends, my brother's friends, friends of friends, church folk and the occasional babysitting gig of a friend that I'd end up crashing by slumber-party-default.  (Warning about tagging along on a friend's gig: You will inevitably end up doing most of the work and take home 0% of the cash.) 

The thing that made me the Babysitting Queen was simply that I actually played with the kids.  It was amazing to me how often kids would compare me to their last sitter with the statement, "You're nice.  You play with us."  Isn't that the gig?  "Well, what did your other babysitters do?"  "Sit on the couch, drink our pop, send us to bed early and watch tv." 

Another reason the kids loved me was that I would never rat out them out for misbehaving. I thought their obnoxious behavior somehow reflected poorly on my perfomance as a sitter.  If Matthew's parents found out that he wouldn't brush his teeth for me, wouldn't go to bed and that he peed on his brother, they'd think I didn't have things under control.  Solution?  "When your parents get home, at least pretend that you're sleeping!"  "How were the kids tonight.  Were they good?"  "Yes."  Cha-ching!  Job perks: Instant cash.  Cute babies.  Cons:  Poopy diapers, sometimes with corn in them.  Bratty kids that won't go to bed.

Bouvier?  Don't mind if I do.  Two dollars, please!

Dog Washer:  My first job out of high school was washing dogs over the holiday season at the grooming shop where my aunt works.  (Is that what they're called; Grooming shops? Pet barbers?  Doggie salons?)  I got paid $1.00 per small dog and $2.00 per large one. (Fortunately for me, the local community had a dense Bouvier population.) Job Perks: Instant cash. (I proudly purchased Taco Bell on a regular basis on the ride home.)  Coochy-cooing adorable pups all day. (Not to mention, the occasional cat.  P.S. Cats always pee when you bathe them.  It's a fact I learned by experience.)  Cons: Have you ever smelled a wet dog? Well, that's what I smelled like every day, all the way down to the bone.  The bathing room was equipped with several aprons (some with pictures of Bouviers on them.)  It was mentioned that I could change them as often as I deemed necessary and strongly suggested that I wear two at a time.  I wore three.  It would take one Bouvier and/or two Standard Poodles to soak through all three layers of aprons, two layers of winter clothing and one padded bra. 

Assembler:  Adding to the tradition of using family to find work, my first full-time job was at a factory my dad's friend owned.  I assembled computer parts.  Modemy-looking things, cabley- looking things... I have no idea what the heck it was that I was putting together.  I just know that at age eighteen, I could crimp, screwdrive and solder on par with any grown man.  Although, I did get fired from this job.  Not for my soldering skills, of course.  For being a motor mouth.  Job Perks: Minimum wage times 40 hours a week never looked like so much dough!  I couldn't believe I actually had hundreds of dollars at one time!  I opened my first bank account and spent it all on Levi's and scrunchies, if I recall.  Cons:  Carpal tunnel syndrome, daily blisters and the early signs of arthritis.  Too young!  I was oh so very young.

Buried alive in porn.

Video Store Clerk:  My first long-term full time gig.  My craziest work stories revolve around the video store where I spent ages 18-26.  I outlasted three store owners, one stalker, one sibling coworker and countless part-timers (including the senior-aged, the middle-aged and more than my share of the drooling and teenaged variety of males.)  The store closed mere months after my resignation.  Job Perks:  Free rentals, free movie posters, an endless wealth of pop culture knowledge, the opportunity to work with one the greatest handicapable souls I'd ever met and the most loyal customer base on planet earth.  I still remember some of my favorite customers' card numbers:

#12209 was a retired widower who was a avid car lover and drag-raced at the local track on the weekends.  He enjoyed war and action movies.  I would always hold a stock of new rentals for him on release day, knowing he'd show up by 4:00 pm and that he would trust me with his selections.  He missed his late wife dearly and still drove her gray sedan in memory of her.  We'd talk for hours about everything from his military enlistment in Guam to hot rods to his questions about the God that I believe in and he didn't understand.

#4528 was in his early-to-mid thirties and would talk my ear off.  His wife once chastised him at home, which he mentioned on his next visit. "She says I talk too much and that I'm boring people and wasting their time!  Am I wasting your time?"  No way, I told him.  Yeah, he talked my ear off, but at least he always had something interesting to say. 

#202 was an elderly friend of my elderly first manager.  He was always full of stories big and small.  I only believed about half of them.  He had a stroke in my last year there and lost his ability to speak.  His favorite thing to do!  God bless his heart. 

"Wild Bill", another senior citizen. He would sexually harass me to no end, but somehow managed to hold a small affection in my heart.  He loved the old westerns and would regal me with stories of his yearly trips to Wyoming. (He even invited me to join him one year. Yikes!)  He was a colorful character who smelled of heavy cigar smoke and wore gobs of Vaseline beneath his eyes.  He lost my affection one day by sneaking a Polaroid camera into the store and taking unsolicited paparazzi shots of me.  Creepy old man.

Joey, a handicapable customer of mine who would visit me at least 3 out of 5 shifts. Sometimes before I had even opened the store!  He loved watching old Wrestlemania tapes (Hulk Hogan era) and I would play them on the store monitors for him on the days when I had a heavy workload to do and couldn't get rid of him.

The couple whose names I can't mention because they were gay and hadn't outed themselves to family even, but had outed themselves to me.  They were featured in a local newspaper story (under assumed names) dealing with the issue that one of them had been living with AIDs.  His own mother was under the impression he had cancer while I, the video girl, was trusted with the whole truth.

Cons: #506 was a pompous foot doctor who once tried to lure me away to work for him.  He was always trying to seem more worldly and important than he actually was.  He would always ask me, "Parlez-vous français?", "Habla usted español?" and "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" My answer was always no, no and no (no translation required.) And, I somehow managed to keep my tongue from asking, "Are those the only phrases you know in French, Spanish and German?"  He was last seen shopping, a decade later, at the video store my sister-in-law worked for at the time.  With the same routine, I'm told, too.  Geezo petes, Doc!  (That's what he made us call him...)  No one cares about your Sprechen!

The one customer whose initial were B.S. (no pun!) He was a lovely person and fun to talk to, but always refused to pay his late fees.  B.S., you caused me a world of trouble!

The porn room and all of its inhabitants.  Especially the scuzzy guy who brought his 15-looking-year-old son in there with him, (His idea of a birds and bees talk?) the guys who stained the carpeting and the ones who would, upon returning their half-watched tape, advise me, "You were in this one" *wink* and have themselves convinced that this was an original line and that I had never heard it before. Shudder! 

Not to mention the obvious cons of lousy pay, lousy hours and zero vacation or sick time.

Video store shenanigans with sis.  I was going through my Pulp Fiction phase.

Which brings me to my last job:

Receptionist/Secretary/Insurance Claims Clerk Extraordinaire:  My most grown-up job to date, spanning the last eleven years of my life.  I can't complain about a day of it (although, I could... it just seems "too soon!")  Where, among the boring churn of the day-to-day, my coworkers and I found opportunity to carve out time to practice our runway walks, create our own Real Housewives intros and envision us in our own reality show.  We had a blast and I miss you gals every day!

I can only hope this next place fills me with such good times, stories, friends and fodder.  If not, oh well... It's just a temp job!

Things Unemployment Has Taught Me

Upon entering my fifth month of unemployment, I have decided the following things:

• I will never make judgemental comments about anyone on unemployment ever again. 
• I will never look down on fast food workers again.  Even accidentally.  Even if they forget my fries.
• I am not quite ready to work at McDonald's yet.
• Saving money is easier than I thought back when I was still making some.  Never realized how many unnecessary things I used to purchase each week until I stopped doing so.  Grateful to have learned that lesson before the severance checks stopped.  My bank account now thanks me!
• Politicians who make any mention of the unemployment rates have no idea what they are talking about.  If you really want to include that in your platform, refuse your pay and insurance for the better part of a year, live off your savings, pay your doctor's bills in cash, manage to still keep your home and cars somehow, and then you may speak.
• Although I'm desperate for work, I will not act desperate.  Just because I may need your job does not mean you do not need me.  I am still a valued worker.  Don't treat me as less than that.
• Single parents who work three part time jobs to feed their families deserve applause.  (And insurance.)
• For every job I don't get, I'm genuinely happy for the person who does.
• Magazines can be read for free at the library.
• They've got free books to read there too!
• Fresh air is a necessity.
• New clothes are a luxury.
• Taking thirty seconds to enter the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes every day is still a valuable use of time.
• Anyone paying off student loans while having to apply for the jobs ads listing "Bachelor's Degree required. Pay rate $10/hr." has my deepest sympathies.
• Money does not equal happiness.  Although, it could buy a little peace of mind.
• Maybe I'm not quite ready to retire.  Twenty-four free hours can be long ones to fill!
• I will still daydream about retiring one day, though.  It can not be helped.
• I am not a loser. 
• You are not a loser.

Business vs. Bizness

Let me tell you the frustrating thing about job-hunting in 2012.  I don't even understand what half of these companies sell!

It's not at all like looking for a job in 2001, which is the last time I was out there searching.  There doesn't seem to be that many businesses out there that sell tangible products anymore.  There's no, "This is a shirt. See, it has sleeves?  We're gonna sell it to someone with arms." or, "This is a car. You drive it from place to place so you can get there much faster than you could walking.  What our company does is sell these to people with long ways to go." or, "See that sick person?  He's our customer. See that other person going home? We made him better.  This is what we do."

Business has become "bizness".  Not only are today's products not tangible, but they're not even comprehensible.  When I'm on the job search sites and click on a company's wesbsite to better understand what it is that they do (another thing no one did during my last stint with unemployment), I usually wind up even more confused.  I find that these companies are marketing invisible things like information, media, data, talent, technologies and ideas.  There are accompanying pictures of young energetic people with very white teeth in very uncomfortable-looking suits.  What they do with these products you can't touch is beyond me, but they seem to make money doing it.  I guess a perk to selling an invisible inventory is no heavy lifting.  So, their employees might possess much healthier backs and knees than I, but still.  I don't know how I can administratively assist a company whose product I can't physically see.  It's very, very... SO VERY confusing to me.

I have a recurring daymare (that's a nightmare you have while you're awake, daydreaming) that I'm in a job interview, in the "bizness" industry, and I ask them what kind of business it is that they do.  I don't understand their technically overt lingo and am naive enough to tell them that maybe they need to explain it more plainly on their website because the layman can't understand what type of company they are.  Their mission statement is just a jumble of buzz words pieced together, trying to sound important, smarty pants and high tech.  They mistake my naive honesty for brazenness and appoint me CEO.  Months later, I sit behind a mahogany desk and realize that it still hasn't been explained to me what my company sells.  I'm beginning to suspect that nobody else knows either and that I've been hired as a scapegoat until the bottom falls out.  So, I promptly resign and get a job at Pet Supplies Plus selling dog food.  Because I know of dogs and exactly what food is.

I'm looking for a job that when people asks what industry I work in, I can say, "______" and they know what that is.  Even grandmothers.  Let's not confuse my grandmother!  Companies need products that can be put into boxes.  Loaded onto trucks, boats, planes and trains.  Touched and felt.  That have on buttons and off switches.  That can be put together with other products to build something. That can be seen or read or smelled or eaten.

Maybe that means I'll have to settle for less money working for one of these old-fashioned corporations, but at least I won't go home confused at the end of the day.  If somebody tells me they'd like me to work for their office specializing in communications,  data management, intelligence or "peace of mind", I'll be sure to ask them if that comes gift wrapped.

I'd rather work for the one who sells the bees than the one who sells the buzz.

The Hunter

I'm currently on what's called a "job hunt", although that may overstating things a bit because my hunt is half-hearted at best.

When I think of a hunt, I think of stalking something with hungry fervor.  The deer hunter likes the taste of venison and will literally devour its prey (after proper processing procedures take place, of course) and mount the inedible parts to his rec room walls as trophy.  The lady on a man hunt (believe me, she's no lady...) will stop at nothing to track all males with naked left ring fingers until the day she finds a large diamond hanging off her own.  A treasure hunt is a thrilling search for riches.  A witch hunt, a manic quest to rid the world of impurity.

So, I find it extremely hard to apply the term "hunt" to something that nobody really wants to discover: Work. 

My hunt is not predatory, my hunt is not zealous, my hunt is not even worthy of camouflage fatigues.  I can't even find the appropriate word to describe feverishly chasing after something you don't even desire.  But, whatever that word is, in whichever dialect it exists, that's what I've been doing.

I don't really even know what it is that I want to "do".  But, twenty years in the working world has told me what I don't:

• Talking.  Nothing drains an introvert more than having to yap eight hours a day.  It's the way we're programmed and there's no way around it.  And, it's probably the one thing every extroverted boss will never understand.  Our energy levels drain around people and social interaction.  Our energy is restored with quiet time.  So, just toss the likes of me into an office with a pile of paperwork, close the door and watch us emerge eight hours later with ten hour's worth of work completed.  Just unplug the phone first.  We prefer emails.  Jobs on the no-list: Telemarketing, customer service call center representative, sales, public relations, teaching.
• Corporate Environments: Now this is probably stretching it considering the white-collaredness of today's America, but I can not stand corporate phoniness.  Yes, I worked a desk job for the past eleven years and enjoyed it for the early eight or nine.  But, I was fortunate enough to work in a small, fifteen-person, satellite branch of a major company.  Billion-dollar backing, zero corporate stooges on site.  That's the only white collar way to go!  The minute any higher-ups from larger offices would brave to don their winter coats and fly up to the Michigan branch for a visit, the mood would suddenly turn Stepford.  Too much small talk.  Too much smoke blown up the nether regions.  Too many fake laughs and phony smiles.  I don't do small talk well.  I always get hung up on the weather and circle around that topic for as long as the listener can bear.  And, the closest I can mimic a fake smile, is constipation.  It's just not me.  Jobs on the no-list: Anything with the word "executive" in its title.
• Lying to my face or being forced to lie myself: If you have to lie to me to "get the job done", it's not a job worth doing.  If you expect me to lie for you, you've hired the wrong person.  I also do not tolerate being screamed at.  If you're hiring me to have someone to shout at, just do me a favor and leave me unemployed.  Been there, done that, got a headache from it.  Jobs on the no-list: Anything with the words "legal" or "political" in its title.  And, if I notice red ears, sweaty foreheads, flaring nostrils or smoke emitting from ears during an interview, I will take these as signs of a screamer and I will run... run the other way.
• Overwhelming sounds or smells:  I'm not the type to handle over-stimulation well.  I prefer sight and the touch of my typing fingers to be the senses I use on the job.  Which eliminates taste, hearing and smell.  Jobs on the no-list: Food industry, noisy environments such as casinos, schools and the Wall Street Stock Exchange floor, and anything within a 50 foot radius of a Perfumania store.  Sadly, my allergies also eliminate any job where I'd be working with and/or smelling animals.
• Germs: This goes without saying.  Jobs on the no-list: Any place I'm likely to be sneezed at or on.
• Grave danger: I'm no super hero.  I don't want to be shot at, swung at, cussed out or robbed on the job.  Jobs on the no-list: Police officer, rent-a-cop, bill collector, meter maid, process server, bank teller.

Don't get me wrong.  I am a very hard worker once I find work and have been put to it.  But, just take a moment to dream with me of the perfect work situation.

Does your check list also include?

• Part-time hours for full-time pay.
• Happy faces that ease into a genuine smile at your presence.  No shouting, no cattiness, no gossip behind anyone's back.
• Extra money added to pay for every laugh provoked.  Money taken away for every complaint.
• Pats on the head at the most-needed times.  (Not literal pats though... please don't touch me.)
• Make your own hours, just get the job done.
• Feel free to take your work outside, if it's nice out and will make you perform better.
• Colors everywhere!  No beige.  Pleasant colors, not blinding ones.
• Quietness, whenever you want it.
• Background music, when you don't want quiet.
• Laugh and laugh and laugh all you want.  You won't get scolded for it!
• Don't bother judging others, because they won't be judging you.
• A short-haired office cat that won't make you sneeze.
• Read a book or a magazine for as long as you'd like.  You need to escape and be entertained.
• No dress code.  Wear whatever you please.
• Two final words: Nap. Room.

Well, I'm not sure if the perfect work situation exists for anyone... but it sure is nice to dream.  Judging from my check-list I'd be best suited for work as a golden retriever or Dr. Suess illustration.

Then again, those Dr. Suess drawings seem awfully noisy!

To Do List

Everyone keeps asking me my plans for after my workplace closes this week.  I'm pretty sure, they mean what are my plans for employment.  I have a to do list.  It just doesn't have much to do with a 401K plan:

1. Get back to blogging more often.
2. Go see at least 1/3 of the the Best Picture Oscar nominees, before the ceremony for once.
3. Clean my desk.
4. Clean my room.
5. Clean my linen closet.
6. Catch up on sleep.
7. Read a pile of books.
8. Attempt to relearn how to use a sewing machine.
9. Attempt to make a quilt. (I was inspired by a Susana Allen Hunter exhibit at the Henry Ford Museum six years ago and never found the time to sit down and get to it.  Love her free-form, pattern-free style!  Haven't forgotten it after all these years.)
10. Attempt to make a Pioneer Woman-inspired owl pillow.
11. Look into opening an Etsy store (if I can manage to pull off goals 8-10. But, no pressure if I can't.)
12. Get back into painting/drawing.
13. Finish that darn Christmas project.
14. Take some new pictures.
15. Visit a museum or two.
16. Get back to the eye doctors and finally get contacts back in my eyeballs.
17. Exercise.  For real this time!
18. Grow out my bangs a half-inch.  (You should see them.  I trimmed them wet this time and they're hideous!)
19. Make a new recipe.
20. Be inspired enough to add to this list.

Don't worry.  Somewhere in the 20's will also be "figure out life" and "get a new job".  I'm still planning on being a contributing member of society.  I just need a fresh head first!

When I Grow Up

I recently found my copy of Dr. Seuss's My Book About Me in the family basement.  My Book About Me was a popular Seuss-illustrated book, that most of us kids in the 1980's owned, in which you filled in the blanks about your life. 

It asked you such questions as how many doors and beds are in your house, how many buttons you own and what sort of noises you are capable of making (complete with checklist containing the options of "rooster", "dog", "cat", etc.  I checked off all of the options and added in "person", "robot", "cow", "duck", "horse" and "weirdo".)

There's a page titled "I Like to Write Stories: Here is one I wrote" accompanied by two lined pages for the child to complete their story.  On the first page I wrote, "MY Book about ME.   My book a bout me.  I ♥ Ricky Schroeder." On the second page I drew a self-portrait in which I'm wearing an orange shirt with the word "Cat" on it, blue jeans and brown shoes.

There are pages to trace your hand and foot on.  A page for favorite foods ("Peanut butter, chicken mcnuggets - only McDonald's, nachos, pizza, popcorn, etc."  All still dietary staples.)  A page devoted to drawing your hair, on which I inexplicably did this to myself:

 (No I didn't have orange hair as a child.  What I apparently did have was a lack of mousy brown crayons.)

There's a page looking into how you handle your anger.  It's titled "Sometimes I Get Mad at Some People" and provides a yes/no checklist.  I checked "yes" to sometimes getting angry and moved on to the section that's a psychoanalyst's dream.  The further options given are "I kicked someone", "I pushed someone", "I hit someone" and "I yanked hair".  I checked "yes" to all of the above, including a "yes" next to the box which states "I'm sorry I did it." (And, yes, my veins do contain Irish blood.)

Then toward the end of the book, is the "When I Grow Up, I Want to Be ________ " section, filled with two pages of helpful suggestions, in case you needed ideas.  I filled in the blank with the word "nothing".

Work was never an appealing concept to me.  I re-completed this book several times over my elementary school years, and eventually came to circle the options "T.V. star", "Frogman", "Writer", "Mother", "Artist", "Dog Trainer", "Millionaire", "Singer", "Cartoonist" and "Yak Trainer".   (I also scribbled out the options "Nun", "Burglar" and "Rabbi" with very deep no. 2 pencil markings.)

Thirty years later, and I still have no answer to that question.  In a week's time I will be joining the ranks of Michigan's unemployed as a result of the company I work for's need to close two of its smaller offices.  I will have seventeen severance-paid weeks to figure out this answer, or to at least find the nerve to reenlist in another soul-snatching job that simply pays the bills (as has been the pattern set in the twenty years since I've graduated high school.)

It's always interesting to look back at the goals you had as a child during these fork-in-the-road moments in life.  The hilarious choice of doing "nothing", certainly still seems appealing, though won't exactly make ends meet.  (Although my ever-ready hopes of the Publisher's Clearinghouse win does seem to fall both under the childhood wish of doing nothing and becoming a millionaire pursuit.  So, let's call that Plan B for now.)

T.V. star and singer should now be the choices scribbled out with deep no. 2 markings.  I have since come to terms with the fact that the good Lord graced me with the singing voice of someone who is simutaneously blowing a train whistle while trying to shoot peas out of their nose.

I'm not sure what the duties of a Frogman or Yak Trainer involve, and am no longer curious, so it's probably safe to scratch those options off of the list as well.  I never had children of my own, which places Mother out of the running.  Allergies that have developed over the years eliminates Dog Trainer. (Although, I'm pretty sure I never wanted to train the dogs, so much as just play with them and scratch behind their ears.)

Which leaves us with Artist, Writer and Cartoonist.  All still hobbies of mine.  Although, I haven't practiced drawing in close to a decade and I remain completely clueless on how to make a living at any of these things.  I'm also one of those fools that likes to keep hobbies as hobbies, as not to tarnish my love for them with deadlines and such.  So, I guess what this all means is that you'll probably hear of me back in another office setting some time within the coming months.

A seventeen-week deadline to figuring life out?  Yuck.  I think I'll try to have a little fun first and leave Dr. Suess with a big ol' "Thanks for nothing!"  Unless, of course, I come across an ad for a hot-tempered, robot-noise-making, peanut butter-eating frogman.  Then I'll know for sure that destiny is calling!