I had 4 job interviews last week.
The problem is that when you have that many in a week's time, interviewing becomes the job - a highly underpaid job, I might add.
Here's how my week went:
Monday
I take the Metrolink downtown to do my monthly "show up in person" at the unemployment office and meet 3 former co-workers for lunch. Only one of us has an actual job, working on the sales floor in the handbag department at Saks. She's already worried about making her holiday sales goals. We all promise that the minute we get jobs we'll come buy expensive bags from her.
Tuesday
In a fit of unemployment despair, I apply as a checker at Schnucks on the Hill. The line stretches out the door. I pass the time explaining the Great Depression to a dingy but sweet 19-year-old in line behind me. She tells me McDonald's is hiring.
Wednesday
I have a second interview with the City of St. Louis as a designer. They keep me waiting in the lobby for an hour while the chairs fill up with bright young things carrying Apple laptops and iPhones. My scarred old leather portfolio stands out, to say the least. Nice lady, the interview goes fairly well, but my face must have registered shock when I was told that the job was 10 hours a week with no benefits.
I don't get called for a third interview.
Thursday morning
I have a first interview at Wash U for a position in marketing with their campus food service. It is the best interview of my life. The woman is about my age, and everything I say is perfect. In an hour we've become lifelong friends. She takes me around the office, shows me where I'm gonna sit, introduces me to people, my head is spinning. Then she bursts my bubble. She can't make the final decision. An interview is scheduled for tomorrow morning with the head of the office - a rather reserved Pakistani gentleman. She looks and sounds nervous enough about it to generate a small bubble of concern, but I cheerfully tell her I'll see her tomorrow.
Thursday afternoon
I tell my mother about the job. Shouldn't have done that. You never tell your mother about a guy you're seeing until you've had at least 3 dates with him.
Thursday night
Wake up at 2 a.m. with the first migraine I've had in over a year. After pacing and puking and scaring David to death for a few hours, I finally fall asleep.
Friday morning
I feel hungover with a stabbing pain in my right eye. My legs are sore from over-shaving. I wear the same skirt and blouse I wore to the city interview on Wednesday, because I'm just flat out of wardrobe ideas. The first thought in my head when I wake up is "I'm not gonna get this job." I get there early, my new lifelong friend is happy to see me, but the Pakistani gentleman is not. The temperature in the room goes down 20 degrees. With my lack of sleep I must look like a meth addict. He never looks me in the eye - probably a good thing, because the pain is making my right eyelid twitch uncontrollably. After 15 minutes, they thank me for my time, I shake every one's hand, crack a lame joke, walk out of the office, call David, and burst into tears.
Friday evening
I'm enjoying my first cocktail of the weekend on the back porch when the phone rings. It's my ex-lifelong friend saying "I'm sorry, but I have some bad news." The Pakistani just didn't feel the same way about me that she did. I fix myself another drink.
I'm certain with the current unemployment rate in Missouri (6.6% - highest in over 10 years), the number of recent layoffs in the city of St. Louis, and the precarious state of the nation's economy, I'm gonna have many more weeks like this.
At least I'll get to meet a lot of new people and my legs will always be shaved.
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