What the doctor should have meant: dishery.diaryland.com

Last night, talking to Steve and Stephen about this morning�s temp job interview, it occurred to me � based on some things the temp pimp had told me about the position and the executives that I have not written about here because they were just too embarrassing � that who they were looking for was partly a head-cheerleader type, an earnest smiley cute girl, because if you�re paying good money to have someone in your office it might as well be someone nice to look at. So I wore my least flattering bra, the one that�s kind of like a cross between a harness and a bandage and makes me look as if I have almost no breasts at all, and also non-thong underwear that were a bad choice for these pants because the panty line was much in evidence. (Actually I once knew a guy with a fetish for the panty line, but in my experience he is in a tiny minority.) The pants were black, the shoes were a no-nonsense model that Mary Poppins might have favored, and the turtleneck was thick, long-sleeved, and on the dykey side. But it turns out I needn�t have worried at all, because I got there and on the conference room white board were copied out some Bible verses. For example: For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them. Although I can put up with a lot in the workplace, evangelical Christianity is absolutely not on the list, so as soon as I got home I called the temp pimp and told her no way, no how, never in a million years. I had still been feeling guilty about having such antipathy for a job many people would be overjoyed to have that after all paid pretty well for temp work and was better than the nothing I have going on right now, and honestly it was a relief and a gift for the situation to have become that clear cut: thank you, Jesus! So now I�m back at home, enjoying a beer to spite those teetotaling prayerful personality-testing anti-candy motherfuckers � it tastes damn good; I may institute a post-interview drink requirement from now on � and, however undeservedly, feeling like I�ve dodged a bullet. Amen.

Here�s me looking at the bright side: 1. I applied for four real jobs yesterday. One would probably be on the lousy and unremunerative side, one would be OK, one would be better than OK, and one would be cool. An old pal of mine from TankedStock.com may work at the company where the last of these positions is open, and if it turns out she does, I will ask her to put in a good word for me with HR. 2. I had been experiencing some, uh, friction with Steve based on his idea of what constitutes an ugly job that one is disinclined to want to take vs. my idea of same, he kind of thought I was being a big spoiled baby about this morning�s event (this is my characterization not his) and this was making me desperate and weepy, but as it happens I had concealed the most embarrassing details even from him, and when I gave him and Stephen the complete picture, he agreed that the job sounded hellish and and even encouraged me to beg off the interview for it. 3. Despite my feelings for him and everything he stands for, I think the God guy was impressed with your humble correspondent, and it�s always a positive to know that you have done well at an interview. I respect myself for not having laughed and walked out of there as soon as I saw the whiteboard. 4. Also, interviews for jobs you would never take are practice for those you would. Dude asked me some unexpected questions I will add to my Anticipate This list and for which I will prepare more thoughtful answers. 5. A few days ago when we were out at Mango�s � I tried to play Eartha Kitt�s "The Heel" on the jukebox there and the digital readout said NOT ALLOWED; I don�t think we�ll be adding that joint to our drinking repertory � Steve said something about "the prime earning years," meaning between ages 40 and 60, as in that�s when you should be concentrating on socking away as much money as possible, and this was another case of guiltiness + relief because if this is in fact the standard timeline and conventional wisdom, I have a lot of years left in which not to be holding up my end of the economic bargain; it is entirely realistic that by the time I hit 40 I will once again be making grown-up money, living debt-free in a domicile on which I make payments. Plus if you�re not going to spawn, you need to make less money to support your standard of living than those who are, you don�t need to pay a premium to make sure you live in a neighborhood that�s attached to a good school district, etc. 5. At interviews, I usually find a way to ask the person doing the hiring what has brought him or her to that side of the table � you know, How did you get to where you are. I do this only partly because it is a fine way to show interest and ingratiate oneself; the truth is that as a student of life trajectories and a devotee of the narrative I truly am interested, if nothing else it�s another data point for my collection. And sometimes what I learn, asking, is that it doesn�t take a whole lot of luck or brains or academic qualifications to maneuver your way, over a period of years, into the boss�s seat � sometimes, having asked the question, one comes away with a real sense of Man, if it could happen to him, it could happen to me. Not that I�m hot to be a boss or anything, you understand. I�m hot to be earning grown-up money by age 40, is all.

Last night I told those two that I was afraid I might have to go to law school sometime in the next few years, basically because with the economy and in partic. my would-be sector of it being so awful I don�t know how else the money thing is going to happen. If professional writers will do horrible soul-killing jobs for $12.18 an hour, then I may be stuck on board the S.S. Coordinatorship until I do something calculating and concrete about it. Either the J.D. or find a way to go back to school for a B.S. and double-major in CS and Japanese, maybe also take some business courses. "But do you want to work with Japanese people?" asked Steve incredulously. No, guy, and I don�t want to be a lawyer either, but I sure as hell don�t want to be an office manager for a pack of smug marathon-running Christers. If I�m going to be ambivalent about my work, shouldn�t I try to get paid as much as possible for it? Because here�s the thing, there are very few jobs that are really great, in which drudgery and repetition are minimized, salary is honorable, colleagues are not moronic tools, lots is always happening, and in the doing of which one is constantly learning new things. Factor in how ideally this work is done in the service of a company or organization somewhat consistent with one�s ethics, and you�ve got almost nothing. (How many people who are reading this page would describe themselves as happy with most aspects of their jobs and projected career paths?) Who knows why it always takes me so long to figure out things like this. So what is the goal, to do whatever it takes and spend whatever it costs to put myself in a position where I could *maybe* get and have one of those rare happy-making jobs � shutup, I�m trying to be practical � or to find a way to maximize the appeal of that which is not, inherently, appealing? What is it reasonable to hope for?

Let me think about it.

(Happy birthday, Mary.)