The phone that wouldn't ring

Today I waited.

I waited. And waited. And waited.

I hoped they might call yesterday, but they didn’t. So today was it. They had to call today!

They said they would.

I carried my phone into the bathroom while I took a shower. I set it next to me on the counter as I washed the dishes. I put it where I could see it on my desk while I ate lunch. I slipped it in my pocket and walked around the house with it. I checked it every few minutes to make sure the ringer was on (it was) and I had service (I did).

Then, it rang! Hurrah! My stomach did a nervous turn.

It was my mother. She wondered if I’d like to run an errand with her. Why yes, I would. Anything to distract me from the phone.

I like my phone most of the time. It’s pink, and it takes pictures, and I like the satisfying sound it makes when I snap it closed. Today, though, it was the frustrating symbol of silence.

I spent the afternoon with my mom and had dinner at my parents’ house, checking my phone (in my pocket) every now and then to make sure I hadn’t missed a call, until it was well after regular business hours. Then I drove home. I parked in the carport and walked over to get my mail. Usually it arrives around lunchtime, but I hadn’t bothered to get it before I left to meet my mother.

And there it was in my mailbox, where it had been patiently waiting since noon (why didn’t I check my mail before I left today?): a letter from the company where I had applied. I could tell from the slim envelope that there was only one sheet inside. I slit it open with one forefinger as I crossed the parking lot in the dusk. “Dear Erin…” (skim over the ‘nice to have met you’ paragraph—ah, there it is)… “We have decided to continue our search.”

So there you have it.

I immediately checked myself over, as though I’d fallen from a second story window and might have broken some ribs. Do I feel…sad? Disappointed? Happy?

I decided that I mostly feel: relieved. I was conflicted to begin with, because although I knew I could do the job competently, it wasn’t going to present much of a challenge for me—and in some ways it would be a step down, since there were more mundane tasks (copying, filing, assembling packets) than in my previous job.

This way, the decision has been made for me. I didn’t have to agonize over whether to accept (or kick myself six months from now, when I’m eating ramen and living in the back of my station wagon, that I didn’t take it when I had the chance). It makes me feel perversely better that, even though they didn’t want to hire me, they didn’t want to hire anyone else, either.

And they may have suspected that I did not intend to stay forever, based on some of the questions the interviewer asked me about my career goals. Maybe, dare I say it, they thought I was overqualified and might be bored?

Well, tomorrow is another day. Of unemployment. I meet with my counselor again on Thursday. He mentioned career assessments he has that I could take, and an exploration of what I want to do with my life.

My mental self-check reveals that I’m feeling nervous but excited about the possibilities before me.

The interview

It wasn’t too bad. In fact, I think it went well.

I’ve been nervous for several days. I hardly ate at all yesterday, and I had to force myself to have breakfast this morning. I dried my hair very carefully today, and put on my new suit and gathered up my resume, and then I got in the car and drove to the office. Well, sort of—I got lost once along the way, but since I had allowed myself 48 minutes for a 15-minute drive, I had plenty of time to turn around once I figured it, and I still had time to sit in the car and breathe for a while before I went in.

My counselor told me yesterday that depression manifests itself in different ways. For some people, they don’t sleep much, or they sleep more, or their eating habits change. Some people, he said, get lost easily. I thought that was an odd statement, but I have gotten lost several times lately. It’s like there is a loose wire somewhere in the section of my brain that is supposed to say “turn left!” or “this doesn’t look right”.

He also said that depression is repressed anxiety. I’d never heard it put quite that way. I am prone to depression—no secret there—but I hadn’t thought about it in terms of anxiety. The times I have been most depressed have also been at times of extreme anxiety: my freshman year of college, my first winter in China, any time I’m out of work (now, for instance…). The difference is, I am better at managing depression now than when I was 18. I know that I need to exercise every day—or as close to it as I can manage; and I need to get outside every single day, even if it’s only for ten or twenty minutes in the rain. I need to eat. And I need to sleep a reasonable amount, and at a reasonable hour.

But now back to the interview. I took the elevator to the second floor (not the stairs, although I always take stairs when I can, and I felt a little guilty riding up one floor in the elevator). As my sister said, you don’t want to arrive out of breath for an interview, and when you’re already nervous and then you climb a long flight of stairs, that’s not a good combination. I didn’t want to pass out in the lobby.

I signed in at the busy reception desk, where I was given a packet with my name on it and an application, and directed to a little desk in the corner. I was relieved to see a desk, because it’s hard to write neatly while balancing a folder on my knees. While I concentrated on writing neatly and not forgetting any questions, I listened to the receptionist answering the phone. “He went cuckoo?” she said at one point. “Cuckoo?”

After I finished the application, I handed it in up front and sat down in the reception area. And then I waited. And waited. And waited. I scanned through the materials in the packet and pretended to read the information while I sat up very straight and tried not to do anything noticeably nervous or embarrassing. I drank some water. I wiped my right hand dry over and over on my pants so I wouldn’t have a clammy handshake. And I waited some more.

Finally, twenty minutes after the scheduled time, the interviewer came out to get me.

I did fine, I think. The handshakes went well. She got me a glass of water. She and the assistant whose job I was applying for asked me a series of fairly easy questions about my qualifications for the job, my organizational skills, etc. That lasted only about twenty minutes, during which they were seemingly very relaxed and casual. (They were also both wearing jeans, which surprised me since I was in a suit. “Casual Friday,” my dad said later when I told him. It occurred to me that everyone I had seen in the office was wearing jeans. I guess it is Friday, isn't it.)

I didn’t even feel nervous once I got in there and started talking. My hands weren’t even shaking, as they do whenever I’m anxious. They were both friendly and laughing, and I wished I had met the supervisor before I had my phone interview with her, because I might have been able to read her better over the phone when she asked me the original series of hard-nosed questions that made me cry later.

Then they asked if I had any questions for them. I did, in fact. I had written down several thoughtful questions in my notebook the night before, and then I memorized them. There was a question that related to the computer system used by the department, and a question that demonstrated that I had reviewed their website, and a question about the scope of the organization itself, and a question that referred to a detail of the job description. (I have learned in HR that having thoughtful questions prepared sets one apart from other applicants, and demonstrates one’s real interest in the job. I hope that came across.)

The whole thing took only 30 minutes, not counting the application and the waiting. I left with a good feeling about the interview. I thought to myself, I could be content working here. Maybe not challenged or deliriously happy, but content. I don’t want to be unemployed forever and lose my house, and I know I could do this job. Is that so bad?

They’re supposed to let me know either way by Tuesday. Why is it that these decisions always seem to take the length of a weekend to make? Couldn’t they interview everyone on a Monday and let them know by Wednesday? Then I could at least enjoy my Saturday.

Honestly, I’m okay either way. If nothing else, it was good practice, and I did so much better than I thought I would. Is this the return of some confidence?

Interview suit

Well, apparently the phone interview wasn’t quite as bad as I thought: they called me for an interview! I will be meeting with the head of the department on Friday morning. I’ve decided that I am too old and experienced now to get away with a sweater/jacket and black pants for a job interview, so yesterday I spent several hours shopping for a suit to wear to said interview. My mom, who went with me to provide advice and put things back on hangers in the dressing room, observed that if you just walk into a store with nothing in mind, you can happily walk out with a bag full of stuff in no time. But if you are shopping for one specific item, it can take a whole frustrating day!

I went to several different stores and tried on at least fifty things, many of which made me look like Miss Marple (apparently I can’t pull off the skirt-suit look—regardless of what top I wore underneath, I looked like I was auditioning for the maiden aunt role in the school play and probably had knitting needles in my purse). On others, the trousers were so wide-legged that I should have been wearing a rainbow wig and a red nose. I tried on dark brown blend suits, medium brown wool suits, light brown linen suits, purple pinstripe, gray-and-pink pinstripe, navy, and more varieties of black than I can possibly recall.

At Talbot’s I found three jackets I loved—on sale!—but no pants or skirts to match. (I did, however, get a light blue sweater on sale, and a skirt with dragonflies, and one black jacket that was just too good to pass up.) Finally, I went to Nordstrom. I knew Nordstrom would not disappoint me, and they did not. I am now the proud owner of one tailored black suit, the trousers of which are currently being shortened on a rush order so that I can wear them on Friday for my interview.

The thing is, I'm conflicted about the job. I never set out to work in the field where I have been for the last three years, and which recently burned me badly, so why would I want another job in that field? It represents immediate financial stability instead of months of uncertainty, but will involve many of the same things that I didn’t like at my last job. But I am going in with an open mind because:

1) It’s good interview practice, since the last time I actually interviewed for a job was in 2003;

2) Maybe I’ll be less nervous in the interview itself if I’m not desperate to get the job;

3) I might meet my potential supervisor and decide that I really do want the job if they offer it to me;

4) If I don’t get it, I will not be (as) devastated.

I have to arrive half an hour early on Friday to complete an application. I asked if I could pick it up during the week and bring it with me (my handwriting gets shaky and inconsistent when I’m nervous), but she said I have to complete it in the office. My mom remembered that a family friend, whose son recently changed jobs, told her that the newest trend in applicant psychology is to have you arrive early for the interview and then observe you: How do you treat the receptionist? Are you friendly? Do you seem overly nervous? Do you bite your fingernails, nap, or eat a pastrami sandwich while you wait?

It’s a smart idea, actually. When I worked as the receptionist in a temp agency office, many people who came in to apply for a job were just horrible to me. They were rude and abrupt, argued with me about completing the application, and often groomed themselves or made out with a companion in my view. But when the interviewer came out to collect them, there would be a complete personality change. Suddenly, they were polite and friendly and eager. What they didn’t know was that I had the power to make them “not eligible for hire”, based only on my observations before the interview. So I think it’s a good idea to ask the receptionist what the applicants are like. I just don’t look forward to being on the observee end of things for once!

I'll let you know how it goes.

(In other news, I got my very first blog comments this week. I was kind of excited, because it means at least two people out there are actually reading what I write. I am enjoying the blog format, because it’s a lot like my journal except that I am writing for an audience, which forces me to craft everything a little more carefully. So thanks for the encouragement!)

Is there anything more demoralizing...

…than looking for a job? I had an unscheduled phone interview today—the resume I sent by email was received, and the hiring manager called me late this afternoon to talk. She offered to schedule it for a later time, but I figured I might as well get it over with.

Of course, that was before she asked me why I left my last job. And I choked. I need to work on exactly what I will say to answer that question, but today I just wasn’t prepared. First I said “I wanted to find something else”, but since this job is in the same field as my last job, I couldn’t say that I wanted to do something different, which is what I plan to say for non-HR jobs. And then I got nervous and just kept talking while the voice in my head said to shut up! shut up right now!, and then she started to ask me some very direct questions, and pretty soon I’d said way more than I meant to. Damn it.

Eventually I said that I didn’t think I was explaining the situation very well, and she suggested we move on. I thought it was a good sign that she didn’t hang up on me right then (I could almost hear her putting a big red X through my name), but went on to ask me questions about my computer skills and the challenges of working in HR.

I was also given a small gift, in that she put me on hold for about three minutes (when she came back, she said that her boss sometimes walks into her office and just starts talking), and while I was on hold I frantically wrote down what I thought might help my case a little, which was, “I don’t want to say anything negative about the company, but there were some things going on in the upper management that frustrated me, and I decided that it was a good time to go….” When she came back on the line, I asked if I could clarify my earlier statements, and we talked about it a little more. She said that if she decides to interview me, she’s going to want to hear more about the situation. Great.

We talked for about half an hour (only a generous third of it devoted to why I left), and then she told me she’ll be making calls for interviews by Tuesday at the latest, and I should hear either way by then. I don’t necessarily expect an interview, but I’m okay either way.

It was a tough phone interview. I’ve had a few before, and usually they’re just looking for whether you can speak in complete sentences and whether you actually read the job ad. But here, there were no getting to know you questions, no easy “tell me about your duties at your last job” softballs. She asked very pointed questions. I think I did okay except for that first big one. I just don’t think very fast on my feet when I’m nervous.

Honestly, I don’t know if I’m ready for another job. It’s a little like I just got divorced, and I have to find someone else to marry in the next three months before my money runs out. No mourning period, no reflection, no sympathy—just go, go, go! But I’m afraid of getting hurt again. I started to cry (just a little) after I got off the phone today. Does that sound like a healthy employee who’s ready for the work force?

You know what’s not fair? I did nothing wrong at my last job, but I’m the one who has to lie/creatively stretch the truth about why I left, so I don’t alarm potential employers like I did today. Not only did they take away my old job, but they are making it harder for me to get a new job.

That’s why tomorrow I am finding a counselor. Someone who will help me phrase answers to the tough questions, and help me recognize again that I am a capable person.

Now would be a very good time for my book deal to come through, meaning that I don’t have to get another job in another office, but that would require: a) that I write a book, and/or b) that I find a publisher willing to advance me to write a book.

Don’t worry, readers, today is just a dark day. They come and go; the signs are usually wearing my sweatpants and watching TV/playing computer games all day (check, and check). I know I’ll come out of this okay, and that someday this will be a funny story, but in the meantime I’m not having any fun!

Tomorrow my college roommate and her boyfriend are coming to stay. I’m sure their visit will cheer me up (no pressure, R!), and it also gives me the needed push to finally clean the house in anticipation of their arrival.

The classifieds

I saw my job in the paper yesterday.

I’m not being ambitious in a “that job is perfect for me! I’m going to get that job!” kind of way. It was really my job. The job that—until two weeks ago Wednesday—I got paid to do. (The fact that today would have been payday has not escaped my notice or that of my checking account.) I was just reading through the Hs and highlighting anything that looked interesting in Human Resources, and there it was. 19 lines of insult, injury, and some more insult.

Reading it—c'mon, of course I read it—my hands started to shake with emotion. I hadn’t realized I was still that angry. And I was surprised. My boss had indicated that maybe they wouldn’t fill my position right away, because the Big Boss thought that I wasn’t doing anything and therefore they wouldn’t need to replace me. But apparently it took them less than a week after my departure to realize that, hmm, maybe I had been doing something after all. Which doesn’t really make me feel better.

Unfortunately, they’re taking applications through the end of the month, so every time I read the classifieds I’m going to see their ad again.

But right next to it, one column over, was a job that I applied for this morning. The starting pay is decent and I know someone (okay, it was my sister) who recently temped at that organization and said everyone was very nice. It’s a job I am definitely qualified for, even if it’s not my perfect dream of someone paying me to practice the piano and bake cookies all day. So keep your fingers crossed for me.

If nothing else, even if I don’t get this job or the next one or the one after that, I am proud of myself for applying for something, for crafting the perfect cover letter and sending it off with my resume, for believing that someone will want to hire me because I am a good employee and I am a good person. I refuse to be paralyzed by the events of this year. They may have taken my job, but they won’t get my spirit, too!

The viola personality

This afternoon, I was sitting at my desk reading the Sunday job classifieds and chewing on my highlighter (I know it’s a bad habit—if I get too carried away, I end up with fluorescent pink or green lips) when my phone rang. It was my section leader in the community orchestra I play with, offering me an extra ticket to a chamber concert tonight because the friend who was originally accompanying her was sick.

My first impulse was to say no. Why is it that I never want to leave the house? It’s not that I’m physically afraid of the outside world—I’m not agoraphobic or anything—but it just seems like too much trouble to go anywhere, and I’m an introvert (obviously), which means that extended time with people sucks the energy right out of me. I am okay with small groups for short times. I really prefer to be tucked safely at home, though, reading a book or watching a movie.

But I’ve been home alone a lot lately. In the last week and a half, I have re-watched all of this season’s 30 Rock and The Office online and played Hexic for hours (highly addictive game by the makers of Tetris, free online through zone.msn.com) and worn my pajamas until noon and eaten cookies for breakfast and watched a movie in the middle of the day if I felt like it. I have raided the pantry for salty snacks and let my hair air-dry and not bothered with any makeup and stretched out on the floor of the living room with the cats on sunny afternoons. I’ve played the piano for hours at a time and I decadently read a whole book in one day just because I could.

And now, I’m ready for something else. I hate to admit it, but that was enough vacation for me. It’s been glorious, but now it’s time to find something to do all day.

So when my friend called, I bit back my reflexive “no” and said, okay! Yes, I will put on real pants and brush my hair and go outside for the first time today. Yes, I will drive my car somewhere (I’ll say one thing for unemployment: I’m saving a ton of money on gas!) and sit in a room with many other people.

And I really enjoyed it.

Trio con Brio Copenhagen, composed of two Korean sister string players and a Danish pianist, played works by Beethoven, Shostakovich, and Brahms. (The friend I had come with, a fellow violist, complained about the inclusion of Shostakovich beforehand but declared it her favorite afterward. I had to agree. I’m not usually one for the dramatic, emotional composers—even Brahms can be a bit much for me sometimes—but the trio obviously loved Shostakovich so much that the audience loved it, too.)

I was surprised to see that all three looked fairly young. They were dressed a little oddly: the man wore all black (with no belt, my friend pointed out), and both women wore dresses that were cut like bridesmaid’s gowns, the violinist in a fitted strapless bodice and the cellist in a plunging halter. They were made not from typical shiny satin or velvet, but some kind of wrinkled matte cotton-linen blend in a light blue. The dresses looked nice and cool for playing under hot stage lights, but they weren’t very formal. And they reminded me of something. But what? As I sat listening, I finally figured it out: bed sheets. I have a set of cotton queen-size sheets in that very same light robin’s-egg blue fabric, that wrinkles so badly in the wash that I hardly use them. For a moment, I wondered if they had pulled a Maria von Trapp and made industrious use of some hotel bedding.

Usually I get bored after about ten minutes of live music, even something that I really like. I just can’t listen with concentration for that long. I’m a visual learner. But tonight I was rapt for two hours. The trio played with such passion, animation, and energy. The young pianist played with his mouth hanging open over the keys, almost but not quite smiling and giving the audience a clear view of his European teeth, his substantial fingers moving like a stenographer’s taking dictation at great speed. The sisters’ faces were constantly moving as they flung themselves into the music, bows flying across strings.

I couldn’t look away.

In the musical world, there’s a personality type associated with the player of each instrument. First violins are divas, trumpets are cocky, drummers are a little out of it. These are stereotypes, of course, but isn't there always a grain of truth in a stereotype.

Most string players begin on the violin. Some go on to the larger dramatic cello, others to the slightly more glamorous upright bass. I started on the violin as a fourth grader in a class of screeching players of “Twinkle Twinkle” (which my parents patiently tolerated my butchering of over and over again in my not-very-soundproof bedroom). I played second violin for several years.

But I knew that the viola was where my true destiny lay. The viola which has a deliciously mellow, melancholy tone that the smaller, brassier violin can’t match. (For the uninitiated, the viola looks like a violin and is played under the chin, but is larger and has the same strings as a cello).

And I recognized my people in the viola section. Violists are nice. We are shy, modest, reserved but usually friendly when approached. (For those reasons, we are an easy target for teasing. The “viola joke” is as well-known in an orchestra as a “blond joke” anywhere else, and often employs the same punchlines.) Violists do not boast or posture. We have little patience for the second violinists who really want to be first violinists, and who sometimes try to commiserate about the boring parts we are assigned as middle sections.

We have chosen this road. We usually play the unadorned mid-level notes that fill out the sound of a symphony or a string quartet but that the audience does not really hear. We grumble a little about being unappreciated by composers and fellow orchestra members alike, but when we get a solo, we almost universally panic and mess it up.

But we are a peaceable group. There is very little muttering about our section leader not being good enough, because none of us wants to be first chair. That would mean sitting in the front row, where someone might hear us! We prefer to keep the peace from the back, enjoying the feeling of being part of beautiful music without the pressure of performance.

There was no viola in the piano trio, of course. But two violists enjoyed a very nice night out.

Several older posts

I just moved my blog from another location with a title I didn't like as well, so here are the three posts I had created. Read these and you'll be all caught up:

Friday, April 11, 2008
vacation week draws to a close
It's 9 o'clock on a Friday morning, and I'm trying not to get back into my warm bed (where the cats are still sleeping peacefully).

My natural sleep cycle (or at least natural in this age of the internet and television and electric lights, when a person can stay up as long as she wants) has set in. This week is officially my self-designated vacation, so I'm allowed (by me) to sleep in if I want, but I also know that if I don't retrain myself to sleep during normal hours, I will be in for a terrible shock once I get another job and have to get up at 6:30 AM instead of 9:30--or worse, have to go to sleep at 10:30 PM instead of 1:30 AM.

Since I have been unsuccessful in going to bed earlier (I'm not tired, since I didn't get up until 9:30 in the morning, so I just lie there in the dark), my only recourse is to get up progressively earlier, and eventually I will be able to fall asleep earlier at night. Today I got up at 8:30! Baby steps.

Next week begins my "regular" unemployment schedule, to make the most of this time off. I intend to:

*Work out five mornings a week for at least 30 minutes
*Write for at least an hour every day (I'm hoping to do more, but I don't want to set myself a three-hour-a-day goal and then fail)
*Practice the piano for at least 45 minutes a day
*Practice the viola three times a week for at least 20 minutes
*Job-search for at least two hours, five days a week

I'm trying to balance looking for a new job/panic about money, with enjoying the time I have off from a full-time job. I am also planning to make an appointment with a counselor in the next couple of weeks. Two people whose opinions I trust have told me I should see a counselor. One of them told me that potential employers can "smell" a sense of defeat, and that I need to regain my own self-confidence before I look for a new job.

I had a long session on the phone last night with a friend who's still working at the office I recently left. She's just as cynical and bitter as I am, but her circumstances are such that she can't quit without another job. Not that I could, either, but apparently I did! We talked about what's wrong with the management of that organization: she said very insightfully that they love the power, but they're afraid that someone will find out that they are incompetent at their jobs, so they keep us in a constant state of fear to distract us. And I added, they want our respect, and don't realize that fear is not the same thing.

I told her I think it's time she gets out, even if she doesn't have the perfect job lined up. There's something about that office that crushes one's spirit, until you don't believe you are worthy of any other job, and you start to feel grateful that they haven't fired you for being such a terrible employee and person.

I've only been gone for a week, but already I'm sleeping better, eating better, my skin is clearing up, and I find myself smiling sometimes for no reason. Smiling even though I have plenty of new reasons to worry (no job, no money, mortgage to pay, etc.).

The sun is beaming through the window of my office here at home, and I think it's going to be a good day.

Posted by EG at 9:06 AM 0 comments Links to this post

Sunday, April 6, 2008
Sunday
I'm supposed to be grocery shopping right now. My list and purse and keys and coat are all sitting right by the door, waiting patiently. I was hoping to walk to the store, which is less than half a mile from my house and makes me feel very virtuous (especially when I remember my reusable cloth shopping bags), but it looks like it's going to rain. I live in the Northwest so that's not unusual, but I'm not sure I feel like a rainy walk today.

I don't usually shop on Sunday afternoons, but between being sick and dealing with last-minute job details for the last two weeks, I'm pretty much out of food. At least, that is, the good food that I would ever plan to eat. Today for lunch I had a sandwich and the last of the chip crumbs. No carrot sticks, no grapes, no glass of milk. In my fridge there's a shriveled lemon and some dubious sliced ham, and in the pantry there are several open bags of pretzels and assorted canned chicken noodle soup, but nothing I'm too excited about.

When I was working, I would often shop on Friday nights after my piano lesson. It's important to run errands when I'm already out of the house, because (as I'm demonstrating right now) once I am inside in my sweatpants and sock feet, the inertia is hard to overcome.

I have discovered that single men near my age shop on Friday nights. Unfortunately, what they're shopping for is beer. Usually microbrews because this is after all the Northwest, but in cases. And one time I saw one with firewood under one arm.

A few weeks ago there was a girl I'd never seen at the deli counter. I'm pretty sure she was new, because I asked for a third of a pound of turkey (I just can't eat a half-pound of lunchmeat before it goes bad). Several minutes went by, during which she tried to cut it without putting the blade back in the slicer, and then spent a looooong time in front of the weighing/pricing machine thingy. Eventually, she handed me a bag with less than a quarter of a pound, the pieces folded up like origami, and the label she printed for pricing said "Jo jo potatoes--$0.85". I admit I noticed it before I left the store, but I knew that if I went back it would take another ten minutes for her to straighten out, so I just let it be. The store was only out a dollar or two.

Usually I make a point of saying something I'm getting more than I should. Like when I had limited basic cable installed at my house (crystal-clear broadcast and some exciting community access channels, in case you're wondering), but the technician forgot to turn off the standard cable at the connection outside. I discovered it right away, had one of those debates with the angel on one shoulder and the demon on the other, and called the next day:

Comcast: "Comcast. How can I help you?"
Me: "I just had cable installed, and I have too many channels."
Comcast: "What?"
Me: "I have too many channels."
Comcast: "Too MANY channels??"
Me: "That's right. Too many channels."
Comcast: "Wow, that's the first time I've ever heard that one."

It took them a week to come out and switch it off, during which time I enjoyed the many-splendored delights of The Daily Show and sitcom reruns on TBS and everything on The Food Network, but one day I came home from work and it was gone. Which is just as well, since I wasn't getting anything done with so many channels to choose from.

I still get the channel information guide with my limited cable, so sometimes I play "what would I be watching?" and flip through the descriptions of what's on the standard cable channels to see what I'm missing. Usually nothing very good, which makes me feel better, because I couldn't afford regular cable when I was working and I certainly can't now.

And now, off to the grocery store! The sky still looks gray and heavy, but if I wear my hooded coat and take an umbrella, I probably won't melt into the sidewalk.

Posted by EG at 2:57 PM 0 comments Links to this post
Saturday, April 5, 2008
What led us here

I quit my job this week.

Technically, I guess that makes me unemployed. I'm not destitute quite yet, but I live in a one-income household and someone has to pay the mortgage. I've encouraged my cats to seek gainful employment and earn their keep (before you judge: I have two cats, which I consider the maximum number before achieving Crazy Cat Lady status and crocheting myself kleenex box covers and slippers with pompoms, and I hope I'm a few decades away from that, if ever). I suggested perhaps they could pursue a plus-size feline modeling contract for one of the national pet food chains, but they have not displayed any initiative in entering the work force at their ages.

Regarding the job: I didn't set out for a career in human resources, but that's where I landed three years ago and it's been mostly good. The company sent me for training in HR management and ergonomics and whatever software systems I wanted to learn. The work was varied and usually interesting. I started a company newsletter, and learned about benefits and recruiting. They paid me relatively well. The health benefits were cheap and great. They put money into a pension account for me. People brought their dogs to work. Sometimes the bosses surprised us with pizza for lunch. We were allowed to burn candles at our desk (although I suspect the people who own the building might not have been so thrilled about that last one.) I would have been content, if not exactly happy, to stay there for a few more years at least.

But things changed subtly, over the last year or two. I didn't notice right away, but there was less chatting in the kitchen and fewer dogs and less pizza. I think the Big Boss at our company was ready to retire but couldn't do it yet, and his assistant felt the same way. It became less fun to go to work every day. A few longtime employees were terminated as dead weight and just disappeared into the night. (I only knew what happened because I worked in HR.) No one knew who could be trusted, and secret undercurrents of gossip and rumors wafted through the halls. Women grouped into informal coalitions and picked on the weakest among them.

And then last month, my supervisor was called in for a meeting with the Big Boss, at which BB told her that there had been complaints (plural) about me. BB wouldn't tell her who had complained, but they were basically: that I was unhelpful, that I gave the impression I couldn't be bothered, that I wasn't friendly, and that I left right at 5 every day even when my work wasn't done.

You may not be all that shocked.

I can't blame you for that. If you don't know me, then you have no frame of reference to judge my character or work ethic. I probably sound like a paranoid crazy person who mutters about how disgruntled she/he is with the company. (Excuse me, I believe you have my stapler....) So you'll just have to take my word for it that the people I know in the real world, and the colleagues I trusted enough to tell at work, were shocked by this. Genuinely shocked and stunned and horrified!

I was completely knocked over. Against all my resources, I started to cry and couldn't stop, right there in front of my supervisor when she called me in to talk about this "perception" around the office. She was very sympathetic and gave me the rest of the day off. My supervisor is a nice person. She's very warm and friendly and always argues for the people over the finances whenever the fiscal department gets out their sharp scissors to trim the budget (who needs sick days, anyway?). But she couldn't--or didn't--step up to save me. BB had implied to her that she could be replaced if I didn't improve.

Fast forward a few weeks, and the "perception" that I had an attitude problem had suddenly become reality, at least in my supervisor's eyes. She had always given me great performance reviews, and praised me extensively. I had never been in trouble with her before, but during the last month she began calling me in to talk about my work--but not in a good way--and said she was "disappointed" with some aspects of my performance. I worked longer hours than before, and sprang to attention whenever someone asked for help. I smiled at everyone, even the ones I thought might have talked about me (I could at least guess who was capable of it). I locked myself in the bathroom to weep silently at least once a day. And I fell over myself trying to show them that I was the good employee that I knew I was.

And then, it was enough. It was just enough.

My confidence was slowly being eroded by the nagging thought that maybe I was a bad employee, and a bad person. I became paranoid that people were talking about me before I entered a room. I was up late every night looking for a new job online, before getting up extra early to go to a job that I was beginning to dread.

Last week I went back into my supervisor's office after another session of talking about my need for improvement, and I told her the truth. (I wrote down some notes first, to make sure I knew what to say.) I told her, Look, you've always treated me as a good employee and have never once given me negative feedback, but now it's like I am a bad employee. So what's going on? Was I always a bad employee, and you never told me the truth before? Or am I suddenly doing a bad job? If things are so bad, why don't you just fire me? That way I can find something else, and you won't have to worry about your job.

She said okay. She was sad to see me go, I could tell, but managed to arrange a few months of severance and paid benefits because I was officially being fired. All things considered, other than continuing to like my job and receiving the praise and increased wages for doing it well, I think things worked out all right.

So farewell, Poppy the Gum-Smacking Wonder from the next cubicle over! Farewell, Lady Talks-A-Lot, whose personal phone calls were so prevalent that I could recite her complete medical history, and who would often impressively be talking with one relative on a cell phone and another on the office phone at the same time! Farewell, Employee Who Does Nothing But Will Chat with Anyone, whose entire job I took over for 1/2 the pay when he changed departments! Farewell, Two-Faced Fake-Friendly Women who will have to find someone else to be the weakest dog in the pack now!

Tune in next time for: what I am going to do next....