Job hunting and blind dates share a common bond

Going on job interviews is like going on a lot of blind dates.  We have to kiss a lot of frogs before one miraculously turns into a prince.  Or so we’re told.  I’m still kissing.

I might be a bit of a job hunting addict.  I like to look for jobs.  I get some kind of strange pleasure out of it.  I troll LinkedIn like a pimp.

I think it has something to do with the chase.  The anticipation.  Will they like me?  Will they like the way I did my hair?  I wonder what benefits they’ll offer me?  Anything beyond medical?  Because anything beyond medical is hard to find.  They don’t make jobs like they used to anymore.  And I know that once I find that job, I’m going to hold onto it forever and never let it go.  Because a good job only comes along once in a girl’s life…


Right, so the chase.  The idealizing.  The dreaming.  The – “maybe they’ll hire me as their secretary and be so impressed that in only three months they’ll promote me, give me a raise, and grant me a title!  I’ll make partner in no time.”

Then there’s the date, er, interview.  The reality.  The commute is longer than I thought it would be.  The office is in the middle of several warehouses.  I could potentially be attacked on the way to my car, but I’m here and I want to work, so it doesn’t matter.

They interview me and they don’t say anything about my hair.  They keep asking if I can offer anything else I haven’t already listed on my resume.  “I can curl my tongue,” I offer in my head.  “No,” I conclude out loud.  “Are there any benefits?”  I ask.  None.  They don’t even offer medical.  I leave.  They promise me they’ll call.

I wait two days.  Isn’t that the rule?  Wait two days before you call?  My phone doesn’t ring, but Twitter notifies me that I have two fewer followers.  Score.

I’d be depressed, but my acting training has made me a bit of a masochist.  What would be seen by normal people as rejection and a reason to quit is only compelling desire (or a need to avenge my teenage self from the rotten parents of my boring highschool friends who said I would never make it!) to keep at it and try harder next time.

scarlett-o-hara-momentI remember when I was living in New York, I was working as a barista, a receptionist, and I was tutoring on the side, but I was still panicked about making rent.  So I walked into a restaurant that was looking for a server.  I’d never waited a table in my life.  But I sat at the bar and talked with them until they gave me the job.

Of course, by the time I got home I realized I already had three jobs and, therefore, no literal time left in the universe for a fourth.  I had to email them, apologize, and decline their offer.

But there was something about that experience that proved to me I can get a job – any job – if I really need it.  Just like a girl could get a blind date – ick – if she really needed it.

So, I put on my pajamas and crawl into bed.  Because, in the paraphrased words of Scarlett O’Hara, “What is there to do? What is there that matters?  …I’ll think of some way to get him (er, the job) back (or to begin with). After all… tomorrow is another day!”