I’ve been gainfully unemployed since 2009. In all that time, after all the resumes and job applications I’ve submitted, I’ve had this many responses… zero.
Instead, I suffer job search purgatory vicariously through my grown-ass children. They have both had to do that crazy dance, and I don’t envy them. Other than the steady income, that is.
The whole job interview thing weirds me out. I was always afraid I’d say something stupid or volunteer too much information, and admit some past indiscretion. The inane small talk drove me crazy. I was constantly fighting with my inner bitch to not scream, ‘Shut! Up!’ halfway into the conversation.
What are your strengths? I make a mean cup of java, and know how to use a dictionary and thesaurus.
What are your weaknesses? I will absolutely swoon over anyone who will buy me lunch. If you nibble on my ear I’ll even collate and staple for you.
Where do you see yourself in five, ten years? Who the hell knows! I don’t know what I’m doing five minutes from now.
What interested you in our company? I like the soap in the women’s restroom. It smells purty.
Job searches are too much like dating. You get all prettied up, maybe buy a few new outfits. You may even get your nails done and your hair did, not forgetting the caterpillar eyebrow. Brush your teeth, floss, rinse, repeat. Perhaps go for broke, and take care of those furry legs and pits. Neglecting the little things can be a deal breaker.
You’re all nervous and giddy during that first meeting. You want to appear interested but not desperate, be engaging without dominating the conversation (… unless you like that… dominating, I mean. That could be one of my strengths, if you want it to be.)
You feel like you have to laugh at all those silly jokes, then are afraid your laugh is verging on hysteria. (I hope I don’t snort…)
Are my palms all sweaty? How can I wipe them off before having to shake hands without being too obvious? Is there a bright red smudge of lipstick on my teeth? Should I not smile so much?
And, gawd, whatever you do, DO NOT mention you have a blog, that would be the final nail in your interview coffin.
I don’t want to do this ever again. By now, I should be the office matriarch scaring the bejeezus out of the pimply faced newbies, not an entry-level geek trying to prove myself.
What I need is for my grateful, beholden, wage-earning children to provide their father and me with a lavish lifestyle we can grow accustomed to in our dotage.