Part 25 (1/2)

To: [email protected] From: Ickey Date: June 13, 2003 Subject: get off ur fat a.s.s Jen, seriously, do you put as much energy into looking for a gig as you do b.i.t.c.hing about the whole world on your website and why they are not as cool as you? There is a good job waiting for you at Starbucks...I can feel it. BTW, stay away from the scones. It's obvious you've already had enough.

Ickey

To: Ickey From: [email protected] Date: June 14, 2003 Subject: RE: get off ur fat a.s.s Ickey, this site is definitely not for you. And by 'you' I'm guessing you're the kind of 25 year-old Advertising/PR flack who was always too hungover to listen when I came to your agency to present you with the tools you needed to better serve your clients and do your job.

Now I may have your industry wrong, but I'm sure you're employed as it's obvious to me that you have NO f.u.c.kING CLUE what it's like to lose your job, your status, your lifestyle, and subsequently, your whole sense of self. You can't fathom the humiliation of having to beg off visits to your parents' house because you're too ashamed to tell them your car was repossessed, nor can you understand what it's like to live in the dark like a Pioneer for a week until you can pay your electric bill. If you could, you'd have never sent me this email.

You're probably also in the dark about my job search techniques and don't know that I spend every morning reading every new job posting on every single search portal. Or that I spend a good hour each day making pitch calls to sales directors alerting them to my availability. Or that I've practically alienated all my friends and ex-colleagues by pestering them to see if they've heard of something...anything...

As for the coffee shop career you suggested, don't think for a minute that I haven't tried to get one. I'll work hard wherever I'm hired, just like I did when I worked my way through college. That's right, I paid for much of my college education by waitressing and working retail.168 No one sent me off to school with a brand new Jetta and a credit card like I'm sure yours did. I've worked d.a.m.n hard to earn every single thing that I have.

But I digress.

A while ago, I took the VP t.i.tle off my resume and left off the part where I sold upwards of $10 million worth of goods and services for my employers. I figured if I dumbed-down my resume, maybe I wouldn't look so overqualified. Although I don't agree with the idea of censoring my accomplishments, I did it anyway. By so doing, it means that maybe, just maybe, I can secure a job serving coffee to slackers like you who squander their employers' resources cruising Internet bulletin boards instead of doing the job they're paid to do.

BTW, Ickey, if I do land that coveted job at Starbucks, I a.s.sure you, I WILL spit in your latte.

Best, Jen

My friend Katerina e-mailed me about a stunt a job-seeking nurse pulled in Sweden. She posted an ad stating she was ill-tempered and mean and probably wasn't terribly compa.s.sionate, but she needed a job working as a home health aid anyway. After her ad ran, her phone wouldn't stop ringing.

Thusly inspired, I've taken out cla.s.sified ads in both the Chicago Tribune and the Chicago Reader. The following hits Wednesday: I am cautiously optimistic that something good will come of it. Then again, I am usually wrong.

UNEMPLOYED AND BITTER.

Sarcastic exsorority girl seeks high-paying job in an idiot-free environment. Must allow employees to wear cute shoes. Interested? Contact [email protected]

I am cautiously optimistic that something good will come of it.

Then again, I am usually wrong.

Who knew so many foot fetis.h.i.+sts read the Tribune?

”Sweetie, wake up. It's after one o'clock.” Fletch barely stirs. ”Come up, wake up just for a minute. We need to talk about the dogs.”

Fletch mumbles, ”I'm listening.”

”I already took them out this morning, and they should be fine for most of the day. Can you please walk them around four p.m.? They should be ready by then.”

Fletch burrows deeper under the covers. ”Where are you going?”

”Don't you remember? I've got another interview for the part-time receptionist position at that architecture firm.” Again, thank G.o.d for Shayla. She temped at this firm last summer, and they tried to get her back this summer. Instead, she referred them to me. I went for my first interview a couple of days ago, and I found out they received more than six hundred applications for the job. And while I was waiting for my interview, five people walked in looking for applications. One of them was a girl with a Burberry purse-when we made eye contact, we exchanged wry smiles. Welcome to the age of doing what you have to do.

”Good luck.”

”Thanks, hon. Don't forget-dogs go out at four o'clock.”

Although I manage to snow the office manager, the managing partner at the firm believes I'll be bored by the job and tells me as much in the interview. I swear to him there's nothing boring about paying my rent, but he doesn't buy it. Deciding to make the most of my cute interview outfit, I hit up every retail outlet on Michigan Avenue for applications.

It's almost six forty-five when I get home, and the dogs greet me sheepishly at the door, tails tucked, ears pinned back. Someone p.o.o.ped in the living room, and they're both terribly upset about it. When I walk into the kitchen to grab paper towels, I notice another pile.

”Guys, what happened? Didn't you go outside?” I ask. ”Fletch? Where are you? What time did you take the dogs out?”

I walk up the stairs, and I find Fletch in the exact same spot I left him in. I shake him awake. ”Fletch? Are you taking a nap?” I notice he's still in his pajamas. ”Honey? Did you even get out of bed today?”

He lies there, staring at the wall. ”No.”

”Are you OK? Are you sick?”

”I just don't see any reason to get out of bed.”