I feel like I've been job hunting with Dick Cheney -- there I am, rummaging around in the bushes, trying to scare out a decent career with future prospects that doesn't involve speaking. . . . really . . . . slowly, and suddenly I've got a faceful of buckshot.
Job hunting sucks. I particularly like one place that I've applied to three times, where, when I go back to check my "status," there's this list of NO MATCH NO MATCH NO MATCH. Always a pleasure. Why don't they just say, "Status: BIG FAT LOSER WE POSTED YOUR RESUME IN THE LUNCHROOM SO EVERYONE COULD HAVE A GOOD GIGGLE." Hey, if I wanted this kind of impersonal rejection, I'd try to publish my book again.
Actually, it's been interesting. I haven't done any for-serious job hunting in quite a while, and I'm finding the process intriguing if teeth-grindingly, stomach-churningly, blood-pressure-raisingly frustrating. I even practiced interview questions with BF Toasty who's a hell of a lot better at answering the questions than I am. I considered doing some sort of Cyrano-type thing, stashing Toasty under the conference table for all interviews and letting him answer the questions while I lip-sync and smile, but then I remembered that the guy who had Cyrano talk for him got married, got shot and got dead, and frankly I just couldn't handle the potential parallels.
So: in short, 30+ resumes sent out like soldiers in a war, never to be seen again. Three interviews, one solid job offer that would be a great job if only I liked government-issue free cheese. *sigh*
Still, it was fun watching my Mom try to make sense of the statement, "This morning I posted on Monster."