"Team Member Loyalty Assistant"
The name says it all. Actually, it really wasn't a bad job. Just an incredibly embarrassing title. I was later promoted to Team Member Loyalty Manager. No kidding.
You won't find that job title on my resume...it would be too humiliating. Luckily, I don't have to since the powers-that-be wouldn't let my boss officially rename it (so I'm still coded as the more palatable "employee relations manager").
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
Jobs I have had: #2 in a long, long series: Video Clerk
As a pretty innocent and destitute twenty-ish girl, I took a part-time job at the video store a few blocks from my apartment in New Orleans, right on the beautiful St. Charles streetcar line. The store was a pretty impressive operation: good video selection, quite a few snacks, a large rent-to-own furniture section, pay by the minute cell phones, recording studio...and a thriving collection of p-o-r-n that paid for the whole thing. (Not trying to be coy...but experience has taught that you don't want to be Google-searched for that particular keyword). They kind of forgot to mention the p-o-r-n before I took the position.
And this wasn't just any old p-o-r-n section. Without having anything in the world to compare it to besides Skinemax, I'm still pretty sure this was the hard-core stuff. Your basic multiple, um, appendages in one poor overcrowded ass, faces covered in, gulp, slime kind of entertainment. And that's just what was happening on the cover art.
Even better, all my co-workers at the video store worked there for the porn, which was free for employees. And they thought it was very funny to suddenly disappear when customers came to check out p-o-r-n videos, with their discreet billboard-sized stand-ins with the aforementioned activities taking place on them. So if you wanted to enjoy a relaxing night of smut in the privacy of your own home, you had to go through me first. Pervs of the world, I apologize.
My co-workers also thought it amusing to check out the most out-there nasty fetish titles to my account...which then stayed in my permanent rental history.
So this wasn't my favorite job. But it wasn't my least favorite, either.
And this wasn't just any old p-o-r-n section. Without having anything in the world to compare it to besides Skinemax, I'm still pretty sure this was the hard-core stuff. Your basic multiple, um, appendages in one poor overcrowded ass, faces covered in, gulp, slime kind of entertainment. And that's just what was happening on the cover art.
Even better, all my co-workers at the video store worked there for the porn, which was free for employees. And they thought it was very funny to suddenly disappear when customers came to check out p-o-r-n videos, with their discreet billboard-sized stand-ins with the aforementioned activities taking place on them. So if you wanted to enjoy a relaxing night of smut in the privacy of your own home, you had to go through me first. Pervs of the world, I apologize.
My co-workers also thought it amusing to check out the most out-there nasty fetish titles to my account...which then stayed in my permanent rental history.
So this wasn't my favorite job. But it wasn't my least favorite, either.
Jobs I Have Had: Popcorn Concession Girl
Highlights:
- Free movies, and I could bring my friends
- Seeing the Fugitive twice with my dad during a really hot summer. Ahhh, air conditioning!
- Free popcorn
- A head-to-toe polyester uniform. Not the worst I've ever worn, but close. It included too-tight navy pants, a white/plaid shirt, red vest, and finally...a bowtie. Awesome.
- Waaay too much free popcorn
- Cleaning the "butter" machine. Never eating popcorn again.
photo: Flickr/protoflux
Dubious Honor
I just met with a recruiter or three. Sadly, the one who liked me best was the temp recruiter. And why shouldn't she love me? I'm pretty sure I'm the best temp in all of Washington, DC. This isn't a boast; it's gotta be the world's most dubious honor. How can I be everyone's very favorite temp -- a magical contractor who not only handles high-level work way outside her pay grade, but diligently performs odious, tedious tasks with care -- and still have no job offer?
And, I'm such a spazz...the recruiter told me she wouldn't even write my bottom-line salary expectation in her notes because it was too low.
I'm pretty sure the favorite-temp/salary things are related. Just a sign of my high self-esteem.
And, I'm such a spazz...the recruiter told me she wouldn't even write my bottom-line salary expectation in her notes because it was too low.
I'm pretty sure the favorite-temp/salary things are related. Just a sign of my high self-esteem.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Cover Letter Hell
Writing the perfect cover letter is literally an impossible task.
Here's a some well-accepted advice on how to construct the perfect letter. You must use ALL of it. Then guess why it's so hard for me to apply for more than one job a day.
Here's a some well-accepted advice on how to construct the perfect letter. You must use ALL of it. Then guess why it's so hard for me to apply for more than one job a day.
- Write with the utmost confidence
- Don't be arrogant
- Describe your achievements, skills, and background...
- ...without using the words "I" or "me" (I dare you)
- Be natural and let your personality shine through
- Maintain a formal, business-like tone
- Describe in detail how your accomplishments and experience relate to the position using specific examples...
- ...in one short paragraph
- Start strong by using a creative rhetorical question
- But don't use gimmicks!
- Mention how you heard about the position
- Don't waste your readers' time by explaining where you heard about the position
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Another internship! Oh, boy!
The economy sucks, and young college grads can hardly get work at Burger King. They're desperate to find work and will do just about anything that improves their chances. So if you have a need (or want) for free labor, why not take advantage of their desperation by repackaging any task, from data entry to feeding your cat, as an internship?
Here's an recent egregious example from Craigslist (edited for brevity and to protect the guilty):
I especially love how they dangle the vague possibility of making contacts that might in some obscure way eventually lead to a job when it's clear that this "internship" holds no more networking potential than hanging out at your local Starbucks or crashing cocktail parties on the Hill.
Here's an recent egregious example from Craigslist (edited for brevity and to protect the guilty):
We are “XX team,” the unofficial athletic & social club of the [Unnamed Gov't Agency] . Our mission is to help [Gov't Agency] employees and contractors make friends throughout The Agency - and you can help! This is a great opportunity for you to learn about the [Gov't Agency], make valuable contacts – and play softball and/or kickball!
YOUR DUTIES: Your Main Responsibility - We play our games on The National Mall, in the shadow of The Washington Monument. Most fields are on a first-come, first serve basis. Your primary duty will be to arrive at The Mall around 3pm on game days, and “camp-out” on a field until the team arrives at 4:30pm. Feel free to bring a book and a camping chair and work on your tan! Additional Duties - The XX Team also has a need for creative writers, journalists, photographers, web-site & graphic designers. If you have any of these skills (or would like a chance to develop them) let us know! Other Opportunities - After you've joined our organization, you may see opportunities to add value that we hadn't thought of. Let us know your ideas - we may let you run with it!BENEFITS TO YOU: Your internship will take place outside! You'll get to play softball & kickball on The National Mall! You’ll get to make new friends! You’ll learn about the [Gov't Agency] and make valuable networking contacts! And while we can’t promise you that one of your contacts will turn into a job opportunity, there is always that possibility!
****************************************************
PLEASE NOTE: (!) This is not an [Gov't Agency] internship. We are not officially affiliated with the [Gov't Agency] . We are merely a large club composed of Agency employees & contractors. You will be interning for an extracurricular sports club - not a government agency.
I especially love how they dangle the vague possibility of making contacts that might in some obscure way eventually lead to a job when it's clear that this "internship" holds no more networking potential than hanging out at your local Starbucks or crashing cocktail parties on the Hill.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Smell the baby's head!
My dad forgot my birthday, and I awoke to a loud singing voicemail from him the next morning.
Happy birthday, Lisa D
You are no longer thirty-three
Here's a fact you can't ignore:
You are now thirty-four
My dad had it all wrong. This was my 33rd birthday. But my slightly fuzzy morning-after-birthday-at-a-brewpub-brain couldn't quite be sure. So I hopped on the Internet and Googled an age calculator, sure that my dad was the one whose brain was addled by age. But the calculator confirmed the hateful lyrics in my father's song. In a sad aside, this was also an unfortunate truth for my husband who doesn't remember his age but knows he's a year younger than I am, and was equally shocked to find out he's actually 33. So we both aged an extra year overnight. Thanks, Dad.
[If I was the tea-partying type, I would've at least had the comforting option of believing that this was actually a government/Internet conspiracy to trick me. Unfortunately, unlike Glenn Beck, I tend to let facts get in the way of my most cherished notions. Although...no one has produced a birth certificate validating the fact that I was born in 1976.]
Smell the baby's head!
Last month I visited my recently married friends, Chris and Jeff, for Mardi Gras. Another friend joined us for a parade with her 18-month-old toddler, Olivia. If cutie-pie Olivia doesn't make you want babies, nothing will. My slightly intoxicated friend Chris, married just under a year, sat next to me holding Olivia and tried to convince me I should have kids soon. "I'm just not ready. I need to find stable employment, and I'm probably going to go back to school," I argued.
But Chris knows that I'm just stalling. These are perfectly legit reasons - but you can always find a good reason why it's not the right time to procreate.
"SMELL THE BABY'S HEAD!!," Chris demanded, proferring Olivia to me. "It will OPEN your CERVIX," she shouted among the families enjoying the Sunday afternoon parade.
I explained to Chris that the idea that smelling a baby would trigger some kind of chemical reaction arousing my maternal instincts was utterly ridiculous. Plus, I had already tried it. Nothing happened.
Irrationality
Since I can't wait forever for those maternal urges to kick in, 34 years old means it's time for me to make a rational decision to just have the damn baby. But as my mother pointed out recently, there is no such thing as a rational decision to have a baby. Well-documented research shows that childless couples have happier marriages and experience about a 15% higher life satisfaction level overall. Also, they have a lot more money and the women have perkier boobs, to boot.
But my wonderful, patient husband really wants children. And I'm getting to the panicky age where I can't screw around much longer. It's pretty much now or never -- so I guess we're taking the plunge. But first I have a month to consume all the coffee, alcohol and mercury-laced fish I want. Cheers.
Happy birthday, Lisa D
You are no longer thirty-three
Here's a fact you can't ignore:
You are now thirty-four
My dad had it all wrong. This was my 33rd birthday. But my slightly fuzzy morning-after-birthday-at-a-brewpub-brain couldn't quite be sure. So I hopped on the Internet and Googled an age calculator, sure that my dad was the one whose brain was addled by age. But the calculator confirmed the hateful lyrics in my father's song. In a sad aside, this was also an unfortunate truth for my husband who doesn't remember his age but knows he's a year younger than I am, and was equally shocked to find out he's actually 33. So we both aged an extra year overnight. Thanks, Dad.
[If I was the tea-partying type, I would've at least had the comforting option of believing that this was actually a government/Internet conspiracy to trick me. Unfortunately, unlike Glenn Beck, I tend to let facts get in the way of my most cherished notions. Although...no one has produced a birth certificate validating the fact that I was born in 1976.]
Smell the baby's head!
Last month I visited my recently married friends, Chris and Jeff, for Mardi Gras. Another friend joined us for a parade with her 18-month-old toddler, Olivia. If cutie-pie Olivia doesn't make you want babies, nothing will. My slightly intoxicated friend Chris, married just under a year, sat next to me holding Olivia and tried to convince me I should have kids soon. "I'm just not ready. I need to find stable employment, and I'm probably going to go back to school," I argued.
But Chris knows that I'm just stalling. These are perfectly legit reasons - but you can always find a good reason why it's not the right time to procreate.
"SMELL THE BABY'S HEAD!!," Chris demanded, proferring Olivia to me. "It will OPEN your CERVIX," she shouted among the families enjoying the Sunday afternoon parade.
I explained to Chris that the idea that smelling a baby would trigger some kind of chemical reaction arousing my maternal instincts was utterly ridiculous. Plus, I had already tried it. Nothing happened.
Irrationality
Since I can't wait forever for those maternal urges to kick in, 34 years old means it's time for me to make a rational decision to just have the damn baby. But as my mother pointed out recently, there is no such thing as a rational decision to have a baby. Well-documented research shows that childless couples have happier marriages and experience about a 15% higher life satisfaction level overall. Also, they have a lot more money and the women have perkier boobs, to boot.
But my wonderful, patient husband really wants children. And I'm getting to the panicky age where I can't screw around much longer. It's pretty much now or never -- so I guess we're taking the plunge. But first I have a month to consume all the coffee, alcohol and mercury-laced fish I want. Cheers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)