The Dance of the Unemployed

8:00 AM: Eyes open. How is it possible to awaken at the same time every day with no alarm? Maybe, because I get enough sleep. Who says there are no perks to life on the dole?

8:30 AM: Turn on TV. Turn off TV. Weather and traffic—not useful. Scrub face and teeth, dress in sweats. Tug a brush through really, really long hair that I cannot afford to have cut. Ready to commute.

8:31 AM: Commute downstairs. No traffic. Sip store-brand diet cola (brand cola is too pricey). Now, energized, ready to set the world on fire, I crank up the computer.

Today's the day to find my dream job!

8:40 AM: Great news! My Google Reader has delivered 53 job posts that fit my search criteria. Busy day ahead. I'm pretty sure several of these jobs are going to be just what I'm seeking.

Job Post One: Vice President - Human Resources. Anchorage, Alaska. Right job, wrong location.

Job Post Two: Chief Human Resources Officer. Los Angeles, California. Salary 20% below my previous job—in a city with a 74% higher cost of living than where I now live.

Job Post Three: Vice President - Human Resources. Washington, DC. "Local candidates only," it says.

Job Post Four: Chief Human Resources Officer. Birmingham, Alabama. Close to home. Good salary. But, wait, it says "Candidates without manufacturing experience will not be considered." Oops, not me.

Job Post Five: Vice President - Human Resources. Atlanta, Georgia. Finally! "Company seeks candidate with no previous executive experience."

Wait, did I read that right? "We seek a former Director ready to move up. Experienced VPs will not be considered."

Um, what? So, they want inexperienced candidates?

Translation: "We don't have enough money to pay someone with a clue." I guess that means that those with 19 years of experience starve in the streets, right?

Job Posts 6-53: Much the same.

10: 30 AM: A new e-mail message:

Ariel,

Thank you for submitting your résumé for our HR Business Partner position. We have finalized our candidate pool. We moved forward with the candidates that we did select, based on specific requirements from the client.

Enjoy your day!

Susan

Well, Susan, I might would have enjoyed my day a whole lot better without this e-mail.

I review the position Susan filled without me: mid-level HR position in Atlanta. I had tried to be open-minded about the job, not limiting myself only to management or executive positions even though that's my background. But, I have been turned down for every mid- or lower-level position for which I have applied.

"Overqualified" is the familiar refrain.

Translation: "We cannot afford you,"

Or,

"We don't think you will stay after the economy recovers."

At least Ol' Suze had the good graces not to say that.

11 AM: My mom calls.

"No, Mom, no good job postings today—and I got a turndown from that Atlanta one I told you about last week."

11:30 AM: E-mail from my friend, Kate. She's been terrific about checking in for updates.

"No, I haven't found a job yet."

Feeling close to putting my head through a wall, I stop for lunch. Turn on the TV. While I chew, I reflect glumly that I'd really rather watch TVLand all day. Or take a nap. But as I clean up my lunch dishes, guilt heads off TV or sleep.

I return to my office. I must toil at this task to feel worthy to receive that precious dole check.

Noon: My father calls.

"No, Dad, no job today. Not even any good leads today. Yes, I checked all the job boards. Yes, I saw that one. They want union experience. I don't have that. It's a no-go."

12:30 PM: I need a jazzier market plan. All the experts say professional networking unlocks the "hidden job market"—jobs that never get posted. I compile a list of top-notch contacts.

I hate calling people to ask for favors. In my career, I've always been the one giving, not the one receiving. This is new for me and it makes me uncomfortable.

My career coach some times quotes from Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway. I'm not afraid, I just hate it. But I'll do it.

Back to my network list: At the top: Nina Smith, HR executive with lots of connections—this is my Grade A Prime contact; Tim Darren, head honcho with a prestigious executive search firm; Adam McNair from the outplacement firm; Jane. . .

Wait. A new e-mail. It's Nina. Great coincidence; she contacted me. Perfect excuse to network. Nina knows everybody who is anybody in HR in Atlanta.

Ariel,

Hope all is well. Since I last saw you, my position at Express Medical Equipment was made redundant when Ace Medical took over. My last day was four weeks ago. I am writing in hopes that you can provide advice or referrals. You know everybody in the local HR community so I'm confident you can help me! I am seeking a local HR executive opportunity. Would love to meet for coffee to discuss this further.

Nina

Uh-oh. Not good news. Nina out of work?

My network is now unemployed? How do I network if my network is also on the dole?

I squash the rising panic. I'll set-up that coffee meeting with Nina and then return to my networking plan. I will finish my list. I will make my calls. I will remain calm.

I can do this.

Tim offers to be a reference. Adam knows of nothing. Jane . . .

5 PM: After telling yet one more concerned friend "No, I haven't found a job yet" I review the day's results.

(1) I have two coffee appointments. How does a person who doesn't even drink coffee get two coffee appointments in one week?

(2) I have two résumé critique offers.

(3) Two others expressed regret that they "didn't know anyone." (How do you work in a career for twenty years and not know anyone?) And, one executive search consultant bemoaned the fact that his business was so slow.

7 PM: I work and rework my résumé until dinner. After I eat: TV. Maybe some mindless entertainment will help me unwind; it's about the only leisure activity still available on my limited dole budget.

8 PM: Dancing with the Stars is on. I used to dress up and attend charity galas. Not this year. Now, the only evening festivities I attend are vicariously through the DWTS cast. The only “dance” I do is in my job search. I pull a cat into my fleece-clad lap and snuggle into the sofa to watch.

Yet, my job search woes flit through my mind like Edyta Sliwinska
quick stepping across the dance floor.

For the rest of this evening, I will not think about the job search, I tell myself, as I blissfully lose myself in visions of sequins, spray tans, foxtrots and Argentine tangos.

Photo courtesy of Petr Novák, Wikipedia

Welcome to My Life on the Dole

October 1, 2009: the day I got downsized.

I awoke with no place to go, and no one—except my parents and my cats (who only wanted to be fed)—caring what I did all day.

Blank calendar. Silent phone.

On the to-do list: breakfast. Getting out of my PJs: entirely optional.

Worst of all, a scary thought sprang to life and whizzed frantically through my brain. The one thought I'd worked so hard to push out of my mind during the nine-month transition that led to the inevitable downsize:

I have no job. No income. No prospects.

Am I'm going to live in a refrigerator box?

Under a bridge?

Or—dare I think it—with my parents?

Would my cats starve? Would they be forced to eat supermarket cat food?

Ummm. . .would I?

Deep breath. Think calmly.

More deep breaths: In. Out. In. Out. Ommmmmmmm.

Calming down, my mind quickly reviewed my career.

I've had a paycheck of one kind or another since age 15.

Before that, I ironed Dad's shirts for .25 cents each and recycled aluminum cans. At 15, I tutored for $10 per week--the most money I'd ever made. In high school, I toiled as a sales clerk, an administrative assistant and a legal assistant. College summers and holidays brought even more riveting assignments: stuffing envelopes; entering payroll data; and organizing electrical and plumbing textbooks in the college library.

College graduation coincided with the worst job market since the 1980s. No jobs for silly new graduates who thought sociology would be a "really fun major". And, yes, that's exactly what I told my annoyed parents when they suggested business or accounting.

With no job prospects, I backtracked to my old drugstore cashier job. As I rang up Rolaids and maxi pads, former classmates passing through my line commented, "But, I thought you were going to college." After a beet-red blush, I mumbled "Yeah, I did."

To make ends meet—car payment and car insurance—I began substitute teaching and temping for four agencies. I managed to work somewhere most days although I had no idea where I'd be working when I awoke each morning.

I landed my first "real" job that spring as an administrative assistant in a hotel I called "Motel Hell". Six months later, I got downsized at 4 PM--ironically on Halloween. Since I really hated that job, that day was my happiest one since I got hired. For once, I did not cry all the way home.

By 7 PM, I had a job offer and went straight from Motel Hell to my new job without even a day off in between. I had a small but decent salary. Finally, I was a real grown-up with a job I enjoyed.

Six years later with my newly minted master's degree, I landed a position as a healthcare HR executive. Two promotions later, I had ascended the career ladder to Chief Human Resources Officer. Then my position—and I—became "redundant" when another company took over.

Financially, I was doing well. I've always been the kind of person who believed it was important to not just live within my means, but well below my means. The most important things my salary bought me were a debt-free lifestyle and the ability to donate to my church and other nonprofit organizations with missions in which I believe.

But, the material things weren't so bad either. My comfortable salary also meant: business attire and briefcases; professional hair cuts at a hip salon; daily restaurant lunches; European vacations; Alaskan cruises; a maid; a gardener; gym membership; shopping whenever; prime-time movies with concession stand snacks; and several pampered kitties who eat organic food pricier than that fed to most children.

Still, my salary came at a price: life was a rush of activity with 10-12 hour work days. Friends and family complained they rarely saw me. Something always needed to doing. I loved my job, so I didn't mind the frantic pace.

Loved. As in past tense. Over. Finished.

Returning to the present , I took a deep breath and thought: Wait. I can do this. No debts. A recently refinanced mortgage with a reduced payment. A sizeable final paycheck arriving soon.

I had networking ideas. Haven't people always told me I know everybody? I do!

Deep breath. Positive thoughts.

Unemployment is not a catastrophe, I told myself. It's only a temporary problem to be solved through creative thinking and relentless networking. This is doable.

Then I reminded myself of what my friend always said to her children: "You get what you get, so don't pitch a fit."

I fed the cats, poured myself what was left of the high-fiber, all natural, healthy cereal, noting that this pricey stuff would not be in my grocery cart for a while, and embraced my new life—pajamas, fuzzy slippers, silent phone and all.