Musical Interlude: “These Boots Are Made for Walking”

From a February 8, 2009 cover letter. . .

Dear Sir or Madam:

Please accept my attached résumé in response to your search for . . .

Hold it! TWO YEARS???

Seriously, has it really been two years since I began my job search?

In February 2009, when I sent that first cover letter, I could barely breathe from the mental effort it took to hit the “send” button. Yet, it had to be done. It had become clear my much-loved, 12-year job would be eliminated when a new company took over. But, mentally, in looking for other employment, I felt as if I were cheating on the organization I’d given 100 percent loyalty to for so long.

At the time, I was emotionally devastated, feeling “kicked to the curb” like so much useless office debris.

Hurt.

Angry.

Anxious.

Scared.

Even, embarrassed as if I was the one doing wrong—which I was not.

But, things are better now.

True, it’s been a long, hard two years. There were times when I wanted to crawl under the bed covers on a rainy morning and just stay there, whining, “I give up. I just can’t do this any more.”

But, I didn’t.

I got up every day. Got out of my PJs. Put on my game face. Refused to watch daytime TV. Faced the world. Made networking calls. Improved myself with healthier eating and weight loss. Worked my contacts. Cleaned out closets. Attended meetings and community events. Did volunteer work. Developed a bare-bones budget. Developed new skills (such as website design and social media marketing). Met for coffee with anybody and everybody who had any connection anywhere no matter how small that connection. Took classes with an outplacement specialist. Reworked my résumé and reworked my résumé and then reworked my résumé. Joined a local job-search support group. Practiced interview questions. Applied for as many jobs as I could find each week. Made cold calls to companies that might have contract work for me.

Still, the economy and job market teamed up to fight me. No matter what I tried, I got . . . nothing.

But each time I got knocked down, I got up again and refined my efforts and intensified my focus.

Yes, I knew intellectually back in February 2009 it might take a long time to find a new job. But, emotionally, I didn’t think this could or would ever happen to me. Throughout high school and college and my work career, I had been the golden girl—the one who got chosen, promoted, praised. Whatever I wanted, somehow I made it happen.

Or, as my mother put it sometimes, “I’ve never seen anybody so good at pulling the rabbit out of the hat at just the right time.”

Truly, I am thankful that two years ago I did not know I’d still be doing the job hunt two years later. I’ve always been practical, but living through two long years like these turns you into a realist.

I did try to be proactive way back in February 2009 before things fell apart. I launched my search seven months before the job actually went away. My plan back then was a seamless, blissfully short transition to a new—better!—position. Why not? My life experience was that better things followed good things. I had no experience with nobody wanting me on any team for any position at any salary.

Yet, two years and hundreds of applications later, I sit in the same chair at the same desk in—thankfully!—the same house still scrolling through job listings for that still elusive full-time job that will pay the bills and offer some security.

Two years is a long time, but some things have changed for the better:

1. I’ve doo-wopped out of my “Nervous” phase. In early 2009, I worked 12+ hour days, freaked out with worry, unable to sleep, and terrified my boss would discover my job search and fire me on the spot. These day, although I haven’t morphed into some Pollyanna with no cares, I’ve made it emotionally intact through this on-the-dole journey so far and feel sure I’ll make it the rest of the way with my self confidence intact.

2. I’ve sock-hopped out of my “Teenager in Love” phase. Early on, I sent out applications and then constructed romantic scenarios in my head: Would I like this job? Were we a good match? Was there a future there? Could I forsake family and friends for a new life in Iowa or Alaska—or even the South Pole? (Yes, I actually applied for a job in Antarctica! I really did.) Today I still apply for jobs—any job, every job and in most states east of the Mississippi (and a few beyond), but I no longer daydream. I do a little research to see what the company does so that I can tailor my application to their needs. I hit the “send” button. No emotional investment. I can analyze possibilities if they call me.

3. I’ve quick-stepped out of my “Wishin’ and Hopin’” phase. In the beginning, I often pinned my hopes and dreams on exciting job opportunities. I’d look at area real estate ads. I’d picture living in the new location. I’d speculate about co-workers. I’d clean out closets in anticipation of a move. I daydreamed about what it would be like not to have to spend every spare moment searching for a job. I fantasized about buying new clothes and going out to dinner. I even dared to dream of replacing that broken-down clothes dryer. But, disappointment is too great when you’re rejected after so much Springfield-esque “wishin’ and hopin’”. In December, after losing out on a job that I really, really, really wanted—like so many other “close calls,” they discarded external finalists and hired from within, saving salary and relocation expenses—I decided  opportunities have to be mentally closeted in the waiting process. The key to not letting a really long job search weigh you down emotionally is to not pin your hopes on any one opportunity.

4. I’ve strolled out of my “Crying, Waiting, Hoping” phase. I’ve learned to wait without fretting. Companies take three to 12 months to make decisions. That is today’s reality. Worry does not make it go faster. Waiting is still not my preference, but tying myself in knots while doing so is nonproductive. These day, I calmly send the application in and then network and follow-up. And, mentally, I move to the next posting the same day the application goes out.

5. I’m now doing the go-go right on into my new “These Boots Are Made for Walking” reality. I’m creating opportunities. I’ve started a business, and I have clients now—yes, real paying clients—not every week, but some weeks. (On those weeks I do work, I am not eligible for the dole check.) I’m still not ready to say too much here about my “real” business just yet, but it’s progressing.

Meanwhile, I’m reaping dollars from all that closet-cleaning effort by launching an eBay business—“Aunt Ariel’s Attic”—in addition to my regular business. I sell my own treasures as well as a few pieces from other people. Apparently this is a great way to make a few extra dollars. Who knew? Well, I didn’t! But this is fun!

Neither business venture is full-time and neither offers those much-needed health benefits right now—something I’m seriously concerned about because my COBRA insurance ends in April—but I’m optimistic. I can keep a roof over my head and food on the table in the meantime.

I never expected to be where I am today. I never could have imagined that after two years of job searching and 16 months of unemployment, I’d still see no end in sight to my on-the-dole journey. The future looks very different than I originally imagined it.

Yes, it’s true that while in job search mode, you can never really shake the “wishin’ and hopin’’” feeling entirely, but, while I’m sending out applications, I’m also keeping “these boots” walking by planning and progressing. And, one day, when I’m employed again—and I will be—my new employer will benefit by getting a far better employee and person than I was two years ago.

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Just for Fun: Enjoy Nancy Sinatra’s performance of “These Boots Are Made for Walking”. And, after you enjoy this fun retro video, click on the links above for a hidden musical surprise.

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Photo Credits:

Boots: http://www.flickr.com/photos/naiadsspring/271629122/sizes/m/in/photostream/

Worried Woman: http://www.flickr.com/photos/pulpolux/116981263/

Dance: http://media.photobucket.com/image/1950s%20dance/marcarun/dance.jpg?o=6

1950s Magazine: http://media.photobucket.com/image/1950s/gbug1993/1950s_dress_debbie417x589b.jpg?o=504

1960s Style: http://www.flickr.com/photos/naiadsspring/271629122/sizes/m/in/photostream/

Rewriting Titanic: “I’m the King of the World”

Remember Jack Dawson, Leonardo DiCaprio's character, in Titanic? Who can forget his iconic scene on the bow of the ship when he yells into the wind, "I'm the King of the World!"?

Now, I understand how Jack felt.

Why? Because big changes are happening rapidly in my life on the dole and rescue may be at hand. I'm ready to yell into the wind myself.

(Or, worst-case scenario, I might just be like Jack—some poor schmuck without a clue of how things end. But, I really, really, really don't think so.)

It has been pretty evident for the last 10 months, that my unemployment situation has the potential to turn into my own personal Titanic. The dole won't last forever and in spite of my all-out efforts, no lifesaving job offer is being tossed my way.

But, sometimes, when life throws a big, towering iceberg into your path, you have to trust yourself. Instead of sitting in a deck chair trusting that the S.O.S. signals will bring rescue, you take a leap of faith over the side of that sinking ship. Sure, flinging yourself into uncharted, unknown territory is full of trepidation, but passivity never saved anybody. It's better to jump clear of the disaster if you can and increase your chances of survival than to wait around to be sucked under by the behemoth on its way to the bottom of the sea.

Admittedly, you pray on the way overboard that your construction efforts have paid off; somewhere in the churning darkness below bobs that sturdy little lifeboat you've been quietly hammering away on.

Because, what we have here in this economy's big upheaval is a whole new paradigm. The old answers and solutions no longer work. There is no terra firma in sight. And, unless you take matters into your own hands, there never will be.

Let's rewind the past two months and let me tell you what I've been up to and why. While you've been reading blog posts about Mom's, Dad's and my friend's perspective about my life on the dole, I came to a decision. A tough decision, but a decision I feel great about.

But, first, a little background on the job search:

In February and early March, I experienced a tiny flurry of activity from recruiters and hiring companies, but all that activity led nowhere. Afterwards, all responses to my résumé and my networking activities totally screeched to a halt.

Nothing.

No activity whatsoever.

Not so much as one phone call.

I wanted to tap my modem and ask "Hello? Is this thing on? Is anybody out there?"

Still, I kept the faith by sending out résumés and networking, and I continued to attend a job-search group, meeting weekly with more than 100 highly-qualified job seekers like myself. I asked around. Everybody's experience was similar. While mid-level manufacturing candidates snagged a few jobs—mostly after being unemployed for a year or more—executives and management applicants had slammed into a job-search iceberg. The tallest and most massive one jarred the HR executives.

Everybody seemed to be in the same boat. (Titanic, anyone?)

Consider these stories:

I contacted my friend, Nina (remember, my well-connected HR executive friend?). Same story. No job. Trust me, if she's not getting a job with her experience, talent, personality and connections, nobody is getting a job.

I had lunch with my smart, talented, connected school friend, an out-of-work CEO. Same song, second verse.

A third desperate friend with four children and an unemployed wife found his formerly lucrative corporate career and his impressive talent could not even snag him a minimum-wage job.

I noticed an odd new trend. Yes, there were HR jobs, but all were for entry- and mid-level HR positions. Hundreds of job posts flooded the job boards: all for lower-level jobs at one-third to one-half my old salary. There were even a number of posts for unpaid HR internships.

What's this?

It appeared the executive management job market—HR or otherwise—was sinking fast.

Not one to let pride stand in the way, I immediately applied for any and all available jobs. Still, nary a nibble. Maybe application screeners figure I'll abandon ship when the economy improves. Or, maybe they look at my previous salary (a required field on many job applications), and it scares them away. Further, those jobs don't come with relocation packages and, at the proffered pay rates, I cannot afford to sell my home at a loss and move cross-country to any higher-cost-of-living area.

Meaning—at those rates, I can apply only for jobs in my area—but those remain few and far between. On any given week, I actually learn about (maybe) five HR jobs at any level in my area.

Then grim news from my professional association: there are 7,300 Georgia members who have registered their job searches with the association.

What?

And, that doesn't include Georgia HR professionals searching without registering with the association and those from other states willing to come to Georgia for work

There are 7,300+ vying for those lower-lever three to five jobs I see each week?

You don't have to be a Vegas bookie to see those are stinkin' odds, and the jobseeker is on the wrong side of the winning hand.

Then, out of nowhere: a more chilling pattern among my job-seeking friends: Those with 10 or more years of experience rarely get phone calls, losing out to less-experienced candidates.

Reality: Employers don't want those of us who might be expensive.

Then, the final iceberg crashed violently into my job search, whiplashing me into undeniable reality: I saw articles—three in a single week—about companies no longer considering unemployed applicants. Apparently, companies don't care if an applicant has been unemployed a year, six months, a week or 15 minutes—we unemployeds are "damaged goods."

The band may be playing merrily and the deck chairs arranged in perfect order, but the outcome is now clear: my job search ship is not going to make it to safe harbor.

Will I ever work again?

Will my job search last years instead of months?

What happens when my savings runs out?

As if the job market isn't depressing enough, the tiny dole checks that keep us "undesirables" afloat each week may soon be torpedoed as well. Every time Congress debates the issue, more lawmakers get testier about unemployment benefits. Now, Congress has extended the benefits until November. Ironically, benefits are set to expire again at election time.

Reality check: no job, no prospects and little hope those tiny dole checks will continue for the promised time periods.

I realize there are many things I cannot change right now:

I cannot change this rotten economy.

I cannot improve this job market.

I cannot make a hiring company realize my worth.

And, neither can my job-seeking friends.

And then I had my personal Invictus
moment: There is much I cannot change, but I'm still "the master of my fate: the captain of my soul." I will no longer sit quietly in the deck chair trusting in the rules and waiting for an unknown somebody to rescue me.

I'm ready to do now what it takes to rescue myself.

In the Depression, my grandfather fished and gigged frogs to supply a restaurant while my grandmother cooked for a boardinghouse and helped him gather Spanish moss to sell to a mattress company. I would just have to figure out the modern day equivalent of those down-and-out enterprises that kept them afloat.

Comments made to me before I left my previous job began to bob about in my mind:

"Why don't you start a business and hire us to work for you?" a co-worker suggested.

"I think you should start your own business," a business associate told me.

"When you get ready to start your own company, send me your business cards and I'll share them with my clients," another business associate offered.

"No, no," I replied each time it was suggested. "I need a 'real' job with benefits. I cannot let myself get distracted by thoughts of my own business. I need a regular full-time job."

Sure, I briefly thought about the self-employment possibility. It actually was Plan E on my list of options. I met with a CPA. I explored the possibilities. I networked with friends who own businesses. But, I wasn't serious about the idea, because I thought I couldn't afford to be.

It's not as if I am naïve about what goes into being a business owner. My parents have had their own businesses—three of them. I saw that for them it was an incredible amount of hard work and frequent stress. It's just not the easiest way to earn a living.

But, I've thought about it off and on for the last 20 years. I even took a entrepreneurial class in graduate school, but I put the dream behind me because—at that time—I didn't yet have the necessary business experience. It was an idea to save for the future.

I launched my traditional career. I had a good job with a great paycheck and benefits. You don't quit a good job to start your own business.

Wait!

What?

Right, you don't quit a job to start your own business.

But, what if the job quits you?

I realized it's now or never.

I made the decision. I will start my own business. That is the modern-day equivalent of my grandparents' Depression-era strategies.

What will it be?

How will I make it on my own?

Is there any way I can help my job-seeking friends at the same time?

Will it end in wild success or be a catastrophic disaster like Jack Dawson's Titanic experience?

I have no idea. I just know I'm committed to the idea and ready to make the sacrifices necessary to make it happen. Preparing for this in the last few weeks, I've worked harder than I've ever worked in my life while constructing my secret rescue vehicle. I have yet to receive a paycheck. But, thus far, I'm loving every minute.

This plan could indeed turn out to be my lifeboat—the one I'm building with my own two hands.

And, that's why, unlike poor, doomed Jack who never saw reality coming, I actually could turn out to be "King of the world." 

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Just for Fun: Revisit Titanic's "King of the World" moment:

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And for More Fun:
 


















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Photo credits:

King of the World: http://www.flickr.com/photos/wsh1266/2602898490/

Titanic's Lifeboat: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Titanic-lifeboat.gif

Titanic in Harbor: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Titanic.jpg

Iceberg: http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/B1b8L6cjDxPsYWUPNKxq-A

Titanic Painting: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:St%C3%B6wer_Titanic.jpg

Titanic Survivors: http://bit.ly/aUS4wt

The Don: I’m Gonna Make You An Offer You Can’t Refuse

The Godfather was on TV this weekend. How have I missed this classic until now?

The irony? It played like my job search. As I watched characters make requests to Don Corleone on his daughter's wedding day, I felt like one of those poor unsuspecting supplicants. Or, worse yet, the object of Godfather's coercive offers.

Case in point: a phone call in response to my résumé. A phone call guaranteed to put your average job seeker on edge, wondering when the dreaded bloody horse-head-on-the-bed is going to appear.

It started with a call to schedule an in-person interview.

Yes, sweet success! Somebody actually thinks I'm qualified to do an important job at a reputable company for an impressive salary.

Well, hold on. Not so fast.

I guess it's an important job. They really didn't say.

I guess it's a reputable company. They really didn't say.

I guess it's an impressive salary. They really didn't say.

This drama unfolded with a blind newspaper ad. You know the kind: "Local company seeks . . ." No company name. No company description. No industry listed. Very few details in the job description. No address—just a PO box.

Holly.

That's all I got from the call. The administrative assistant is named Holly. No, I don't know her last name. No, I'm not sure she's actually the administrative assistant.

Not much info you say?

This is all the solid info I gathered. Everything after Holly's name was vague. All details dried up from that point forward.

Caller: "Hi Ariel, I'm Holly. We received your résumé. I'm calling to schedule an interview with our CEO."

Me: "That sounds great. Which company you are with?"

Holly (hesitantly): "Um, we're a healthcare company. You responded to our newspaper ad."

Nope, doesn't ring a bell. I respond to lots of blind ads.

Alright, maybe I've not yet met my daily caffeine-intake quota for the day. I'm usually more attentive than this. Did she actually say the company name? No, I don't think so.

Me (trying again): "What is your company's name?"

Holly (lowers her voice to a near whisper as if afraid to be overheard): "Uh, it's XYZ Health Partners."

Hmmm . . . I've been in healthcare nearly 13 years, and I've never heard of these guys.

OK, there you have it—the informative part of the conversation. From there it just got weirder.

Holly couldn't talk about the position.

She didn't know the salary.

All she could say was I needed to meet "Don", the CEO, two days hence in a location three hours from my house. Don's phone number was an Alabama area code even though the company was supposedly in Georgia.

A cell phone maybe? They run the business with cell phones? Not usual, but probably not unheard of either.

Hmmm . . .why did she seem afraid to reveal the company name? Even when searches are posted confidentially it's common practice for reputable companies to disclose the company when arranging the interview.

How does one prepare for an interview with nothing to go on?

A quick Google search reveals no XYZ Health Partners at the listed address or any other information. Further investigation shows the location given to me as in a strip of store-front office buildings—with the indicated suite currently being unoccupied. Something is definitely off with this one. I'm also cautious about the abundance of job search scams that seem to lurk around every job board these days. But I'll reserve judgment until I speak with the mysterious Don.

I call the number. Here's how that went down:

Telephone Answering Person at XYZ Healthcare (Receptionist? Holly?): "Hello?"

What's up with that? A business number where they answer with "hello"? Where's the "XYZ Health Partners. How may I help you?" part of the greeting?

My imagination starting to run wild, I wonder: Is it safe to travel to this interview? Will I be coerced into the Family? Will I owe Don a favor if he hires me?

Don? This guy's name is actually Don?

I cannot seem to stop myself from thinking of him as "Godfather Don" at this point.

Holly promises to have Don call me later today.

Again I wonder how to prepare for this interview. How should I start my introduction? Perhaps I should take inspiration from Luca Brasi? Something like, "Don Corleone, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your deserted strip mall office suite on the hiring day for your HR position. May all your ventures by profitable ones."

Hearing nothing from Godfather Don by nearly 5 PM the next day, I call his office again.

If they want me for an interview tomorrow, don't they have to tell me when and where they want to meet me? And will I need back-up? To be safe, I should probably take somebody with me. But, wait, everybody I know has a job. Well, except for my mother. (Yeah, that should strike cold fear in the Don's heart: me showing up with a little old lady in tennis shoes.)

Feeling more and more uneasy, I make some calls. People in the industry actually do know "the Don". The consensus: "he's different" but "probably" not dangerous.

This time, Holly explains she can't transfer me and asks me to call Don's cell phone. Several rings later, the infamous Don answers.

Don (sounding annoyed): "Look, I don't have much time. Holly says you have questions. I'll answer some, but can't tell you much because your last job was with our competitor."

Ah, well, now maybe that explains some of the weirdness.

But wait, that competitor RIF-ed my job. Why would I rush to them with Don's corporate secrets?

Nevertheless, I listen carefully as Don's explains the job.

I don't know why they called me for this one. It's not even remotely similar to the job posting. I don't remotely have the skills for this job. Eventually, Don figures it out, too.

"I don't think this sounds like a fit," Don tells me with finality.

With my head still spinning, I wonder what happened and how my hopes for an interview evaporated this quickly. Well, at least, we got to the answer without delay. See, I'm a bit like ol' Don Corleone myself—I am one who "insists on hearing bad news immediately."

The good news is, I'm not "sleeping with the fishes". No horse heads under my sheets this morning either. I'm relieved there was no offer that I couldn't refuse. As I push thoughts of "Godfather Don" from my mind, I focus again on my job search.

These mysterious jobs at mysterious companies with mysterious people are becoming the rule rather than the exception. Actually, I think I'm getting the hang of them. No time to dwell on this one. There are other mysterious job postings at other mysterious companies with yet more mysterious people for which I must submit my résumé.

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Just for Fun: Watch The Godfather Movie Trailer:

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And for More Fun: Check Out:

 

 

 

 

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Photo Credits:

Don Corleone and Cat: <div xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" about="http://www.flickr.com/photos/beatles/3429398512/"><a rel="cc:attributionURL" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/beatles/">http://www.flickr.com/photos/beatles/</a> / <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/">CC BY-SA 2.0</a></div>

Job Less Newspaper Ad:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/khalilshah/ / CC BY-NC 2.0

Luca Brasi: http://godfather.wikia.com/wiki/File:Vlcsnap-2010-02-24-19h32m59s164.png

Don Corleone: http://godfather.wikia.com/wiki/File:Vito_Corleone.jpg

An Offer He Can't Refuse: <div xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" about="http://www.flickr.com/photos/beatles/3429441886/in/set-72157616496731255/"><a rel="cc:attributionURL" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/beatles/">http://www.flickr.com/photos/beatles/</a> / <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/">CC BY-SA 2.0</a></div>

 

 

Mystery Date Redux?

Remember the Mystery Date board game?

Little girls loved playing Mystery Date. My mother, of course, wouldn't let me have the game. However, my neighbor, Joanie, an older teenager did have it, and at Joanie's house, I could—and did—sneak in a few rounds without Mom finding out.

The goal was simple: You always hoped to go on a date. You always hoped to get the handsome guy. You always hoped to not get the scary, sloppily-dressed date—the "dud".

That was then. This is now. Has my job search has turned into Mystery Date: Career Version?

Yep, that's right, folks! Decades years later, I find myself playing a real-life round of Mystery Date:

Phone rings.

It's Joe McSwain, a recruiter in Wyoming. (A long way from my Georgia town. I've never heard of him.)

Joe can't recall how he came by my resume. Perhaps from someone else who possibly got it off the CareerBuilder site, he thinks?

(Uh-oh. I've got a bad feeling about this.)

He knows nothing about the company, CEO, position or salary.

(Um, you don't know anything about any of the important stuff? You are the one doing the search, right?)

A start-up healthcare company is looking for somebody to head up HR. Nope, Joe doesn't know the title either.

"Overqualified," he says of me.

That's a bad word in my book. So why did he even call me?

"But," he hastily adds, "the company may give you part ownership 'to make-up for it.'"

(What "it" are they making up for—precious little money? I thought he didn't know the salary. Part owner? Part owner of what?)

"The company is ABC Healthcare, but don't try to Google it" Joe warns, "There's not much on the Internet about it or the CEO. The company is very new."

Is this guy for real, I wonder. The fastest growing scams these days target job seekers. I've had my share of suspicious job propositions, and one friend actually lost money to a job search scam.

I cautiously continue the conversation.

"The CEO," Joe states with certainty, "will call this afternoon."

I ask for a time frame; I do, after all, have other things to do, yet don't want to be tied up when the call comes.

"He didn't say a time--just 'this afternoon'. Be available." Joe says.

Praying this is both legit and promising, I keep myself available and near the phone all afternoon.

I do not make networking phone calls; don't want to tie up the phone.

I do not clean out the garage; don't want to be up to my neck in junk and lose the phone.

I do not vacuum the house; don't want to be unable to hear the phone.

I do not start cooking dinner; don't want to burn food while being interviewed.

I do not clean the cats' litter box—oh, who am I kidding? I just plain don't want to do that.

I do nothing but sit near the phone. For hours. While it does not ring. Not even once. (Well, actually, I did do one thing: I went to the bathroom every 30 minutes. Didn't want to get caught in a long interview with a full bladder.)

The phone never rang. Yep, not only was my mystery date the "dud", he stood me up, too. This never used to happen in the board game.

Okay, I wasn't all that surprised. This--or something eerily similar--has happened several times before.

Let's review the facts: a mystery recruiter gets my resume in some mysterious way. He calls to screen me for a mystery job at a mystery company at some mysterious rate of pay. A mystery CEO will call me at a mystery time to interview me.

And he never calls.

Tomorrow is another day. Once again I'll play Mystery Date: Career Version. I'll roll the dice, draw another card, take another spin 'round the board, opening the door and my mind to career possibilities.

My dreamy Mystery Date career is still out there somewhere. I just have to keep opening doors until I finally find it.

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Just For Fun: Watch the 1960s Mystery Date television commercial (I particularly enjoyed the groovy 1960s theme music!).


And, For More Fun: Check out the Mystery Date board game.

 

The Tale of Two Women and the Pork Chop Shakedown

When I respond to friends' invitations with "I don't have money for that," do they believe me? They're all comfortably middle class, just like I used to be. This new financial situation of mine is not an experience they can identify with, I think. But, I'm serious; on the dole, I do not have any money for fun.

Therefore, when a favorite author lectured in Atlanta, I was overjoyed at the price: free. Yeah, that's in my budget. I rounded up a willing friend—also out of work—and made the trek into the city. (What about the price of gas, you ask. Fortunately, I have a paid-for, fuel-efficient Honda.)

I needed a break. I'd toiled for nearly three weeks on a complicated federal government job application. Trust me, executive-position federal applications are not for the faint-hearted: 27 single-spaced pages of supplemental materials.

This night out: my reward for completing and submitting that beast.

Just this once, Pat and I decided to splurge; after the lecture we'd enjoy dinner at Mary Mac's Tea Room.

This restaurant serves generous portions at what I used to call moderate prices. Yet, while not extravagantly expensive, a trip to Mary Mac's would still put a significant dent in my monthly food budget. But, I decided to allow myself this one treat, figuring I could compensate later at the grocery store. (Scrambled eggs for dinner, anyone?)

My order came: three tender, gorgeous, delectable, boneless, center-cut chops fried to a crisp golden brown. Yummmm. Heavenly. Meal and tip: just under $17.

There was a time when I considered $17 mere pocket change. Not now. In my circumstances this is big money. But, I did leave with two untouched pork chops. l'd eat twice more from those glorious leftovers. Three meals equal $5.67/meal. Not too bad.

I clutched my pork chop package proudly as we exited, congratulating myself on having eaten well and carting off additional meals, too. A pretty good deal while "on the dole."

We rounded the corner. A skinny, dirty, homeless woman approached.

Woman (aggressively): "Do you have any money?"

(Yikes! Is she mugging us or asking for a handout? I wondered, trying not to panic.)

Woman (not waiting for our reply): "Do you have any spare change? I'm hong-ry."

Me (cautiously): "Um. . . no, I don't have any money."

(I could only think, she truly has no clue how accurate this statement is.)

Woman (pointing at my bag): "Are those leftovers?"

I nodded, dreading what I knew was coming.

Woman: "Can I have them?"

I truly believe in feeding the hungry, both human and animal, but oh, Lord, I thought, why tonight? Yet, how could I deny this woman my leftovers? Truth is, I could not, and both of us knew it. This was not hunger in the abstract—the kind for which you write a check to the Salvation Army. This was hunger here and now and in my face.

I can't bear for any human or creature to be hungry. Especially not when I have a full belly myself. In my more affluent former life, I used to make soup for my church's homeless mission. I've served food to the hungry in soup kitchens, too.

I'd like to tell you I instantly, willingly and altruistically handed over those pork chops—just one human gladly helping another with nary a selfish thought. That's what I'd like to tell you. But, I can't. The plain truth is my first reaction was that it genuinely ticked me off to part with those two precious pieces of pork.

The only way I'd justified spending $17 for one meal was by making two more meals from the leftovers.

The reality is, at that moment, I wasn't moved by the woman's hunger. What I was thinking was: That's $11 worth of pork chops in that bag—a giveaway I could ill afford in my own circumstances.

But, then the thought raced through my brain: "There but for the grace of God, go I." True, some people become homeless through their own poor decisions. Others land there because of mental illness or addiction. But others are homeless because they—just like educated, middle-class me—lost jobs through no fault of their own, resulting in a downward spiral from which they never recovered. Some, unlike me, may not have family or friends to circumvent that slide into poverty and homelessness.

I still have savings. I have a house. I still have an income albeit limited. I never go to bed hungry.

Probably two-thirds of the people in the world would label me "wealthy" right this minute, even in current circumstances. True, I can't shop or go to movies, but unlike so many in third-world countries, I have plenty to eat, a nearly paid-for roof over my head, a dependable car, a full wardrobe, air conditioning and heat and family and friends in a position to help if I need it. I have much for which to be thankful.

I knew what had to be done.

"Sure," I said, after that first hesitation. I handed the bag to her, and hoped my smile was convincing. "It's two pork chops. They're really good. I hope you enjoy them."

Pulling out of the parking lot, I knew I'd done the right thing even though I still longed for those pork chops. Then it occurred to me that even minus the extra meals I was still the winner in that encounter. I would go home to a nice house, full pantry and refrigerator and a materially blessed life—not one of which the homeless woman would ever likely have or even dare to aspire to have.

That night, all some nameless hungry woman on a dark Atlanta street corner got was two cold second-hand pork chops; I got a new handle on just how blessed my life is even "on the dole." 
Photo courtesy of

http://www.flickr.com/photos/haleysuzanne/ / CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Additional Reading: How Starbucks Saved My Life by Michael Gates Gill.

Michael Gates Gill was a well-paid advertising executive in a major New York City firm. He was born not just with a silver spoon in his mouth, but with a whole service for eight. Yet this affluent, Yale-educated, well-traveled, arrogant, pompous "family" man loses his job and his self-esteem leading him to make a series of poor personal choices that will hurt those he loves and send him spiraling into dire straits. While the author's personal choices do not qualify him for sainthood, he is brutally honest about his actions and their subsequent consequences. Gill embarks on a journey of self-discovery—all through hourly employment at Starbucks. Proving that those who give a second chances to those who deserve it the least can—both literally and figuratively—save a life.