The Job Search Codified

           

            Ahh, it’s that time once again. Time to brush the dust off the old resume and start pounding the pavement, shaking hands and smiling my best smile all in the hopes that I can earn a living like a typical adult.

            But it’s really none of that stuff anymore, is it? You don’t have the luxury of meeting someone (anyone?) face-to-face in order to show off your personality. You have the luxury of “saving time” (or saving someone time) by doing everything via the modern personal computer (Hold applause, no really).  

            Thanks to the advent of the internet, I’ll edit my resume electronically. All the while keeping a keen eye peeled to make sure my key words match their those used in the job description at a rate of 80% or more. From there, before I even meet a prospective hiring manager, I will answer a 100 question “personality test” that basically gauges whether or not I’m a sociopath, likely to steal office supplies, or generally be an unproductive waste of space once hired. And in my favorite part of the process, I’ll get to upload my resume and then on the very next screen, fill in each section of my resume in overly complex little boxes that require the most minute details. If I miss anything, or have any typos, I get to see that glowing red box of idiocy if formatted even the slightest bit outside the website’s parameters.

            I can chose to check boxes that tell a company my ethnicity, military and disability status, or I can keep it a secret. Because maybe I’m afraid I’m too Caucasian, or not Caucasian enough (Just what the in the blue hell is “Caucasian” anyway)?

            Luckily, if I don’t get the job, I’ll get that important hope-crushing email that proudly declares “We have decided to pursue other candidates”. Worse yet, I may never hear anything...ever. In fact, I am still waiting on that mortgage broker gig from 2001.

            Speaking of that, how many high quality candidates, hard working folks, are lost in the information algorithm that is the online job hunt? Do you feel like you’ve missed out on jobs, careers even, because you checked the “wrong” answer in response to a question? Or simply the computer program couldn’t exactly reconcile your qualifications with that of the position you were applying for? I know I often do.

            It has been said that looking for a job is in effect a full time job. And often times it does feel like a full time job, minus the pay, human interaction, and personal sense of satisfaction or accomplishment.

Call Center: Take Two

            I was heading into work last week and saw a kid (I can say kid because he was closer to eighteen than twenty one, and I am closer to forty than thirty, both of these things are sad in their own way). Anyway, he had on a t-shirt that read “Carpe Diem”- this is absolutely true. I asked him if he was trying to be ironic. He said he didn’t know – for his part, probably also true.

            I did start me down a path of thought. See both of us are employed in a call center. Yes you know, one of those tall office buildings where a bunch of drones with headsets attempt to talk to regular people about a whole myriad of things. Perhaps you haven’t paid your bills, maybe you just got into a car accident, or it could be that you’re overburdened by money, and someone is desperately trying to sell you something.  Me, I work in tech support, employed by a vendor company that I can’t mention,  for a primary company I can’t name, that supports products I can’t freely talk about.

            Confidentiality. You understand, I’m sure. Rest assured, whatever it is I may or may not do, it doesn’t involve national defense, or require security clearance. However, there are lots of problems with this job.

This gentleman is showing call center managers where they can stick it to their employees.

            The main thing is, I’ve already done all this before. I mean I’ve been at this for a month now, and all I can think about is how everyone I’ve been introduced to I’ve either met before, and / or done their job in a previous job of my own. In my training class there was the know-it-all (not me this time, more on that in a bit), the trainer, the hip one, the professional, the manager, the burnout, the person that can’t be bothered to take anything seriously (also not me), the team lead, the immature one, the conspiracy guy, the section manager, the loud mouth (sorry, still not me), and a few others.

            Before I get into where I fit in with all of these caricatures, let me give you some insight on the type of company we are dealing with…

            …We started the class with 23 souls, by day two we had lost two people. They just vanished; no one knows what became of them. By the end of week 1,  two more had dropped, one for sleeping in class, and one that was fired for having “court” and missing too much of the “training”. In week 2, two more people were terminated for dozing during class, and one for attendance on that Monday. He just showed up at lunch on day 6, with no explanation, and no phone call. Midweek of week 2 a few more dropped, one of which was due to DCS taking her kids (or that’s what she told me). No judgment here, DCS takes a lot of kids, or so I’ve heard.  The other two were let go because of cell phone use in class. This particular employer thinks the world will end if a cell phone comes in close proximity to a work computer. That brought us to week three when two of the people in class decided they needed to fight one another. Perfectly normal, and professional workplace behavior, right? However, I suspect because we had lost so many people they let it slide. Two days later these two were at it again, one of them terminated because he had been deemed instigator. Finally, on the last day of training, again another person vanished, and another failed to complete an exam we needed to pass in order to remain employed. By the end of the three week training we were down to nine.

            And then there was me. Again, having done all this before, I wasn’t sure if this particular place was where I needed to be, I still am not sure, if I’m being honest. My perspective is at least different. I’m not the know-it-all, or the class clown, or even the loud mouth.

            It’s much worse. I’m the old guy. And by old, I mean oldest actually. And that’s only because two of the sleepers that were fired had waved bye-bye to fifty years old long ago. I wear glasses in class, I check CNN instead of Snapchat on my breaks, and God help me, I contribute to the general goings-on during class! Sadly, this is the only part of this experience that is new. I find it hard to relate to my whippersnapper classmates, and harder still to relate to the members of management I’ve met. Notably, I have left out my previous career accolades, as I didn’t want to intimidate anyone. At least I’m the socially awkward one, a role that I am used to, and can carry well.

            Clearly, I am less than thrilled with this job. So is it the fact I’m starting at the bottom all over again? Possibly, I take issue with the job because of its menial, repetitive nature? Perhaps, it’s because I lack the passion for the work. Or maybe, just maybe it’s because it’s a call center.

            Someone once told me that call centers are places where dreamers weep and creativity goes to die. If that’s true, I’ve both wiped my tears, and come back from the dead. Unfortunately, now feel like I’m marching right back down that path to the slaughterhouse.

            Also, do you hear that ringing? Somebody answer that damn phone! Oh wait, that’s my job…

Everything's Gonna be OK?

I saw Tim walk into the break room, shoulders hunched, head down carrying his red Igloo cooler.  

“How’s it going Tim?” I did it, I asked the question to which no one really wants to hear the answer. Based on the most current office gossip I realized I already knew the answer anyway, which made my question all the more regrettable. From my perch against the counter, I took a swig of soda.

Tim looked up at me with those basset hound eyes life had recently given him, “Do you really want to know?” He made his way to an empty table, manhandled a seat, and plopped himself down along with his things.

Internally, I gasped, he had given me an out. “Yes of course.”

Wait, what the hell did I say that for?

Tim cocked his head to one side. It would’ve reminded me of that canine head tilt, but in his eyes I saw no confusion, only suspicion. He raised his eyebrows, as if to say, Are you sure?

“Let’s hear it,” damn it I was too polite. I barely knew Tim and I didn’t think that whatever he was about to tell me I was qualified to hear as a random co-worker .

“Well you heard about Heather?” he said it as if he were testing me, feeling out the level at which I had dipped my feet into the stream of office gossip.

I nodded, as Tim unpacked the contents of his cooler. I saw the main course of his lunch was some mystery concoction of a light brown globular mixture in a tupperware container. He also set aside a smaller container which held a brownie, last was a bottle of generic sports drink. I remember because the pale blue liquid matched his eyes.

Tim’s eyes told me he already knew that I had known about his wife’s condition. “She’s gotten worse,” his words were sharp, short and to the point.

I was in too deep, and I felt like Tim needed an outlet, so I did the unthinkable. “Hmm, how is she doing?”

Tim shot those skeptical eyes my way again, still not sure if I was truly asking because I cared, or asking out of some poorly constructed sense of duty. I wasn’t sure myself. “Bedridden, for, “ he looked at the ceiling for an answer, “oh about a week now.”

“Sorry to hear man.”

“Yeah, she’s losing a lot of mobility.”

“Oh yikes,” I sighed, “so any positives, hints of improvements?”

“Nope,” Tim popped open his container of brown goo.

I tried to change the subject, “Whatcha got for lunch there?”

He didn’t take the bait, or the hint.

“She’s having trouble taking care of herself, so it’s getting harder on me, physically...mentally.”

“Can you get any sort of help with that?”

I didn’t expect Tim to respond with any humor, even if glib, but he did, “Are you volunteering?” the comment was flaky and dry.

I forced a chuckle. “Well I meant family, that sort of thing?”

“Heather’s family? Bunch of backwards religious fanatics. My family? Elitist rat racers. So no I doubt it,” Tim’s voice lowered, “I mean honestly it’d be nice just to get someone in there to deal with her incontinence.”  

I broke eye contact with Tim. In desperation, I turned to the only phrase that came to mind, “Everything is going to be okay.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed and his lips became tight. “How dare you.”

“Huh?” I sipped on my Mountain Dew.  

“I tell you that I’ve spent the last week cleaning up my dying wife’s shit and the best you can do is ‘everything is going to be okay?’”

Tim’s comment should’ve thrown me, or pissed me off. Afterall, I didn’t volunteer to be the one for him to take his anger out on. But as I looked him over and tried to think of how to respond, I saw his face for the first time, really saw it I mean. I had worked with this guy for three years and never really knew what he looked like. And what he looked like was a man that had let life walk all over him.

When I remained silent Tim barely hesitated in berating me again, “I guess the next thing you’re going to say is ‘In time I’ll get over her’ right? That seems to be a popular phrase too, like everyone’s already preparing me for the worst. Well god dammit she’s my wife! How the hell could anyone think I’d want to get over the love of my life?”

Tim began to sob, I didn’t speak. I just let him, let me (and everyone else) that had made one of these empty, self-serving comments have it.

Tim pushed his lunch away in disgust. “Chose your words more wisely next time.”

 

Humbled and Confused

Once upon a time I was a wealthy employee of a multinational banking corporation. My job was admittedly cushy; I worked from home, I made closer to six figures than the opposite direction, and thanks to my job performance I was typically the recipient of a rather generous yearly bonus.       Unfortunately, this same job was extremely stressful and required upwards of sixty hour weeks at times.

So naturally I got fed up, and decided I wanted to do something more meaningful with my life. I wanted to “make a difference” (vomit).

These days I’ve returned to school as a “non-traditional” student (A.K.A. “old”) to finish my degree in social work. It’s not the heroic life I envisioned (kidding of course I never assumed this line of work would be heroic). But it’s a far cry from corporate life. After doing the student thing for about a year, I finally have become comfortable with rejoining the workforce on a part time basis (for more industry-based experience and beer money).  

After searching for about three months I decided to apply for a job as a caregiver with a local group home for the developmentally disabled. There’s been a learning curve, but not regarding the job duties or how to perform the work. No, the learning has come from the realization that the public sector performs much differently than the private sector.

From a banking perspective I can’t tell you how many hours I spent in training courses for the various jobs I had entered into before actually performing them. My experience with this particular group home has been much different. Although I will mention that before starting in the field the state required a first aid, CPR, Article nine and Prevention and Support. I was impressed by all of these as they were each several hours long and fairly thorough. However, the attention to detail ended there.

Once starting with my agency, who is contracted through the state to provide services to those with developmental disabilities, I was tasked to job shadow in the group home. My first day’s training consisted of reviewing daily medications, meeting the residents of the home (both of these tasks were completed in no more than thirty minutes). I was told the remaining of the time I’d be doing company-based training on the computer.

Much to my surprise I was quickly told after arriving I would be helping to chaperone residents of the home to an event at the local pro baseball field.  Before leaving I was also told that there would be no room in the car the other staff and residents were taking and I’d have to use my own (a week later and I still haven’t heard back about being reimbursed for mileage). Following the other staffers I made my way to the ballfield, and then wound up paying for my parking as well.

There then seemed to be some confusion on where we were sitting, and if we were staying for just the event ceremony (the residents got to go down on the field and walk the perimeter). I also thought it odd that for a full company gathering, not one out of the four managers there made an effort to introduce me to the other managers or staff.

I will say the event itself (for the Special Olympics) was nice, and the residents, particularly the kids, seemed to enjoy it. It was good to see them smiling.

I was then told to stay for the duration of the game (though this was sprung on me as well, I still wished to make a good first impression, so I agreed), as I had long ago passed my four hour shadowing commitment, but then as we returned to our seats to watch the first pitch, we were then told our home’s residents and staff were leaving. So back in the car, and back to the house. Still, my four hour in-home shadow had turned into a six hour ball park excursion. Which is good, considering I needed the extra hours to cover my gas mileage and parking cost.

Fast forward to the next day, I was asked to come in 2 hours early in order to meet with a seasoned staff member in order to ensure I was “set up for success”. Right…

I did so (again good impression), and was surprised to learn the season staff member I was meeting with had been there only 90 days. Again, we reviewed the medication book, but didn’t actually administer any meds, I was shown where the computer training was located that I never got to the day before, and the first aid kits, but only because I asked. The gentlemen showing me around then got permission to leave an hour early (keep in mind I came in two hours early just to meet with him).

I was also left by myself on my second night, not only on the job, but in the field with seven hours of experience. I had been told there’d always be two other staff members present at all times. But I’ve written this, so spoiler alert, I survived. Even changed a diaper, bathed a member and cleaned up urine soaked sheets (I wanted to make a difference right?). I also emailed the supervisor letting them know that while taking their internal training, I was shocked to see the words “handicapped” and “retard” appear in the text. Never heard back on that either, go figure.

 Admittedly, the whole night I was worried I might mess up somehow, make some simple mistake, or overlook something and it would spell the doom of one of the members in the home. Thank God everything was fine. Now, you could chalk this up to nerves, or my own flair for the dramatic. Perhaps those things were part of it, but there was also me expecting to see something more… to see a level of professionalism, and dedication unmatched by any corporate entity.

Where I stand now is left wondering what’s next. As I sit here on the brink of quitting, do the supervisors and managers here think someone like me is expendable only after investing so little in my success? Are my expectations too high? Are their standards too low? Do they look down on me and just think to themselves that I might be a newb that just wasn’t cut out for this line of work? Better question; do they even think at all?

I’m left with the humbling fact that I am making $9.20 an hour, and the confusing idea that a company whose business is the well-being of the people it serves, but does so little to support those that serve the ones they are responsible for.