True Story Thursdays vol. 4

Back when my blog was known about and/or read by very few and commented on by virtually none, I had the luxury of sitting back and theorizing about what I thought my imaginary audience was thinking. This provided me with a great deal of text which was a lot of fun to write but very likely a great big snore to read. Now that I have an only partially imaginary audience which contains a few more real people whom I know in real life, I've been all in a tizzy over what to write about. I've promised Amber to lay off with the imagining what hypothetical people might be thinking and talk more about things I know personally. Can I write words that are interesting and funny without trying to wrap words around the thoughts of imaginary people? Or will this place go back to being an indecipherable and sometimes slightly creepy online diary like it was in the early days?

Because when you get right down to it, the sum total of things I actually know stuff about is rather small. I don't have a lot of local activities that get me out of the apartment, and don't have the expertise to write about politics or cultural events or even bring a historical perspective to the issues which intrigue me the way Geds does. I am sometimes good at making words with shiny, rhymey sounds, sometimes good at blathering on in a pompous-sounding way about things that happen inside my brain or the hypothetical brains of others, and occasionally I notice a fun new book or game or website that seems worth spewing words about. I've also occasionally written about sports under my "football fridays" tag, which starting tomorrow will finally switch over the first futility friday in honor of my nearly-beloved Chicago Cubs. (Heh. Almost said "kick off" the first futility friday. Save that football terminology for the fall, woman!)

So this Thursday's true story will be about what I've been up to lately: traveling through a magical country called Job Search Land. In hyperbole, which is the best kind of bole!

The capitol city of this country is called Employment Agencyville. The people are friendly, the travel agents' business cards are stacked in neat little racks at their front desks, and the water in the water coolers is free. But it is hard to get one of them to actually sit down with you and review your qualifications! I took a walk around downtown and visited several agencies a couple of weeks ago, sometimes to drop off my resume, other times just to see if there was an opportunity tucked away in their back pocket they'd simply forgotten to tell me about. But alas, pickings truly were slim. Apparently immigration into Job Search Land has been hectic in recent months, and they just can't find enough boats, planes, and goat-drawn rickshaws on which current residents may flee. Once, I'd stopped an Agent's office while she was on the phone and couldn't speak to me right away, and I caught a look at her board of positions needing to be filled. And she wasn't lying--it was more than half empty, meaning very few nations in the Empire of Workplaces are accepting immigrants of any kind. Of course, it's always worthwhile to visit Agencyville, and check in on them once in awhile to make sure they don't forget you exist. (Job Searchians all look the same after awhile.) Still, the tourist attractions become dull once you've seen them, the restaurants all close promptly at five pm, and eventually you find yourself standing on a street corner looking at the bum selling newspapers and thinking, "hey, that guy has a job! I wonder how you get a gig like that?" At that point I knew it was time to explore other parts of the Land.

I then took a long sojourn in the populous but low-rent suburb of Craigslistia. They have an entire district devoted to the very type of job I'm after, and for the bulk of February I wandered its boards with great gusto. Craiglistia is like a great market bazaar, crammed with postings bearing colorful descriptions on their big sandwich-board signs which promise speedy exit from Job Search Land for the right applicant. I forwarded my information to many a contact person, and trudged to and fro for many a sunny afternoon, waiting for someone to get back to me.

My walkin' fingers began to get tired after a month or so, and I recently decided to abandon Craiglistia for the more exclusive suburb of Employer Websiteton. Empoyer Websiteton is a vast, manicured garden of gated communities, each with their own applicant entry requirements, and each with its own short list of possible berths for emigration. Some companies are large, and though their requirements are stringent, an applicant on the move can hope to be considered for an interview if there is a strong enough correlation between the responsibilities printed on the posting and the information contained in the all-important Passpo--I mean, Resume. Others are smaller and lower-tech, but seem to entice with the promise of speedy turnaround times and the feel-good vibe of automatic application-received emails.

It is still my fond hope to leave Job Search Land for a destination not too far from downtown Chicago, that is, within the reach of our fair city's excellent public transit network. Something administrativey, ideally perhaps at a place of learning. Where sneakily, at night, I can add further educational baubles to my Passpo--I mean, Resume. So that during my next sojourn in this Land I can explore even more avenues of escape. Ones that offer the fabled, mytic treasures of Paid Holidays or even, dare I say, the fearsomely enchanted Sword of Medical and Dental Benefits!