Posted February 28th, 2008, in: Ideas, Observations, Opinions, Rants Etc

In case you didn’t know, I’m looking for a job right now. All the fuss got me thinking about how silly the process is, at least for me. I find myself in a weird sort of personal Woody Allen movie, where not only am I totally insecure and the world around me more or less completely nonsensical, but at the same time I find myself entertaining totally self-absorbed notions in a world where I appear to be the only one bothered by all the nonsense. It’s an “I must be the only sane one here” type of thing. Of course, that’s an oxymoronical idea. The insane one is the minority by definition. And that would be me. I thought it would be cathartic for me and possibly entertaining for you if I purge some of my observations and insecurities here. Here are the first two bits of this.

1. The Unreasonable Prerequisite of Appearing Desperate (But Only Desperate in the Right Way)

Even if I’m applying for a position that isn’t really anyone’s career, I feel like I’m expected to act as if I want it to be my career. Two very menial jobs that I’ve applied for recently are good examples of this.

The first was at a gas station down the road from my house. I thought it would be cool for six months or maybe a year -long enough to buy some needed equipment and supplies, get some dental stuff done etc… What’s wrong with that? I’m not above working at a gas station. A bit over-qualified sure, but that was part of the appeal. I’d train easily, perform my duties excellently, and most importantly, I thought it would be nice to not be taking my work home with me mentally. I’d get done with work and be done with work. I haven’t had that luxury since I was a kid. It seems that everything I end up doing for money lately has been the sort of thing that I think too much about on my own time.

I could even go as far as to say that since doing the kind of thing that I get paid considerably more for consumes considerably more of my mind, even after I’m supposed to be done with it for the day, it ultimately equates to making less money per hour.

Plus, the gas station was the perfect distance for me to walk to and from, about 4 miles each way. Walking 8 miles per day would be perfect for helping me to get into a little bit better shape physically, while providing me with an hour of meditative time, twice a day! I love that idea.

Alas, I didn’t get the job. When I went in to meet the guy, presenting my meticulously filled-out “Job Application” form, complete with “N/A’s” on lines that don’t apply to me (more on that later), I got the impression from our short, awkward conversation that I was not desperate or naive enough for his taste. It seemed to bother him when I said I needed to work “for a while.” I felt like I was supposed to say something like: “I have always dreamed of working at a gas station, and now I know it’s my one true calling in life.”

Also, I couldn’t help but sense this weird, dark subtext in our interaction: “Why is a 31 year old man applying for a job at a gas station? What’s wrong with him? What is he not telling me? Life of crime? Drugs? Insanity? He’s obviously not dumb enough to really want to work here, so what secret misfortune has got him so down and out that he would stoop this low?” Perhaps I imagined the details, but I swear there was an element of that sort of pity in his disappointment with me. If my insecurities about the exchange were at all correct, it means that the Gas Station Guy wants someone whose desperate, but only desperate by design, like perhaps an 18 year old with no work history and poor communication skills Etc.

I’m not desperate at all, but It seems to me like our culture dictates that it should be assumed that I am desperate, if I’m willing to apply for a job usually done by people with few skills and/or little experience, because I do have skills and experience.

So if I’m correct, if any of this subtext is actually going on in our culture, consciously or otherwise, it’s more or less the equivalent to the culture saying to me: “No, Andrew. You may not have a nice, simple, menial job that you’re over-qualified for, because it just isn’t done that way.”

Well why the hell not? I’d show up on time. I’d do the chores. I’d give notice when I need to quit. I’d even leave legible little comprehensive notes explaining the oddities that come up here and there throughout the week, the ones he’d want to know about. I’d be nice to his customers. He’d love me!

2. Being Sincere Is Weird.

The second menial job that I applied for recently but didn’t get, I’m assuming because of more confusing cultural weirdness, was a pizza delivery job. I wont spend too much time on this one because largely it’s the same issue I think, but the conversation contained below is just… mind-blowing. First though, a little background.

A few years ago, my friend started working at this nice little pizza shop that had been recently bought and was being run by a fellow whose band I had recorded a few years prior still, back when I used to record bands. Over the next couple years a bunch of people I knew worked there at different times.

This fellow, the musician turned pizza shop owner, was a really talented guy. Let’s call him Bob. I was not particularly close friends with Bob, but I’d run into him from time to time and I think we had a nice mutual respect for each other. Well, not too terribly long ago, Bob got in a serious accident and became paralyzed from the neck down. I heard about this through a common friend or two. I felt awful when I heard the news because not only is it plainly awful, but also because he was a such a talented musician.

Anyways, the same week that I decided that I would be willing to work at the gas station, and in turn ended up having the experience I just got done explaining, it occurred to me that since I have a car, maybe delivering things might be a good menial job for me to do for a while. Then I remembered Bob’s pizza place but put it out of my mind rather quickly because I figured he probably wasn’t in the business anymore, after his accident. Then the very next night, while doing laundry at a laundromat, I started talking to some random guy, and somehow we determined that we both new Bob! Turns out, Bob does still own the Pizza joint, but is having someone else manage it for him. The synchronicity got me excited.

The next day, I went on down to the pizza place, hoping to be a shoo-in for any openings that they might have. And why not? I remembered that the place seemed to me like it was one of those revolving door type jobs for several friends and acquaintances of mine a few years back.

Unfortunately what I encountered when I got there was a little bit different. Really bad, mainstream hard-rock radio was blasting inside and there was one guy, who eventually came out of the bathroom and sort of halfway greeted me. Anyways, our conversation went something like this:

“-Sup.” He said, in a very rough, halfway-angry, pseudo-masculine, suburban-construction-worker-not-afraid-of-shit tone of voice (it was a perfect match to the terrible music).

“Hey. How ya doin. Um… I know Bob from a few years back… Actually, I recorded one of his bands and I’m looking for work right now and I thought I’d come by and see if you guys needed any drivers right now…” I said. I was feeling a little intimidated by this guy. He either had a big chip on his shoulder, or felt that it was fashionable to come across that way. Either way, not the culture I’m used to.

I remember getting the sense from him that he didn’t like the fact that I was claiming to know his boss. Maybe to him, it was like I was implying that he wasn’t important or something. I got this vibe — like he wanted me to know that he was the boss — more and more as this scenario played out.

I guess I introduced myself to him, or asked him what his name was and offered my hand to him or something… I’m not sure how it went but I know I took the initiative with the introductions. I know we shook hands. I know he had a testosterone-grip.

Anyways, he gave me a “Job Application” form (more on those later), which I knew wasn’t necessarily a sign that things were going well for me because in fact, for some reason, the law says he has to give me one, if I mention interest in employment… The law says something. I don’t know what it is. But I know from past experience that if someone asks if you’re hiring, you’re supposed to offer them an application. It’s pretty universal, at least in California. Whatever the law does or doesn’t say, the result is that people give out “Job Applications” all the time without any intention of even considering the job-hunter for employment.

“Tell me a little about yourself.” He said, continuing to make sure I knew that my chance of employment had nothing to do with whether or not I know Bob.

“Well,” I never know where to begin, “I’m an artist and a musician–”

“–You in a band?”

“Actually…” And the important cultural subtext here is that when I tell people that I make music by myself, they often assume that that music must be House Music. I think there’s a technophobic vision floating around out there of people getting a hold of some piece of equipment or software and then running around calling themselves musicians when in reality, all they do is press a little button that says “GO” or something… I know this because when I confess that I make music by myself, there’s often a sudden break in the eye contact or a statement like ‘my cousin makes techno music…’ or other such symptoms of this sort of digital-production-phobia. It seems to be assumed by many that making music with the aid of computers means that no real instruments can be involved. More importantly, no musicianship. No skill. ” …I just make music by myself mostly these days… But I used to play in bands… I recently did my first film score and I have been doing internet marketing stuff for money but things are drying up and getting a little dire so I need to get a job…”

“Well I don’t want to hire you just because you need a job!” He said, as if it was insulting to him for me to imply that needing a job is some sort of qualification for employment.

“Well, I need a job, and I’d like to work for someone I respect and trust. I mean, that’s why I came all the way here from Sebastopol. I’ve had friends that have worked here and it seemed like they liked it. You know.” I could tell this was already going terribly. I already insulted his authority by claiming to know his boss. I’m a phony for calling myself a musician when I’m not even in a band. And now, I’m claiming that needing a job has something to do with getting one.

I don’t remember how this conversation wrapped up but I know I managed to make it go a little bit more positively toward the end. It turned out that they do need more delivery help. I ended up taking the “Job Application” form home and bringing it back a few days later. We talked some more and he stared at the “Job Application” while we talked, as if he was looking for clues, in preparation for an executive decision of some sort. Really though, there was nothing much there for him to see. I know because I filled it out. Some past employers, some people I know, information on my military status, the box that was checked meaning I have never been convicted of a felony, my name and phone number. I think by the end of our conversation, the song playing on the radio had switched to Aerosmith or something. It was a sad moment in my life.

Maybe I was supposed to send him a follow-up letter thanking him for looking at my “Job Application.” Maybe I was supposed to send him a dozen long-stem roses and a box of chocolates… Whatever I was supposed to do, I guess I failed because he never called me.

After thinking about it some, I realize that I absolutely resent being docked points for admitting that I am interested in employment because I’m unemployed. That’s practically the only reason to look for work. That and because you’re dissatisfied with your current job. I bet there are practically no pizza delivery drivers that do the job for any reason other than because they want the money they get in exchange for their trouble.

It seems like the layers of cultural dysfunction I experienced during both of these little mini-adventures are symptoms of something terribly wrong with our society. We expect to be manipulated. Everyone is manipulating everyone else all the time and if someone like me comes along that just wants to be honest and say something totally cut and dry like:

“I need a job. I can do this job. May I do this job in exchange for some money please?” …It comes across as a warning sign to others.

“This guy’s not playing the game!” “What’s wrong with this guy?”

It seems like everyone expects everything to be more complicated and confusing than it needs to be. And certainly, there needs to be plenty of lying going on.

I love clean communication. I love being able to tell the truth. I love my relationships to be based on sincerity — all my relationships — my neighbors, the people on the road with me when I’m driving, the people that work at the places where I buy things, and yes, even my employers.

At the end of the day, I know I’m an intelligent guy. I’m also a man of principle. And I know I have good communication skills. Also, I take pride in my personal philosophy and I have love and respect for the people and things around me. I care deeply about the impact I have in this world. What’s funny though, is that those aren’t really normally considered things that make someone more employable. Not unless you’re a politician, then you brag about your “character” and you’re almost certainly lying about it anyhow.