I Hope I Get It

For a few weeks now I've been scanning the local classifieds and online sites for a new job. People who have known me for any length of time won't find this odd. I have had a tendency to move on after a year or so at any one job. Part of it is that I get bored, but a larger part of it is that at a year you are familiar enough with a company's structure to know whether or not there is any possiblity of advancement within that organization.

Take my first job out of college: I worked as a copywriter for a national catalog company. I loved that job! I got to play with new products as they came in and then I got to tell our customers why this or that product was so fantastic. The writing was cheesy, but at least I was writing and for a lot of our products it was creative writing.

I learned one important lesson at that job though: don't pigeon hole yourself.

My copy editor had been at the catalog for 20 years, in fact it had been her first job out of college. She'd been there since the 80's, a time when catalog sales were through the roof. Her bloated salary was a result of those glory years, but then the 90's hit and a catalog scandal chopped them off at the knees. Here's a story my CE shared with me,

"Oh, I never thought the catalog was where I would be after all this time. But, the salary increases were so great I couldn't leave. Then, when I finally sent out my resume I got the feeling that employers in other industries felt that all I could do was write for catalogs, so here I am."

That story depressed me, but it made me realize that I couldn't let that happen to me. I also realized my only possibility for advancement with that company was for my CE to die of a sudden illness or for me to kill her as she wasn't leaving anytime soon.

Neither of which were realistic options for me.

So, after that conversation and an annual review that went like this, "We think you are doing a really great job, we just wish you were turning in perfect copy on your first draft. But, we really love you so here's $100 more a month for you! We wish we could do more, but it's been a hard year on the company. Thanks!"

Okay, first of all, a first "draft" is a draft right? Meaning, it's a preliminary version, and I swear to you, 99% of my copy was letter perfect, the most I would get as far as edits were "Change this word to this word, put this word here . . . "

Secondly, I realize that 4% is standard, but I knew I could be working for more.

So, I left and in an effort to diversify my experience, I went to work for a magazine. It was a quirky trade publication that was fun to work at. I was associate editor of the international version of the magazine so I wrote for the domestic issues and edited and handed out assignments for the international issue. I learned a lot of valuable skills at that job. I sharpened my writing and editing skills and I learned how to take and give criticism diplomatically. The only reason I didn't stay there longer than a year was because: a.) we didn't get bylines so or writing was never credited and b.) our publisher was batshit crazy c.) our editor-in-chief was great about taking credit when we'd done something well, but she'd throw us under the bus in an instant if it meant covering her own ass.

Off I went in search for another job and landed the best job of my professional career. I was a curriculum developer for a large non-profit focused on teaching school children the fundamental principles economics and the free-enterprise system. I had the best boss ever at a company that actively promoted from within. I can say without doubt that I would probably still be there if my ex hadn't been military and I had made the choice to leave with him.

We moved and I took a job that was the equivalent of being in an abusive relationship. Nothing I could do was ever good enough and when I did things the way I was told they needed to be, they still weren't right. It was the first job where I I was counseled on my performance. This is the equivalent of being called to the principals office and being given a warning. The last straw for me was when I broke my leg and had to take two weeks off because of the pain. My supervisor said to me, "You can't just take two weeks off and not leave things prepared for your colleagues," and then slid a written warning across her desk for me to sign. I was lucky enough that I'd already secured employment elsewhere so I told her, "I don't think it would be right for me to sign it since I'm only going to be here for two more weeks." To which she responded, "Well, this was just a huge waste of time then." I don't remember my response, something tells me it was just silence as I stood, adjusted my crutches and hobbled out the door.

My next job was in advertising. A job that I failed at miserably. I just wasn't very good at coming up with catchy headlines and the truth is I really didn't care. I was good at long-form copy and radio scripts though, so it's not like I totally sucked. I just think I'd been working for non-profits for so long that I needed to feel I was making a difference, and writing radio spots for the local mall just wasn't doing it for me. I sent out resumes and a friend of mine told me her organization was hiring. So, I interviewed with them and got the job that I am at currently.

I don't hate my current job, but recent events have lead me to realize that no one really cares what I do as long as I don't piss anyone off. It's not like I'm looking for a pat on the head, but I would like to be somewhere that my projects are worthy of notice. Somewhere that my work in our publication is actually, oh I don't know, read.

I've been at jobs that made my life a living hell, so I know that all I have to do is not make waves and things will be okay. That is what some people want I think: a job where they can fly under the radar and continue to get paid, but I want more.

My boss isn't even that bad. I had one manager that fucked me up so good I would spend at least 30 minutes of every morning before work crying. This wan't Holly Hunter in Broadcast News kind of crying either.

There are also nice perks to my current job: I travel a lot so I'm not in the office a whole lot, but I'm not at home a whole lot either. I haven't had a cell phone bill in two years since the company pays for that and this nifty laptop I'm working on is work-issued. But the truth of it is, I am tired of not using my brain.

My current job doesn't give me any chance to use critical thinking skills and it turns out planning corporate training just leaves me feeling like a well-paid caterer.

So, I'm searching again and here's what's happened so far.

I found an outdated job posting that I responded to anyway. I explained to them that since the posting was still online that maybe they hadn't found the right candidate for the position. I didn't get a reply and within two days they had updated their website.

I was a little bummed because I thought maybe that move made me seem genuinely interested and I was hoping the move was bold enough to peak their interest, but nothing.

Then while I was out of town without internet access (in one of Chicago's chi-chi hotels even) I'd received an email from a local bank. It turns out they found my resume on an internet job site. I had posted my resume on this board, but I only ever got contacted by sketchy companies that were looking for someone in "sales." My instructions were to apply through the bank's website to pursue this further.

Not only did I apply, but in less than 24 hours they called me back to set up an interview. It's definitely a position that would require me to use my brain again, so I'm really excited and really confident seeing as how they made the first move.

I've indicated I'm receptive to an offer. And I am, after all, me. (Hee, slightly edited, but bonus points if you can guess what movie that's from.)

I feel good about this, and I've always felt everything happens for a reason so I can only assume that first organization didn't contact me because this is how things are supposed to happen.

Keep your fingers crossed.

The Notebook

It's 2006 and nothing makes me more giddy than the promise of a new notebook from The Dollar Store. My friend Melissa once shared the following story with me:

"When I was in eight grade, we had Career Day and my favorite presenter was the guy from the local paper. Not because he was from the city and not because of the exciting stories he had to tell, but because when this guy finished his speach he gave away sets of pocket-sized notebooks and golf pencils. I was seated in the back of the room as he handed them out and I remember thinking, 'Please don't run out, please don't run out . . . ' It's really no surprise I grew up to be a writer."

That 5 minute story runs through my head whenever I pull a new notebook from its shelf. It never fails to make me smile because I remember it was the first time I truly identified with a fellow writing geek.

So, I spent Sunday afternoon filling up the first page of my new single-subject, wide-rule Top Flight thinking, "This time it'll be different. This time I'll fill up the entire notebook with my witty prose.

That's the plan anyway.

I could avoid writing on the back of each page, but that's cheating isn't it?

Still, it would be so easy to justify it: writing on the back will just leave an imprint on the back of the cover, or worse, on the back of the previous back.

So?

SO!

Then the back of every page will look sloppy.

Yeah, anything to try to fill up a whole damn notebook.

Only once in my life have I ever filled up an entire notebook: my junior year of high school.

It was my first proper diary - covered in flowery fabric on the exterior and in teenage angst in the interior. It's an incredibly embarrassing tome: as it should be.

It actually starts on my 16th birthday (Technically, March of my sophmore year of high school.). In print, I immortalized my birthday wish,

"Please God, let me have a boyfriend this year."

Seriously, it doesn't get more cringeworthy, 16 year-old than that.

Oh, but it gets better.

For the next three months I whine about the following (not in any particular order):

1. Why wasn't I born with blonde hair!
2. I wish I was popular!
3. I wish I had blue eyes!
4. My parents JUST DON'T GET ME!
5. Please God - let me have a boyfriend this year!
6. I wish I was THIN!
7. SERIOUSLY - MY PARENTS - OH MY GOD!!!!!

That is only the beginning.

And yes, I was incredibly fond of exclamation points and bold print.