Stuck With a Valuable Friend

When you're in the middle of a job hunt, your vision tends to blur.

It's like this day-to-day cycle that continually lands you somewhere between optimism, pessimism, and downright apathy depending on what's going on in your surroundings. But more than that, it becomes this huge test of your personal fortitude. It's like the utter freedom of having nothing to do all day flirts with you while the shadow of your impending poverty sneaks up slowly behind, waiting to smack you across the head with a 2x4.

The problem is that no matter how much as you want it to, there's simply no way to speed the process up. You've got to get your name out there, have it noticed, jump through hoops, and then get the gig. It's not something that's gonna happen in a day (no matter how many times you try to convince yourself that it should).
But what are you supposed to do in the meantime?
Unfortunately, I've been through this process too many times for my own good -- which has enabled me to notice certain patterns that keep emerging whenever I or anyone I know falls victim to sudden employment absence syndrome. 'Trends' probably isn't even the best word to use -- it's more like stages in some evolutionary process.
Stage 1: The "little time off to recharge the batteries" stage - I can't be going to job interviews looking burned out. Besides, I've still got money left in the bank - What's the rush?

Stage 2: The "I'm so qualified for these things, I'm not gonna have time to turn them all down" stage - No matter what anyone tells you, Monster.com is not your friend. The worst possible thing the easily-distracted job hunter could have is a point and click interface. I've easily applied for at least 40 jobs in the last week -- all without shaking a hand or delivering a resume. Hell, I don't even know what half these companies do.

Stage 3: "I can't believe my working friends haven't replied to the 15 memes I've sent out today." - Sure you've got customers and a deadline to meet, but did you see which action hero it said I was the most like -- didja, didja?? (Also known as "Oh come on - everyone knows this bar doesn't get going on Tuesdays until after midnight - you don't have to leave yet do ya?")

Stage 4: The "Entry Level? What do you mean Entry Level?!" stage - There's no way the guy driving the Titanic saw only one iceberg that night. It's just that the first one was really little and didn't have a very competitive benefits package.

Stage 5: "Dear Sir: I am a friend of the cousin of the young woman who's cubicle is directly next to yours. By chance I happened to hear about a position that has come available in your company. If you have a moment, please take a look at my resume..." - For the record, many of these inquires end with return emails that say "Your name seems familiar -- weren't you the one who started that "Forward this message to 10 of your friends or your dog will be hit by a car" chain that totally clogged up our servers last week?"

Stage 6: "Hello, sports talk? Yeah, long-time listener, first time caller here -- You've got to be kidding me with all these doubts about steroid use - Just look at the size of Barry's head!" - This stage is also where you see a lot of things like "I never thought I'd be one of those people with a "blog" on the web or anything like that, but then when I heard about how those liberals in the mainstream media were twisting around the words of our countries only true heroes, I knew that I had to do something."

Stage 7: "Hey dad, how's it going? That's good. *heavysigh* .. I Wish I could say the same"

Stage 8: "Yes, someone from your office contacted me a few weeks ago about an entry level position, and I was wondering if it was.. You know, still available?" - affectionately known as the "Please baby, Please baby, Please baby baby Please!" stage, this is the time when you seriously consider clicking on banner ads that promise untold millions if you can just pin the tail on the Bush.

Stage 9: The "Last night I had toothpaste for dinner" stage - It's truly frightening how fast a bank account can go from "this ought to last me a week" to overdrawn. Then suddenly you're stranded inside your own reality TV show, rationing food and discovering culinary treats that you never knew existed, like "Cheez-it Ramen surprise," or "Oh snap - there is a hotdog left in this package!"

Stage 10: "God I hate this job" - This one comes a few months later, when you're sitting in some cubicle with a half-tied necktie and uncomfortable shirt on. Normally accompanied by long periods of staring out the window at gorgeous summer days and pining for the all the good times you used to have when you were flat broke and hungry.
It's the stage I'm hoping to get to very, very soon.
But until then -- top this, bitches!
Crunk Test
[Listening to: Korn, "Mr. Rogers"]

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