“Please give me an example of the last time you went out of your way for someone.”

I took a bite of my Target snack bar hot dog and thought quickly, but nothing came.

I had been in the store for an hour and a half, applying for a 4:00 AM stock room job. After filling out an online application, including a personality test, I was prompted to pick up the red phone in front of me and say I was ready for my interview. I went to wait in the snack bar. The first interviewer was fun and got my jokes and was probably a warm-up shill because the second interviewer was all business. She had the Target chip in her neck, was half my age, and was probably trying to figure out some internal coding mechanism to describe her applicant: White, 44 years old, messy bright red hair, pierced nose, sporting a carat-and-a-half, Tiffany set engagement ring, a college degree and a slight case of perspiration. Eating a hot dog.

I wonder if I’ve made a mistake in my life.

This isn’t the only job I’ve applied for, either. I am a craigslist habitue and have sent out links to my web site with my CV and writing samples for just about any noncommital writing, editing, typing job I can find in the Twin Cities. Not one responds. Not one. Not even an acknowledgement. Have I been sleeping since I last had a desk job? Did the working world get filled with sharks wearing rectangular glasses and blunt-toed shoes? I still haven’t even heard back from my online application at Borders, which required a humiliating 45-minute, miniature MMPI; “I would rather be alone,” “How much does your appearance mean to you?,” “When I get angry, I don’t tell anyone.” I lied my ass off, how can they not be calling me? Don’t they want a published writer with an English degree behind the counter or do they just need people who can upsell? There were an awful lot of questions about how much I liked talking to people. I didn’t know the correct response for those.

I think the problem is that I’ve never applied for a single job I’ve had.

Worst of all, most of my best jobs came from screwing men with connections.

So. I just filled out my Barnes and Noble application. I do have coffee shop experience, after all.

1 comment to 111461721861707951

  • okay, who did you get with for your job at Phylly Wheely?
    The mere idea frightens me.

    Also, I have often thought how much of a Hulk rage I would go into if I ever had to fill out one of those job applications again. Because it’s like, “DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM??”

    That’s how ruined and lame I am. Because my secret fantasy is that when I get really burned out on this work, I am going to be the most kick-ass make-up saleslady EVER. For something cool, like Nars or Stila. Not Clinique. Somewhere where I can stink of really musky perfume and wear incredibly heavy black eyeliner and dye my hair even more red than yours. But I just know they’ll make me fill out an application with a personality test. The results of which will prove that I am deranged. And I’ll be like, “I had a really responsibility-oriented job that I did very well for years with the same personality. You people are idiot turds. Hire me NOW.”

    Which is how I feel about you.