Loser Fair

It’s a jungle out here. And by ‘out here’, I mean in Unemployment Land. It sucks and it’s miserable and can really play with your head after an extended stay. All these huge companies are laying off massive amounts of people. GMAC just laid off like 5000. Just this week, 2 Wall Street firms laid off like 10,000 people. And I am willing to bet most of the people who got the ax were the ham and eggers. No, not the execs who made the decisions and the moves to necessitate the layoffs. They’re still working. But all the normal, 9-5 heart and soul types got the ax. I blame Bush. Both the President and the band. Bunch of fuckers. One can be driven to do all sorts of nutty things. Like going to Loser Fair…uh, Career Fairs. Like I just did today.

I got wind of a career fair on Monday afternoon (as I write it’s Wednesday afternoon) so there wasn’t a lot of time to prepare. That can be good and bad. Plus, I’ve never been to a career/job fair before. I know how it works. You research the companies that most appeal to you. Be prepared for those. Then, branch out. Maybe get some “practice” in with some other companies. That was my plan going in.

Of course, there is more preparation than that. Especially for yours truly. First, it involves begging my wife to iron a shirt for me. As has been documented here before, I can’t iron to save my life. I can’t give up any edge here. My dashing good looks can only carry me so far.

The rest of the night is spent running “sphiels” through my head. Trying to envision how these things might go, what kind of questions they might ask, how I can sell myself in a brief exchange. It actually doesn’t keep me up all night, and the hamster took the night off, so it was going good so far. The morning’s kinda rough. There’s the usual running around. Then the dreaded “Getting ready” time. I shave-again YYEEOOWWW. How can guys do this every day? The sink looks like a bloody Saw-like mess. Shower, then the old tying back of the hair. Slap on a suit, and head out.

As I do, I see the vision of all my neighbors running out their doors, in blue vests, and laughing at me like Nelson. HA HA! This just isn’t me. I hate looking this way; I don’t feel comfortable, I don’t feel confident, I don’t feel me. When I am in a suit, 2 things happen. 1) I sweat. Like a pig. My achy body is used to wearing shorts & flips, so when I wrap it up in fancy pants, shirt (with buttons no less), shoes and a jacket, I feel claustrophobic. And the second thing is it makes me pee. Every damn time. As soon as I put a suit on, then head out to wedding, funeral, or interview, my bladder suddenly fills.

This Career Fair is at Lincoln Financial Field-where the Eagles play. So right there, the stench of loser-ing will be prevalent. On the way down, I almost get t-boned, then swiped on 95. I get stuck in a little bit of 95 traffic. This sucks, how can people do this every day? Now I can understand why when I look around, everyone seems so miserable.

I try to get my head on straight. I try to come into this with no preconceived notion.

OK, actually, that is a blatant lie. I had a lot of preconceived notions.

I saw this as reeking of desperation. I saw this as reeking of losers. I saw very little upside. I knew someone who went to this last year, and said it was one big clusterfuck. I had 2 scenarios of how it would go. One saw me as the town drunk in those old wild west bars. You know, the one that when all the cowboys came in, paid him a nickel, then made him dance by shooting at his feet. The other scenario was that we (all the unemployed) were puppies in the pound. We wanted to find a home, so every time a potential owner came by, we put on our best puppy dog eyes, and did all kinds of tricks to gain favor.

I imagined the exchange going something like this. They would tell me how wonderful their company is. How they are the “leader in the field”, how they are “cutting edge”, how it’s a great atmosphere to work in, blah blah blah. I would have a few scant seconds to tell them how I’m a “great worker, can multi-task, display intelligence, blah blah blah.” One big fucking circle jerk. I likened it to eating crabs; it’s a lot of work (breaking the shell, sucking out the meat, etc) for sometimes minimal reward. (Hmmmm….crabs….)

They hype in the paper was something like “Employers, you have the jobs, and they (the unemployed losers) have the dreams.” Oh vey. I don’t know anyone whose dream it is to work as a telemarketer. Last year, they were trumpeting that they had over 70 exhibitors and over 5000 attendees. The pessimist in me sees that as 500 people per 7 exhibitors. In case you can understand that, I will break it down even more. So that’s…500 divided…by 7 equals…umm..equals…Indiana! Shit, I was never any good at math. But I think you see my point.

I am a bit wary. Wary because I have never been in this situation. I feel I am at my best when I have one interview to concentrate on. I can focus better. So the prospect of something unfamiliar throws me off a bit, I lose focus. I am not comfortable with this “gang-bang” style of interviewing. I picture long lines of desperate scuzzdogs. You maybe get a 5 minute shot to shine. But it’s something new, and I certainly have nothing to lose. Something about this reeks of desperation to me though. I hate that it’s been this long.

How do those preconceptions actually measure up?

I roll into the Linc, early. Already, there is a fucking line out the wazoo. It goes from the gates all the way past the entrance to the parking lot. This can be no good. But it’s OK, it’s to be expected. I hop in line, as the line grows behind me. I hear one guy behind me, calling someone and telling them “the line is husky, man, husky.” I take time to look at my competition. I see lots of guys in dark suits. Always the safe way to go, nice and conservative. I didn’t quite know what to expect, but I was kinda surprised about the vastly different types of guys who were there. Guys who looked like they were well beyond retirement age. Guys who still looked like they were in high school.

And I see guys who just have no freaking clue. Guys who automatically bump me up the ‘professional looking’ scale. I wonder just what the fuck they were thinking. I saw guys in jeans. I saw guys in kick flip flops and socks. What the fuck are you thinking? At least pretend to give it a shot here. I saw guys in ties but with short sleeves-kind of a fashion no-no from what I understand. I saw guys in polo shirts. This isn’t casual Friday. Even from a fashion nudnik, I know enough to dress in a suit and tie, even if it makes you sweaty and have to pee.

Girls kinda get a pass here. They can wear something totally casual, and it counts as work. They don’t have to wear ties or suitcoats. Just like the guys, there are some who are clueless. And some girls are dressed..well…not professionally. They are dressed like…well, for lack of a better word, sluts. Wearing all tight clothes, low cut tops, etc. You know, the girls who got al the good jobs today? And I saw a bunch of foreign women wearing those full body burkas. You know, those dark brown ones, that cover everything but their eyes? I’m sorry, but if you’re wearing something that I can only see your eyes, you’re not hired. Maybe that Star Wars looking shit works in Tatooine or whatever, but not here. You’re in America now, dress like it. Don’t you see all the slutty girls are getting the jobs?

I’d say there’s a couple hundred people in line, with 15 minutes to go. The line just keeps growing, they have to move it to allow other out of work naredewells get in the parking lot. There’s a wind blowing, and I kinda freak out that I will get flyaways in my hair. I will go from respectable looking hippie to dirty looking hippie just that quick. The guy in front of me is trying to put his jacket on, but can’t with the wind blowing. I can feel the wind stinging my freshly shaven face. I do him a solid, and help him put it on. But I don’t tell him his collar is up. Hey, it’s still war here, pal. Finally, the gates to gainful employment are thrown open, and there is a mad dash in, and up the stadium steps. All you heard were shoes and heels climbing up the steps, like a mad pack of loser horses.

I dodge into the first men’s room I find. I am shocked to find that it doesn’t reek of overpriced Budweiser and vomit. I piss like a (loser) horse, and check myself in the mirror. Cripes, I ain’t getting any prettier, but look good. Yea, good enough. You have to give a resume, just to get in. Again, I am shocked that I see a dude in a neon green polo shirt, jean shorts, and some ratty ass hat. Can’t somebody just kick his ass out? “Yes, sir, we’re sorry, but no one is going to hire you wearing a Miller Lite hat.”

In return, you get a handy dandy ‘program’ with a brief bio of the companies. I find this helpful. I zero in on the companies that I focused on. I’m at the first one, when I realize they don’t have any jobs in my chosen field. D’oh! Who doesn’t want a “witty Klogger”? OK, foul tip there. I now realize that in each bio, they list the jobs available. This is good because it jibes with some of the companies I focused on. It also lead me to some companies that I otherwise wouldn’t have bothered with.

I am surprised that it isn’t quite what I envisioned. While the room was certainly filling up with more couch surfers, it wasn’t as bad as I envisioned. There were a few lines that were super long. I checked, and they were all primarily banking/finance. See above about Wall Street layoffs. Getting there early was a benefit, because I was able to hit the ones I wanted to, then branch out. Ever envision me working for Philly Gas Works? Neither did I, but they got a resume and some facetime.

Still I see some folks wandering around that I really wonder about. I saw some guy, in polo shirt, jeans and fucking wireless headset like he was all that. He looked totally stoned. Please, if he ever got a gig out of this, don’t let me know. I see guys in shorts. I see more ball caps than should be allowed at a Loser Fai….uh Career Fair. I wanted to wear my mirrorball shirt to stick out.

I felt bad for the recruiters there. They gotta sift through this riff raff for 6 hours. I actually thanked one for spending so much time with me. And another one gave me a great tip: today is all about follow up, so all the ones I liked are getting an email, but certainly not a link to this Klog.

It didn’t quite reek of desperation like I thought it would. I thought I would feel so dirty that I would need to take a shower after I came back. It wasn’t quite the clusterfuck I thought it would be. I don’t have any high expectations from this, but I did learn something. And I do feel better that I tried something new today, and feel better for the next Loser Fa…Job Fair.

My eyes were really open to just the vast amount of startlingly different people don’t have jobs these days. All of ‘em got a story. Some of them are better off than me, others are far worse. Regardless, it all sucks. When I got home, I consoled myself by eating 2 junky breakfast sandwiches and a small bag of M&Ms. I proudly resisted the urge to dayload like the rest of those out of work losers. Small steps, small steps…