Job Searching 2008

By: Galina Nemirovsky (View Profile)

I arrive at the crossroads of desperate lost souls and hopeful promises.

I sign in at the marble lobby with the overly friendly receptionist in a tight skirt and frizzy ponytail. A clipboard, akin to a doctor’s office, holds the names and the arrival times of us job seekers. A man uses the tactic of innocent flirtation with the receptionist. He jokes mindlessly about the effects of caffeine and hopes to earn an advantage. A participant in this live version of an actionless reality show I wait for the catalyst to get us going. I take a seat in the cream-colored leather chair sit and wait to be called.

CNBC is reporting on the big screen TV; there are twelve of us waiting with faces that look like we could be waiting for colonoscopies or mammograms. More people enter, more black pantsuits, more black pumps, more faux leather portfolios, more clipboards with paperwork. The carpet is striped with a recent vacuum trail, the printer is humming, the elevator keeps dinging down the hall.

I look down at my resume. The dark purple header with my name on it printed out instead in bright magenta. Whatever. I’ve gotten too old to care about the old school recruiting rules. My old navy skirt suit hangs in an old dry-cleaning bag in my closet; I have chosen a more modern version of an interview outfit, as I’m wearing a black pencil skirt and flowing black blouse with metallic gold heels. Personality is my PS.

One by one, the privileged selectors emerge from behind a branded etched glass door calling our names like BINGO balls. With the obligatory fake smile, they collect the paperwork for each candidate at the receptionist’s desk. The candidates take turns gathering their hopes, dreams, and applications and reciprocate the insincere greetings. This is a professional courtship and we engage in it as such; they have something we want (jobs) and we want to be the chosen ones.

How many of us remain hopeful and optimistic at the springboard of a new career search while others feel like we’re processing paperwork, putting in the requisite steps.

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