Rock Bottom

[I think this is the last one I wrote and never finished. But I thought it was funny anyway. The best part: it's true!]

More Adventures of the Unemployed
[written 1/14/09]

            I believe I may have hit rock bottom. Well, at least I hope it is rock bottom. I would hate to think that there is more ‘bottom’. Apparently, I was previously at the level just above ‘rock bottom’ which, it turns out is called ‘subsoil bottom’, which, interestingly enough is below ‘topsoil bottom’. In fact, ‘rock bottom’ is not really ‘rock bottom’ at all. It is really ‘weathered parent material bottom’ which consists almost exclusively of rock particles, hence ‘rock bottom’. See, these are the fun things you can take the time to look up and learn when you have no actual projects or deadlines or purpose.

            So, as I was saying, last week I was at the “end of my rope”…I thought. But apparently, I was only ALMOST at the end of my rope. Either that or I had ascended the rope ever so slightly without my noticing––a depressing thought, because when you’ve been jobless for months, even the slightest progress should bring jubilation. And to think that I may have overlooked a moment of contentment, nay, pleasure, well...that would be sad. But, since I don’t recall anything resembling bliss, I must assume, for sanity’s sake, that I was not really at the “end of my rope” at all, only at the “end of the penultimate millimeter of the end of my rope.” Penultimate? Look it up. I did––smack-dab in the middle of the day, when most of you were at work.

            So what was this ‘rock bottom’ event? A letter from a famous pizza franchise rejecting my application for employment. That’s right. I am apparently not qualified to deliver pizza. They were, however, kind enough to send me a rejection email, which I shall include here:

We have received your application for the position of  Delivery Driver. After careful consideration, we regret to inform you that you have not been selected for this position. We will retain your information in our database and may inform you of job openings that match your profile if you selected this option.

  We thank you for your interest in Xxxxx Pizza and wish you all the best in your career. As a thank you for applying, we'd like to offer you a free order of breadsticks with your next Xxxxx Pizza online order, click here!

Talk about an ego boost.

             Now, I don’t mean to demean pizza or its deliverers. I love them both: the pizza for tasting so yummy and the delivery person for bringing it to me. [unfinished]

Further Adventures of the Unemployed

[Here's the second installment, written soon after. Keep in mind I never really finished them, ie. prepared them for public consumption.]

Further Adventures of the Unemployed
[written 1/13/09]

            When you’re unemployed you fill out a lot of applications. First you start out very selectively, looking for work that not only meets your pay expectations, but is also something you would enjoy doing. The problem is, in a shrinking work force, like we have, it turns out you are not the only one applying for a particular job. In fact, there is a very good chance that 8,000 other people are applying for that same job. But don’t worry, once they start digging through all the PhD’s and Nobel Prize winners, you will no doubt float to the top….of the trash. Next, you begin looking for work that is directly related to your field, with compensation that will, at minimum, meet your immediate needs. Finally, you begin looking for work that is at least related to your field in that they employ humans.

            Suddenly you realize that you are now competing for jobs, for which you once thought yourself overqualified, against people who, like yourself, once thought themselves overqualified. Wal-mart is now in the coveted position of choosing their greeter from a group of people with years of experience in other fields:

“So let’s see. We’ve whittled it down to Mr. Jones, a master plumber with a degree in business, and Ms. Taylor, a former copy editor with a degree in political science. What do you think?"

“Well, a greeter needs to be friendly with a nice appearance, which rules out the plumber. I mean, what if he has to bend over and pick something up?”

“True. But we also don’t want our customers accosted by an annoying, know-it-all, over-talkative git. Political science and a woman? She won’t shut up.”

“Good point. Let’s go back to the pile.”

            My favorite part of the application process has become the questionnaire/quiz. It usually takes the form of a personality or intelligence quiz. Here the employer intends to assess the quality of your employee-ness, or at least weed out the ones who might show up wearing their underwear as overwear.

The intelligence test might have a question like this:

An item costs $3.38. The customer gives you $20. How much change do give you back?

A.            $17.72

B.             $23.38

C.             $16.62

D.            It depends on the customer: tax payer––a kick in the shins; poorly managed car manufacturer––$34 billion.

            Even more entertaining is the personality quiz. Here they give you a series of questions, each of which contains all good answers or all bad answers. Apparently, a potentially good employee can decipher the correct answer. Normal people need not apply. Example:

Would you consider yourself:

A.            Helpful.

B.             Intelligent.

C.             Determined.

D.            Trustworthy.

Uhhh…. Helpful?

“Sorry, we were looking for ‘Determined’.”

Dang!

Here’s a question I recently came across:

Do you prefer to work:

A.            Under pressure at all times.

B.             Under pressure most of the time.

C.             With intermittent moments of pressure.

D.            With no pressure at all.

Ummm….

Now, this is a trick question. Normal people would choose ‘D’. But we all know that that is not the correct answer. What the employer wants to hear is ‘A’ or:

            E.  With one eye taped shut, a pebble in my shoe, a severe case of eczema, and my boss glaring at me, whispering obscenities, all while taking notes – oh, and it’s 102˚ and my cash register isn’t working.

            If I were in charge, I’d make the personality quiz and the intelligence test one and the same, with only one question:

If a customer needed help, would you:

A.            Tell him you don’t help imbeciles.

B.             Tell him he is ugly, to go home and quit scaring little children.

C.             Take his cell phone, call his significant other and tell him/her that you are the customer’s secret lover.

D.            Strike him with a nearby object.

E.             All of the above.

Here, the only acceptable answers are: ‘no answer’ or ‘E’. Obviously, if the applicant is willing to do ‘E’ than you have found yourself not only a real go-getter but also the head of the company's party planning committee.

            Unfortunately, I am not in charge. That would imply employment––a state of being I could possibly obtain if I could just remember that I am  ‘C' - determined’ and not ‘A' - helpful’.

Adventures of the Unemployed

[I wrote a few of these kind of Dave Berry-esque pieces in the midst of an employment crisis. I think, somewhere in my head, I had the idea of submitting them to some paper as a sort of nod to the millions, like myself at the time, who were unemployed. Not really political, but I had fun writing them.]

Adventures of the Unemployed
[written 1/12/09]

            So, I’ve been without consistent employment for a few months now. Don’t get me wrong; it’s not as though I haven’t been working. Aside from the odd jobs here and there, I’ve solved eight or nine of the hardest NYT crosswords I’ve ever seen. I’ve also worked out a solution to the kid-slamming-the-toilet-seat-after-doing-his/her-business dilemma. That’s a real conundrum. With eight kids in the house–yes, I said eight (what can I say, the woman loves crossword masters)–the toilets get a lot of use. Previous to my genius work-around we’d go through about one seat every two to three days. If I listened in on the kids at night in their rooms, I’m sure I’d hear, “Hey, have you tried the new toilet seat. Man, is it loud! It’s awesome!” Which explains why every couple of days I find a toilet lid unhinged from its seat, or the whole thing laying at an angle to the bowl, and I have to sit carefully, lest I slide right off the thing. Turning to get the toilet paper can be particularly problematic. With a loose toilet seat you must twist at the waist. If you try to shift your derrière, the whole seat twists and you could find yourself sitting on the floor, but still on the toilet seat.

            These apparent toilet seat decibel tests also explain why I’m awakened by random SLAM!’s throughout the night. With eight children, someone is constantly getting out of bed to use  a toilet. A burglar could break in knock something down and never be discovered: “Honey, what was that?” “Probably just one of the kids trying out the new toilet seat. Have you heard it? Man, is it loud. It’s pretty awesome.”

            So what is this genius fix to the broken and noisy toilet seat problem (patent pending, mind you)? It’s simple, and it involves a tool we contractors like to call “God’s Gift to Construction”: duct tape. (Don’t worry, if I’ve ever worked on or built one of your homes. I have a strict 5% rule, which basically says that no more than 5% of all connections, eg. wire splices, plumbing joints, joist hangers, et al, can be made with duct tape. Thus far I’ve not had any problems, if you don’t count that one guy who turned out to be allergic to truss induced head wounds.) But I digress…So basically, I tape the seat to the bowl and the lid to the tank. Voila! No more slamming. I call it my Safe and Silent Seats campaign.

            Aside from my wife’s I-want-my-house-to-look-like-a-bed-and-breakfast-inn complaints, the only other problem is with the boys, and it’s really not a problem but potentially a plus. You see, now the boys are more likely to sit, except for the ones who prefer a challenge. But, if just one of the boys will sit, then there’s a chance the bathroom will not only have a Safe and Silent Seat, but will also only smell like one port-a-john, instead of a fleet of them, after a couple of days of the boys standing at the toilet. I swear, you would think they go in there inebriated, singing slurred sailor songs. It’s either that or they hold it in for two weeks and then when it’s time to go, IT’S TIME TO GO! Daily I hear my four year old son doing the potty dance while simultaneously trying to get the seat up and his pants down, all while trying to keep from unleashing terror on the toilet and its environs. If the bathroom walls could speak, as soon as they saw my son enter holding himself, they would let out a collective, “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

            Solving the problem of instilling cleaner toileting techniques in the boys will require a completely separate campaign. Perhaps: Safe, Silent, and SANITARY Seats. Hopefully, full-time employment can wait just long enough to allow me to unravel that universal mystery. Whatever the solution, it will no doubt require a lot of duct tape.