Hello internet land.
This summer I have been looking for a job. I graduated with my degree in Psychology a few months ago and now I have the extra-delightful pleasure of trying to justify spending all that money when I no longer have any desire to go to grad school. Luckily all the debt sits on my own shoulders so I don’t feel overly responsible to anyone except myself, although it is kind of awkward to explain at the ever-present family interrogations. I think that if too many more people ask me what I am going to do with my life I will scream.
I have an interview tomorrow with a placement agency so maybe they can scavenge me up some English-speaking work because apparently in this city world it is impossible. I am all for speaking many languages, but they seem to punish those people who don’t and I don’t think that is fair. There are definitely a lot of people at my work who are mostly French, and their English is probably worse than my French – however I am the one who will be out of a job in a month and a half when my contract ends.
I miss the days of country living, when you need a job you ask your parents and they are basically forced to employ you because they chose some god-forsaken town in the middle of a corn field to make you live in and the only store isn’t hiring and hasn’t in ten years. I was lucky enough that both my parents owned their own businesses. When I was 12, (almost like child labour but totally voluntary I promise), I started my very first job.
My mother had begun her own photography business and worked at a lot of weddings. I carried the film. Yes, I am from the days of the mystical film children of the post-millennium. It’s this weird stuff that used to have pictures on it but now just makes it really hard to find anything useful. Anyways, I had a little backpack, and I carried the film and filters and random table cloth we used on the ground so the bride wouldn’t ruin her dress if she sat down.
I also became an expert dress-fluffer. If you have ever been to a wedding you know there’s always one person (usually the maid of honour) who is responsible for fluffing the train of the dress so it looks pretty in pictures. I mastered this technique and stole the jobs of many MOH... granted they usually couldn’t care less and a lot of the time weren’t paying attention to anything but their uncomfortable shoes.
I did this job for a very long time. Or at least what seemed like a very long time. Going to a wedding – sometimes two or three- a week is exhausting. You go in, you see the brides always running late, then you go to the church, see the groomsmen confused and scared, you see the groom sweating profusely, then the ceremony happens. The ceremony for some weddings was great and short. If you have to go to a catholic wedding, multiple times a month, you start to lose parts of yourself that you will never gain back. Each week a slice of my patience would be deteriorated and every time the minister/preacher/I can’t remember what they are called for Catholics, would begin the “Love is Patient, Love is Kind” speech, you lose another morsel of will to live.
Now that I no longer attend weddings every week, I find them fascinating again. I miss it almost. ALMOST. I do not miss running around all day in the heat without food or drink until you need to drive somewhere then you get two handfuls of chips and half a diet coke before your back out there fluffing up a storm. I do miss that moment when the bride walks into the church/patio/whereever when the groom tries to keep his cool but you know that he is smiling and clamping his teeth as tightly closed as he can because should he move too suddenly or open his mouth his heart might just explode out on the floor. And that would be a gross and sad start to a marriage.
Finding a job now is stupid. Internet searches seem to be the easiest way but then I see all these “help” sites saying that 2/3 of jobs aren’t even advertised. They then end. How am I supposed to know how to find this super-secret job? I went to university... They babbled at the front of the room for 3 hours a day and then made me write some essays. None of them told me about the secret under-ground job market run by leprechauns riding unicorns. Where the hell does this exist? Just tell me the internet... where the heck do I find a job if you are keeping them so secret? They should probably be teaching leprechaun hunting in high school so when you need to go find a job you will have the initial skills.
I know it is my own responsibility to find a job, and to be resourceful. I just really like to image a leprechaun guarding a crazy safe full of open positions of great jobs accompanied by his cigar-smoking unicorn with an attitude problem and slight narcissism. (Yes, this is how my brain works. No, I don’t care if you judge me).
Until next time Internet!Here is a poorly drawn picture. Because its important: