1/4Life

I suppose I've been having a quarter-life crisis for several years now.

Like Jane, I got out of college and couldn't get a job in my field. In fact, I couldn't really get any job. I tried for art teacher, secretary, retail, etc. However, when they saw the degree in animation on my application they all had the same question. "Where do you think you'll be 5 years from now?" I wasn't about to answer that I thought I'd still be working at a crappy paper company (yes, I would've been Pam from The Office), so I told the truth, and of course didn't get the job. In my mind I hoped that I would be working for some fabulous animation company. OK - honestly, I would've been happy at a crappy animation company - just to be doing the work in my field.

The one thing I wouldn't have answered would be that I thought I'd be working at a library and living back at home with my mother. 5 years haven't passed yet - I still have a little under 2 years, so maybe there's still hope. I don't think I'll get a job at an animation company, but at least there's still time to move away. The library isn't that bad, though I'm not entirely sure I want it as a career.

During the last 3 years and 3 months, I've bounced back and forth between what I thought should be the next step. I've thought about law school, a masters in fashion or interior design, tattooing, and even culinary school. I've toyed with the idea of opening an art store here in Lake City. I'm caught between the idea of staying where I am and moving. (Though usually that's hindered by the fact that I can't ever seem to save any money)

Of course, maybe all of this isn't a true "crisis", just life. It takes time to figure shit out sometimes, and while I may not be sure about the future, I'm not too bad off where I am.

Someone has a case of the Mondays!

Sorry, all, for my unintended hiatus here. I flew down to Florida for a friend's wedding over the weekend and threw a 4th of July BBQ party on Wednesday. In theory, I love hosting parties. In reality, I worry WAY too much about them and stress out over it. My stupid home internet hasn't been working for over a week now (ok, I steal from my neighbors, but it's not like I'm downloading movies or something, I just want to post a blog and check my freaking email!!). I'm at a coffee shop now.

I've been thinking a lot about how to respond to this topic. It should be easy-- the first question in any Washington circle of strangers or acquaintances is invariably "so what do you do?" Even before "HOW do you do?" which, to me, seems like a much more polite question than "what."

Once before on this blog I mentioned my company by name, and then it popped up on their Google Alerts, so I won't be doing that again. Right now, though, I'm in Washington working for a government contractor (I think we prefer "consulting company"). I work on Outreach and communications for a website that's open to emergency responders and homeland security officials to review past incidents and exercises and pull lessons from them for use in the future. Until recently, I was on a team of three people doing Outreach (four people, not so long ago), but now it's just me. This has given me the ability to re-work some of the actual aspects of what I do, for example, I get to write more and have passed on some of the more inane work to a different team of people. But, well, I'm not having such a good time of it lately. Sorry for you, Dear Readers, a public forum is not the place to discuss exactly why. Everybody has problems, right?

When I came to DC a few months after getting my writing degree from FSU, my intention was to hold a full-time job to pay the bills and put food in my belly, but to spend my spare time writing and publishing. It hasn't really worked out like that. Usually when I get home I'm sort of mentally burnt out and just want to veg for a while. However, once you start vegging in an evening, it's quite hard to stop. I usually spend the evenings doing crosswords and watching Law & Order or whatever came in from Netflix. Also, I've lived here for 2 1/2 years and have yet to find more writers, or at least more creative writers. I know some journalists and some other coms people, but I haven't been able just to sit in a coffee shop or on the Mall on a Saturday afternoon and write and share my work with people and talk and laugh... Man, I was SO spoiled in college. Even the few people here who have expressed interest in this are so busy all the time, as is typical with DC schedules, we never catch each other to actually do it.

So now, my job is my job, but I won't be doing it for the rest of my days. It's not career for me yet. Who knows what I'll be doing next...

This Post's Dewey Decimal Number? Probably 814.54 TYS

Well I think it's no secret that I currently work at a library. In fact, the same library Nick used to work at, though things aren't as bad as he painted them to be - that is due to the fact that we've changed directors since then, and the one we have now is a lot nicer and more laid-back than the one before.

However, when I have to explain what I do - well, I usually don't have to do much explaining, except if I talk about the reference desk. I think I've talked about it here before, but in case I haven't, that's the desk where anybody can come up with whatever strange question they have in their mind, and I have to find the answer or help them find the answer to it. But this post isn't just me explaining stuff like that.

Nick had written that because of his job, people automatically assumed he liked numbers. Working at a library, they assume several things about you:

1. You like to read - totally true. I don't think there's anyone working at the library that doesn't love to read. Our janitor is illiterate, but that's another story.

2. You're incredibly boring and stuffy and spend all day shushing people - couldn't be farther from the truth - for most of the people who work at my library at least. I mean, that probably applies to some of them, but that's an old stereotype. Besides, I work at a public library - if we actually tried to keep the place quiet and shushed everyone, it would be a never ending battle. We can't even get people to turn off their cell phones (or at least on vibrate), and there are signs up everywhere - even at eye level on the front door. *Since starting this post a couple of days ago, I've found this article talking about the same thing on nytimes.com*

3. You have to be smart to work at a library - common misconception. Yes, you have to take a test to get one of our positions, but trust me, somehow some people slip through. There are times I think some of the people I work with have no short-term memory, like in Memento, because there are times where it seems like certain people have completely forgotten how to do a job they've been doing for months (or perhaps years). The other part of this is that people think you know everything because you spend all day reading books. I wish I had the time to read books at work, and yes, you do pick up a lot of knowledge from having to find stuff for other people. However, we just look smart because we know where to find the info. (Not that I'm not smart - though one may beg to differ after looking at this picture).

I suppose the one thing I get to do that most other people who work at libraries don't - paint and draw. Whenever they need a background done for a children's program, I get out of doing my regular work to do paint or construct whatever they need. It rocks! Currently I've been working on stuff for out Harry Potter party we're having on the 21st to celebrate the release of the 7th book.! Yes, we will probably be told that we're going to burn in hell for aiding Satan in warping children's minds, but I don't care- it's going to be a blast. (Fun side note: one of my coworkers has actually taken the day off because she doesn't want to be here for our party).

So though I shelve books, help patrons, and answer inane questions, I am NOT a typical librarian. Actually, I'm not a librarian at all - you have to have a masters degree -, but they do a lot of the same things I do, they just get a couple more dollars an hour for it.

confessions of a traveling hermit

Wondering how I ended up teaching English in South Korea and owning a home in the Waycross, GA ghetto? Well, it’s definitely a bit of a long story. Some of you know have heard this tale already, but in the hopeful assumption that there are some of you out there reading this blog who *haven’t* heard it, here we go!

I’ve written before about my job working at the Department of Defense. If you missed that journey into my past, you can read about it here. But all you need to know about that job for the purposes of this story is the following:

I left that job because I disliked it intensely. Why? Well, the work was highly repetitive, and essentially simple. I often remarked that a group of blind monkeys could have done what I did, even though the work, in fact, was not all that simple. It was an incredibly high-stress job. I had tension headaches all the time, and spent a fortune on ThermaCare heat wraps for my tense neck and shoulders. I kept a bottle of Pepto-Bismol in the drink holder of my work car at all times. I would swill directly from said bottle several times per day. I held this job for twenty-seven months, during which time I developed my first wrinkles and my first ulcer. Of course, this job did have its pros: it paid well, and was on a set promotion-schedule (the longer you worked there, the more money you made), and I had health insurance and paid sick and vacation days. Those are some good pros, but...

One of my coworkers had worked at that job long enough to retire. He hated it; he was miserable. The month he retired, he was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Several of my coworkers were eligible to retire, yet they kept working. It certainly wasn't because they loved the job; they hated it and bitched about it constantly. Why didn't they retire? Because the longer they worked, the greater their retirement package would be. They wanted all the money they could get. Before I left, there were two heart attacks and one stroke (none of them fatal) among my eligible to retire coworkers... and yet they were all still working there when I left.

I left the Department of Defense because I didn't like my job. It was not personally satisfying in any way, and it was taking a high toll on me physically and mentally. I left the DOD to accept a position as an ESL teacher in Russia, where I received a salary of roughly $200/mo, and I never regretted my decision.

Why did I decide to move to Russia? Well, I double-majored in Russian and Political Science in college, during which time I spent nine (non-consecutive) months in Russia, and I loved every minute of my time there. I had accepted the position at the Department of Defense, thinking it was the sort of position that someone with a PolySci degree *should* accept, although while there, I constantly felt as though I were wasting my education, as I rarely put any facet of my degree to use. Additionally, I often felt as though my job was useless; if you read this post, you'll realize why. I thought that perhaps if I got a job with a non-profit organization, one that works to facilitate international relations between the US and Russia (and there are several), I would feel satisfaction from my work. I would also be both using my degree and accomplishing something.

But, there was a flaw in that plan. See, I graduated from college in 2001. Following graduation, I spent five months in South Korea, two months in Costa Rica, and twenty-seven months within walking distance of Mexico. At the point at which I began to consider changing fields, I hadn't spoken Russian in four years. My Russian skills had degenerated into something that I termed, "spanglorusskikonglish" - not really something to put on my resume. I decided that spending a year in Russia, teaching English and studying Russian, would allow me to rebuild my skills, and would look great on my resume. I had it all planned out: a year in Russia, and then I could apply for a job. I even had a specific employer in mind.

Then fate intervened. Some personal things happened to me while in Russia, which led me to reevaluate the course my life was taking. I'm not going to get into that here, as it's not really something I want to discuss in a public forum. I only bring that up to let you know that in the fall of 2005 I stepped back and looked at what I was doing with my life. I realized that I was in danger of making the same mistakes which landed me in the job at the DOD.

Like I mentioned above, the DOD job was the sort of job that a college grad with a high GPA and a PolySci major is expected to land. And yet there I was in Russia, trying to follow the expected path of a Russian major. While in theory, working for a non-profit that works in and/or with Russia sounds appealing, when I began to examine my job prospects, reality was quite a turn-off. Check out the following, an actual ad for a position at the sort of NGO that interested me. They were searching for someone with my qualifications to:

Assist in conducting research on price and quality comparison for necessary office supplies/equipment. Responsible for inventory of office supplies/equipment and ordering. Responsible for receiving and shipping mail for staff. Organize archives, media hits, vendor files and Staff Meeting Minutes. Update and maintain contact database for mailing. Assemble material for volunteer information and general inquires for mailings. Ensure cleanliness of office areas for visitors. Communicate with vendors for troubleshooting and service orders. Answer reception phone line during business hours. Handle referrals to appropriate staff members and questions from public. Assist Executive Director with administrative tasks. Prepare mailings for staff and distribute mail. Assist in researching items for program development. Assemble presentation materials for special events. Provide assistance in special projects. Update and maintain handouts for social services department, legal program and the reception areas. Responsible for paying monthly bills and vendors on a timely basis including mailing of payments. Ensure signature on checks. Track and reconcile credit card statements and time & attendance. Organize check requests, bank statements and deposits for Bookkeeper. Attend and record minutes for Staff Meetings. Ensure cleanliness of conference room. Provide refreshments for Board Meetings. Assist in preparing Board Packet mailings. Assist with staff and Board member accommodations. Assist with organizational events. Organize state and national organizations information, maintain equipment inventory in the Equipment Inventory Log. Coordinate / schedule technology visits. Maintain administrative office files. Other duties as identified and assigned.

Ahh, the job opportunities for someone with a BA in Russian. Not so appealing. Ensure cleanliness of office areas? Communicate with vendors? Research price and quality comparison for necessary office supplies/equipment? Would I really feel as though I were accomplishing *anything* with my life if those were my duties? True, not all job descriptions sounded quite that bad, but none of them made me feel as though I had found the niche that I was looking to fill. Not to mention that nearly all such positions are located in some of the most expensive cities in the United States, yet pay very little. (Now, I am not all that interested in making tons of money - as I explain further along in this post - but I don't want to run into debt either. I lived like a pauper in San Diego so I could pay off all my debts, and I'd like to remain largely debt-free as long as possible. But we'll talk more about money in a minute.)

Of course the opportunities in the nonprofit sector are slightly broader for someone with a Masters or a Doctorate, and as such, I briefly and seriously considered grad school. But (and I mean no offense to those of my good friends currently in grad school) the more grad school stories I heard (and continue to hear) from my friends, the less excited I became by the prospect of an advanced degree. Honestly, so much of grad school sounds like utter bullshit to me. For example, I know someone (a dear friend, highly intelligent, and whom I greatly respect) who earned his PhD by writing a dissertation on third person impersonal pronouns no longer used in the modern Russian language. What is the point?

Please bear in mind that I am in no way opposed to the pursuit of knowledge, and I truly hope that there never comes a day when I cease to learn new things. But so much of academia just seems so senseless to me, all this specialization to the point of incomprehension. Perhaps one day I will enter a Masters program for teaching ESL, but for now, I have decided that grad school is not the route for me.

So what is the route for me? I thought quite seriously about remaining in Russia for a second year. I loved my job there, my coworkers and my students... but financially, I simply couldn't. As I mentioned above, before moving to Russia, I paid off all of my debts (car, student loans, credit card), and I accrued enough savings to finance my year abroad at a salary of $200/mo without again going into debt, but I simply couldn't afford to do it for a second year. True, I had enough credit that I could have started charging expenses with the plan of paying off my debts when I returned to the US and got a "real job" - but that's one black hole I have no intention of falling down.

Instead, I thought about what it was about my life in Russia that was making me happy. I surprised myself with the answer: for me, the best thing about my situation in Russia was the lack of stress. True, occasionally I would fret about things like what to do about my students who were chronically failing their exams, or how to turn the lyrics of I am a Rock into a ninety minute discussion, but I never suffered a moment of the gut-wrenching stress that I put up with for twenty-seven months in San Diego. Back in 2000, following my seven-month stint in St. Petersburg, I'm sure my answer to what it was about Russia that made me happy would have been different. It would have involved the Russian people, or the Russian culture, or the amazing historical architecture, or even the Russian nightlife... not that I don't still love the Russian people, architecture and culture (I have found that I'm a bit too old for nightclubs), but I've changed. I enjoy spending time in Russia, but I no longer feel as tied to Russia as I once did. I guess that's an odd thing to say, coming from someone who has spent so much time there (and who is planning to return there at the end of August!), but it's true. The best thing about my life in Russia was the lack of stress.

Thus, I arrived at goal number one for my future: Remain in a low-stress situation. But other than low-stress, what else do I want out of life? I made a list of things that I enjoy doing:

• Reading (Self-explanatory, and if you've read any of my blog, you'll have noticed how it often becomes Jane's Book Review)

• Writing (Ever since I was a little kid, I've enjoyed writing, and I do it mostly for my own personal satisfaction. I've written one book. I’m working on another (although I’m going on a year plus of writer’s block). I love blogging; it’s addicting.)

• Taking photographs (again, self-explanatory – but feel free to check out my photos!)

• Traveling (Why am I writing explanations? Again, self-explanatory. I mean, I live in South Korea.)

• Web/Graphics design (There are many people who are far better at this than I am... I'm not really qualified to do this for a career or anything, but it is quite an absorbing hobby. I do all the work on janekeeler.com. It's nothing fancy, but it's definitely something I enjoy playing around with.)

• Playing with kitties. Not to try and compete with Linda or anything, but I am totally destined to become a crazy cat lady. (Speaking of, anyone want to adopt a kitten?)

• Spending time ALONE doing the above. (Yes, spending time alone is a very important component of my happiness. Perhaps the most important of all. Don't get me wrong; I enjoy the company of others. I love my friends and family, and I enjoy spending time with them. But not all the time. I enjoy spending substantial quality time alone doing the various things listed above.)

• Teaching ESL (I really enjoy teaching. I have fun in class. I enjoy getting to know my students, and - I know this is going to sound hokey - but it's incredibly rewarding to see my students learn and grow in their use of English. I don't want to teach English for the rest of my life, but I wouldn't mind doing it for the next few years.)

So there you have it: the list of things I like to do. After making my list, I decided to make said list my life goals. Simple as that. You've read the list, so now you know you know what I want to do with my life. But how?

Well first, you might notice that among my list of things that are important to me, I have no desire to accumulate a large amount of wealth, to own an expensive home or a fancy car. I rarely buy new things; I'm perfectly content with clothes and furniture from yardsales and thrift stores. I know how to live frugally. Granted, I can't live completely without funds, but the funds I need don't have to be big. In fact, they can be pretty meager.

The stereotypical "American Dream" that, as an American, one hears about from an early age, is that in America, if a person works hard enough, he can achieve anything. In America, anyone can become whatever he wants to become, so long as he puts his mind to it. In reality, this American dream is simply code for "if you work really hard, then you can make a lot of money." Well, that's great. But do I really want to work myself to death for money? We've already determined that I don't want a lot of money.

How can a person live cheaply? Well, for starters, live somewhere that's inexpensive. As I mentioned above, I lived in San Diego for 27 months. At the time, the average price for a home was $500,000. I was renting a tiny studio apartment for over $700/month, which was located directly under the flight line for the San Diego airport. That’s what kept my rent so cheap. (Sadly, that's true). Nearly all of the Southern Californians whom I met were resigned to the fact that they would *never* be able to pay off their homes. Houses in North Florida (where I grew up) are going for around $150,000 to $200,000 these days (although the housing bubble is bursting). This looks like quite an improvement over SoCal until you learn that my mom got her house in Waycross, GA for under $30,000. And goods (on average) are cheaper there too.

That was how I decided to relocate my base of operations to Waycross. In case you know nothing whatsoever about Waycross, don’t feel bad. It’s pretty tiny. Wikipedia has some stats on it here and you can see some of my photos of the place here. In March 2006, I purchased a house Waycross for $27,500. Granted it’s in the ghetto, but hey – I’ve never been all that into being neighborly. When people find out that I bought a house in Waycross, the general reaction seems to be, "But what will you *do* there?" and "Won't you be bored?" Look back at the list of things I like to do, people. Half of them I can do anywhere, and the other half, by definition, I can't do at home, no matter where "home" is.

I want to relax, to write, to grow some veggies and to sit around my house reading cheesy mysteries and fooling around on the internet.

But how will I pay for this house, you ask? As inexpensive it was, it still has to be paid for. Well, by teaching ESL of course. True, I have already mentioned that my ESL job in Russia, which I loved very much, paid very, very little, but in many places around the world, ESL teachers earn substantially more. I have been teaching English in South Korea since August 2006, and I am making enough to put a sizable dent in my mortgage – and to fund this boondoggle to Siberia and keep me in food and water for four or five months when I return to Waycross. Additionally, my mother agreed to be my lending agent for this venture, which has definitely smoothed the way somewhat (kind of tough to get a mortgage on an income of $200/mo!) My plan is simple: teach English for a year or so somewhere, then hermit for a while in Georgia. Then, when I start to run out of subsistence funds or become stir-crazy, I will teach ESL somewhere else in the world. There are so many countries I would love to visit. I’m actually leaning towards Kuwait as my next destination, although who knows! :-)

You don't go out looking for a job dressed like that? On a weekday?

I don't mind so much anymore when people ask what I do. I can be reasonably proud that I work in government and that I am a Budget Analyst. No, it's not the most exciting job. But it's a management position, and it makes me seem professional. I do get annoyed when people say to me, after I say what I do, "oh, you must like numbers." No, motherfucker, I don't actually like numbers. It's just my job. In fact, I hate numbers. I'm not good at math. Recently, someone asked me to come up with a percentage increment for the past ten fiscal years. Now, I know how to do percentages for certain things. But I didn't know how to take ten years of numbers and make a percentage increase for each year. I had to look it up online. And then I found the answers on a high-school math help site. I'm that bad. I also own Math for Dummies (it is hidden strategically in my office). I don't like numbers. I don't have to. Being a Budget Analyst doesn't necessarily have to do with numbers (it's more looking at accounts, budgeting for the next year, writing impact statements, working on legislative priorities that have a budgetary impact, etc.). So that question gets annoying. But I am much more proud than when I used to work in the library many years ago- I hated telling people that. They used to just go "oh." And I hated working there. I was such a piss-on. I wasn't even allowed to talk to my co-workers; it was like elementary school. That was bullshit.

It was much more fun, though, telling people when I worked at the mental health center as a behavior technician. There were lots of stories I had to tell from that job. Seeing the people being Baker Acted. Having to learn to take people down to the ground and pull their pants down so the nurse could give them a shot to knock them out. All the times I got bit and had to get tetanus shots (I don't know if I could could on my hands the amount of times I had to get tetanus shots). Having a kid try to stab me with a marker--one of those smelly ones that are obviously not sharp. I smelled like blueberry for several days and that was hard to wash off. Having to take down a 300 pound man with about seven staff members who was so high from crack that it took four shots before he even calmed down (those shots usually knocked someone out immediately). Those were great stories, and I still have some great party stories. But that was also not what I wanted to do with my life.

It doesn't bother me too much to have someone ask me what I do. What always bothers me is having someone ask me what church I go to. I get that none down here, but in Northern Florida that was always the first question (second one was usually Gators or Seminoles?). I hated that. I met someone recently that thought I listened to country music because I'm white (it's South Florida after all). But I am pretty proud of what I do; I like my job, and I'm very proud of the fact that I work in the field that I am going to school for. But being automatically asked "oh, you must love numbers" is annoying.

Glenn, I for one an very proud of you for your going into poetry. I remember when you were torn between doing that and going in to something that you might not want to go into but you'd go into because other people would want you to. I had a whole time period when I was going to go into a field that I would not have enjoyed just to go to college and make money- I know I'll never make shitloads of money going into government, but I'm happy with what I do.

Don't I Know It

It's tough to tell people who ask me what I'm doing that I go to graduate school for poetry writing. Mainly because people don't realize that you can go to school for poetry writing, I guess. Or because people don't believe that anybody in their right mind would even want to go to school for poetry writing (they're probably right). Usually the way the conversation goes is something like this:

Person: So Glenn, what do you do now?
Me: I go to the University of Houston for graduate school.
Person: Really? What do you study?
Me: Poetry writing.
Person: Oh. Poetry writing. *pukes everywhere*

This scenario is the general reaction of most people. Most people do not read contemporary poetry, and therefore think poetry writing is kind of lame. Middle school girls do that shit all the time and they don't have to go tens of thousands of dollars in debt to do it. They just have to get their pigtails pulled or something, I don't know. But I can't blame people for this attitude because nobody reads contemporary poetry. Even my good friends at this blog I bet don't read contemporary poetry. In fact, I would be astonished if one reader (and most of our readers seem extremely well educated) could name off the top of his or her head five living literary poets (ie not Jewel or Billy Corgan or Fantasia). Unless Melanie pops back in again, because she knows her stuff.

None of this is the fault of readers (or non-readers) of poetry, though. If your high school was like mine, then you probably only read three or four poems from the 20th century. Something like "The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner" by Randall Jarrell, "Grasshopper" by e. e. cummings, "Richard Cory" by Edward Arlington Robinson, and some awful shit about not drinking on prom night.

Anyway, those first three linked poems were the only 20th century poems I was ever exposed to in high school. And while I can understand the merits of them (now, not then), they basically all suck. So I hated poetry for many years, until as a senior in undergrad at FSU I couldn't get into a fiction workshop class and had to take poetry workshop class. Anyway, I got exposed to poetry that was actually written (mostly) during my lifetime, and I was really blown away. Though I don't really like most of these people now, poets like Ai, Billy Collins, David Kirby, and Sylvia Plath were really what drew me into poetry. I guess they all worked as introductions. (I don't really like Ai or Billy Collins anymore, but I can't ignore what their poetry did for me).

I sort of feel like anybody who claims to hate contemporary poetry just hasn't read the right contemporary poetry. Sort of like people who claim to hate country music or rap I guess. Maybe it's ridiculous, but I feel like I was in the same boat as a lot of haters. And maybe people just think poetry is dumb because of all the lame prom poems we had to read in high school. I would recommend to people just to check out Poetry Daily once a day. There's a different poem up there every day, it's free, and sometimes there's even a good poem. Then maybe one day you guys will actually like poetry and stop puking on my shoes whenever I say I go to grad school for poetry. Seriously, they're nice shoes.

Or maybe you'd even see a poet you really like and buy his or her book? Ha, who am I kidding?

PS - Coda:

I've made my main point, but here's a side note. If the person who is asking what I do is from Houston, here's how the conversation goes:

Person: So pardner, what do you do?
Me: I go to graduate school.
Person: Oh, at Rice University?
Me: No, the University of Houston.
Person: Oh. UH. *pukes everywhere then stabs out own face*

Oh well. People think UH is lame here, because it is a public school. Although it is the most racially and ethnically diverse campus in America, which is pretty great. But I guess rich snobs who send their kids to Rice (private school) probably hate all those ethnic types. Sometimes I try to explain that the writing program at UH is nationally recognized as the second best in the nation (after Suckowa, I mean, Iowa), but then I sound like a big pretentious douche.

PPS - That coda was my way of saying UH is nationally recognized as the second best in the nation without sounding like a big pretentious douche.

PPPS - If it helps, the last time they rated writing programs was 1997. So that doesn't really matter anymore I guess.

PPPPS - Also, I can think of nothing more fun than teaching poetry to college students, which is why I'm getting the degree, also.

so, what do you do?

does anyone else get sick of answering that question?
i've been thinking about employment lately so that gets to be our topic for the week- career/job/something to keep one busy or whatever, and why people do the jobs they do. the point of most of my thinking has pointed out that the vast majority of employment positions today are purely superfluous, and don't provide much (if any) actual life-sustaining value. i excuse of course, doctors, ummm, doctors, farmers, and for some reason, movie stars from that generalization.
seriously, i work in hr. imagine trying to explain to a cave-person that i shuffle around papers with information about other employees...(i don't think i could even begin to explain employment, let alone a corporation).
or that my husband is a personal trainier. yes, he helps people be healthy - people like me who don't do any real manual labor for their sustenance, and need his help not to get fast food diseases like high blood pressure and atherosclerosis that they wouldn't get if they would go shovel some dirt or rake hay in the great outdoors instead of typing.
don't get me wrong, i love my job pushing papers, and i don't mean to be hypocritical - but i used to get paid for hard work, and i just can't help but notice that i've gotten in worse shape since i got my desk (as opposed to moving furniture at the job i used to have). i wonder what i'd do if our society hadn't turned in the direction it has. i know that i make lots of references to "back in the day" but the past just fascinates me. for thousands of years, humanity had so few employment options: serf, soldier, farmer, hooker, blacksmith, butcher, baker, candle-stick maker... you get the idea. notice how these are all what we'd call "blue collar jobs"?
it's like we've made our whole society into the aristocracy. back then, most people lived in shacks and wore fleas. now we've all got internet and a place with carpet, and if we hate a job and walk out, well, we could probably weasel our way into some government funds to tide us over until we get another job.
so i like the fact that our society lets people pay people for handling their funds and paying other people who help people that are in bad shape because of not working with their body get in better shape. (can anyone say run-on sentence?) i like that we have money instead of getting paid in sheep or clam shells. i like the way things are going - for the most part.
of course, then we get into unions and labor laws, and i go off on angry rants. i love what unions were able to do for the poor abused workers at factories back in the day. i hate that unions run practically every grocery store now and that joining them is mandatory, and then they tell people when and what for to strike.
i like that labor laws exist. i hate the loopholes, that they're so difficult to enforce, and that management, for the most part, doesn't care. has anyone out there ever worked somewhere that they got to take all the breaks they should have? i think that if i ever get high enough up in management again, that my budget will suck, but dammit everyone will follow the labor code with breaks at all the right times and overtime pay and the whole bit. dammit.
did i mention that we're in the middle of a who-gets-what-break-when conflict at my ymca? blah, i tell you - BLAH! if everyone would just follow the rules like they taught us in sesame street, everything would be hunky-dory and i'd skip off into the sunset, at least until i ran out of breath.

Terrible jobs and shameless self-promotion

A year at Burger King my senior year of high school taught me that humanity is vile. A summer waitressing the graveyard shift at Steak-n-Shake left me totally exhausted. A month waitressing at a Chinese restaurant in my hometown brought me to the realization that I was neither blonde enough nor personable enough to bring in the big tips. Six weeks at a Dell computers call center has caused me to boycott anything and everything Dell. Five months ripping jawbones out of dead deer was actually kind of fun – but try explaining the presence of that on your resume! A little over two years as a Fed left me astounded by the fact that the entire infrastructure of the United States hasn’t simply collapsed. But by far, the worst job experience that I ever had was a five month stretch in 2001.

My friend Melissa and I were nearing college graduation, although we had yet to either line up jobs or decide on career tracks for ourselves. Neither of us felt ready to resign ourselves to a world of cubicles. When we both landed reasonably high paying jobs at the same company in a foreign country, we were ecstatic. Unfortunately, the experience didn’t turn out to be anything like what we expected.

When I returned home from that misadventure, I sat down in the armchair in my bedroom and pulled out my laptop. I sat for days, typing. Roughly seventy pages later, I achieved a well needed catharsis. Now, obviously seventy pages are a few too many to post on a blog… but you want to read about it, you know you do. Luckily for you, I published it. Just click on the image below to purchase it!

Terrible Job Stories

Last week I finished the temp job I had working with our school's literary journal (Gulf Coast - check it out, everybody! The latest issue has a great selection of new poetry and prose [shameless plug]). I have some money in the bank, but if my calculations are correct (and since my calculations are addition and subtraction, they probably are [probably, anyway {I really like the brackets within parentheses thing}]), then I need to make five hundred additional dollars to get through the summer. That means job time!

So I've been scouring Craig's List, which I guess is 99.9999% scams, and reminiscing about terrible jobs I've had. Well, maybe the jobs weren't terrible, but they had terrible moments. No, on second thought, the jobs were terrible.

My first job I ever had was working on the farm behind my house when I was ten. My brother, some friends, and I went over, and these twenty something year olds said they'd pay us $2 an hour to help them with field work. To me as a kid, $2 an hour is like a million dollars an hour. I was just as good as math then as I am now. But to be fair, if I worked for ten hours, that was twenty comics, because back then comics were a buck. So we laid out hay on the strawberry field for 6 or 7 hours. Then I wanted to die I was so tired. But they said come back and help them at the farm house and they would pay us more. So the next day we went to the farmhouse, and they paid us to chase and kill rats. It was pretty traumatic because 1) I thought rats were small, 2) I didn't realize rats lived in our food before it was shipped out, and 3) I didn't like killing animals. Anyway, that was terrible. The next day it was more field work. By that time, they owed each of us like $40, for twenty hours work. But then they said they would only give us $10, total, and we had to split it between the four of us. That was total bullshit. My father went over and talked to them, probably to let them know they were breaking a billion or so child labor laws, but he didn't get any more money from them. My parents felt bad for us and gave me and my brother $5 additional dollars, which bought one issue of Darkhawk and like maybe two X-Men comics. I don't really remember what I was reading back then. It wasn't DC.

After that I did some babysitting for my parents in exchange for the opportunity to rent one PG-13 movies. I saw a lot of awful movies. Like The Rocketeer, and Death Becomes Her. Also, I dog sat my friend's horrible german shepherd that tried to maul me on multiple occasions, fostering my current fear of large dogs. But when you're a kid, you like money. In high school I was not allowed to work during the school year for some reason, which sucked, because that meant I never had money. But in the summer time I worked at my dad's office doing odd jobs. I guess that wasn't really a terrible job, apart from roaches in the records building. But I already told that story on this blog once before. Long story short, I don't like roaches, they like me, my cat Xerxes likes them for dinner.

Teaching 7th grade sucked, but everybody knows those stories. Working for three days at Service Zone (a Dell service center in Lake City) also sucked, because they lied about how much they were going to pay me. Also, it sort of felt like the place people went when they failed at everything else in life. I don't know if I can explain that to anybody who isn't from Lake City. In the few days I worked there I ran into a lot of people from high school I barely knew, but they were all super excited to see me. Most of these people flunked out of community college, or never really saw any point to get any learning past high school. Maybe I'm a total asshole for saying all this, but I felt like at any second the dinner scene from "Freaks" was going to break out once they saw me, a college grad (well, in creative writing, anyway), in their training class, like it justified all of their opinions of the world outside Lake City, that it was unimportant and overrated. It is after all, the town that will survive the end of the world.

Anyway, my last story involves working at Publix. Lots of terrible stories surround that place, like whenever I tried to quit and the manager teared up and guilted me into staying. Or the fact that I was two years out of college and a bagger at Publix working for $7 an hour. But I'll tell the story of the time I was working one fateful Sunday morning. I was a bagger at the time (which meant that customers would talk about me like I was stupid and deaf to the cashiers, but rarely acknowledge my presence unless it was to tell me not to put their bread on the bottom of the bag, as if I was from some alternate dimension in which bread could not be crushed by six cans and would be astonished that they would not want their bread on the bottom of the bag, but it also meant I had the lowest amount of responsibility, which was cool), and I was called over to the office counter. They told me the men's bathroom needed to be cleaned (another duty of baggers for some reason), which wasn't a good sign, since it was Sunday morning. That probably meant something was up. And indeed, something was up. Piles of shit all over the bathroom floor, and shitty footprints leading out of the store. I walked back over to the counter and asked what would happen if I didn't clean it up. The supervisor said I'd be fired. So I just sat there for a minute, and the supervisor repeated that I'd be fired. I said I know, I'm just thinking. Well, I guess this story would be cooler if I quit right then, but instead I cleaned up the mess by dumped a gallon each of the strongest cleaners we had on the bathroom floor and mopping up the mess. Well, that sucked. And then I worked there for 8 more months.

Then I worked at a T-Shirt factory, which was a pretty good job, and now I teach college, which is also a pretty good job. Except I need a summer job that preferably does not involve human feces in any shape or form.

So share your terrible job stories! Sorry this post is a million words long or so.

Reject!

Jen already took my best idea for this post... although I do have a short story to share with you along the same lines. When I was a LOT younger, I used to wonder how people could end up unemployed. I mean, if you don't have a job, just go get one, right? This belief was reinforced by the fact that I got the very first job I ever applied for. Granted, that job was manning the front register at a Burger King, but hey, a job's a job.

A couple of years later, my friends Melissa, Tina and I spent the summer after our Freshman year of college living together in Gainesville, FL. We had planned to rent an apartment, get part-time jobs, and spend the summer having fun. For the first month of the summer, we spent every day searching for jobs. I applied for office jobs, retail jobs, waitress jobs, fast food jobs... any jobs I could find. I'd worked office jobs and fast food jobs before, so I thought that surely I'd get picked up for something like that, but as the weeks went by and my bank account dwindled, I seriously began to worry. I applied to all sorts of low-level jobs and nobody wanted me. I even applied to work at Wal-Mart and was rejected!

Eventually, I was hired as a waitress for the graveyard shift at a brand-new Steak-n-Shake just off I-75. Tina got a job working the night shift at Waffle House. Melissa wasn't as lucky. She too had applied at both Waffle House and Steak-n-Shake, but was not hired. Eventually she did get a "job" - as a door-to-door vaccuum cleaner salesman! At first she was told that she'd be paid commission per-sale... then a short while later, she was told they'd give her a free vaccuum cleaner for every one she sold. Yep, they were going to pay her in vaccuum cleaners. And then she quit.

(Melissa, I hope you don't mind me sharing this story; it was either that or ex-boyfriend tales, and I figured this was better...)

Cue: Bitterness

Ah, rejection. There are few things I try harder to avoid thinking about than rejection. Ugh.

I guess I've mostly experienced rejection through job applications. It takes a freaking long time to find a job, especially if you're just out of college or don't live in the city where you want to work. No one's going to count on you to fly up for an interview for an entry level position. When I lived in Florida, I probably applied to 4,736,395 jobs throughout the country without hearing a peep. But when I came up to DC for a few weeks, I applied to a bunch more jobs and finally got one out of the newspaper. And when that one turned out to be intolerable, it took another 349,234 applications before I found the one I currently have (and like!! yes, those of you finding me by searching for my company's name, I do like my job!). And really, I only got this one because I had a friend who worked here and recommended me.

I keep telling myself that these are not personal rejections. I'm not still naive enough to think things like good jobs and fancy schools come to people based solely on merit. Obviously, it has a lot more to do with who you know and how much money you or your parents have. But it's still frustrating. Very personally frustrating. To know that you're ready to move on to a new phase of your life, to know that you're capable of performing well in a situation, to be nearly certain that this is what you want to make your career in, to come to all those big decisions and be stuck because you can't find someone to give you that first chance... that's what hurts.

I must have applied 50 times to Planned Parenthood and NARAL Pro-Choice and the Guttmacher Institute, even after I moved to DC, and never even got an email response. I've supported Planned Parenthood and NARAL for years through money and time, so it really surprised and frustrated me that I couldn't even get a call back. And I have to admit, even knowing that this is the wrong way to express dissatisfaction but not knowing what is correct, that I'm a lot less inclined to offer my money or time to them any more because of that. I'll participate in online petitions I find in the multiple emails I get every day from each of them, but I've let my membership lapse in both groups, despite their urgent reminders.

But how do you respond to rejection? The only advice is to move on, right? Forget about it, don't take it personally, assume that you're better off this way or something like that. It still sucks, and, I'll admit here, it still makes me a little bitter.

I hope the rest of you are more mature about this than me. This isn't a fun way to be.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

I am well familiar with transition. From moving once a year and breaking into the "real world", to having a different hair cut/color every few months - the one constant in life is change.

Transitions at work are always...fun. Working at a place with high turnover (hmm..like a library?), really makes you appreciate change and adapt. One month you can have a coworker you love, the next month they quit and a person who makes you wish you were deaf takes their place. (That is, after 3 months of screwing around the county does before they hire anyone). It's that constant shift in group dynamics that throws me for a loop sometimes. However, I suppose if I didn't have such annoyances, I wouldn't have any good stories either - and I'm sure everyone is well aware I love to tell a good story.

Some examples: Our reference librarian quit after I was there about a year. No tears were cried, I assure you, because she was the most unreasonable, short-tempered, nasty person I had met who worked with the public. (Nick, you know who I'm talking about). Shortly before she left, they hired someone in the other reference position (so she wasn't literally taking her position, but in essence she was). I was hopeful that she would be better than our other, but as time wore on I found out she wasn't.

She wasn't quite as mean, though she had her moments, but was just on another level (an illogical one) as far as her thinking. She got too stressed out if she was at the desk by herself (she liked to wander away from the desk for about 20 minutes at a time, and then those pesky patrons would come up wanting help, and she had to drag herself away from the stacks - can you believe the nerve of them?) Sometimes her way of finding the answer to a question made no sense, and at least once she accused me of opening her email and writing to someone, and then later, stealing notepads from the desk. She quit a couple of months ago, and I can only pray that the new person will be different. I can't help but think that maybe you have to have a certain personality to work reference - or maybe the position turns you into a bitch if you work it long enough.

Sadly, that's not the only change in employment that wasn't for the best. I used to have a coworker I loved to work with. We had the same taste in books, so she was always giving me new series to read, and in general was great to talk to. Well she quit and started working for a school in Branford because it was closer to home, and she could spend time with her sons during vacation, before they went off to college. About 3 months later a new person comes on, and again I thought she was alright at first.

Now she's been here for awhile, and every minute around her makes me want to pull my hair out, or move - that position in S Korea looks better everyday. She never listens, and she is always trying to guess what you're going to say. There's a reason - her husband's tongue was removed because of cancer or something, so I understand why she does it, but she needs to realize that most people (probably 99%) would rather just talk instead of having her guess (incorrectly). Here is a sample conversation:

Her: What did you do this weekend?

Me: Well I -

Her: Did you go to the Azalea Festival? I didn't even know it was going on, did you know?

Me: I did, but -

Her: You didn't want to go? Don't you like flowers? Or do you? I don't know...

Me: Well -

Her: Have you heard about such-and such going on next week? Blah, blah, blah....

That's the point that I start wondering if the edge on the ruler is sharp enough to slit my wrists. I thought it would stop when we got the other computer at the desk, and I could resume my web browsing as before, but it hasn't. To drive the point home, one of my other coworkers, who is the most patient person I know, is fed up with her.

To compound these problems, we just switched to a new system, so those of us who are faster at picking things up have to pick up the slack, and help train the slower ones. Everyday is an uphill battle it seems. Sometimes I just have to tell myself "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can - keep myself from stroking out today"

Working blues

When I started my last job, about 6 months after graduation, the interns were older than me. This caused some problems with one or two who 1.) kept calling me "Ms. Smither" and 2.) ignored me when I gave them tasks. Pompous jerks. At my current job, happily, I'm right at the median age.

Age is a strange thing these days. I have some friends right out of school in their early 20s (and some of their friends are still 18 or 19), and others in their early to mid 30s. Being 25, it's not too weird to hang out with any one in that range (although my behavior changes a bit), but I understand it when the 32-year-old says she feels awkward drinking with the 21-year-old.

What gets to me a little more is what I call the "Office Space Phenomenon." for example, this morning I rode the bus into work with a co-worker and we discussed the pros and cons of our neighborhood dry cleaners. Agag! Am I so boring?! To be fair, we later talked about bands we were going to download from iTunes after seeing them live. But you get the point. My usual lunch conversation revolves around network TV shows that aired the night before, and my neighbors are having their second annual Oscar party this weekend.

So, for me at least, the real measure of my age feels more acute as I notice my immersion in pop culture. It reflects for me that adult, work-a-day, water cooler socialization. I'm not too old to rebel, but I am old enough to see that "rebellion" is just as conformist as watching the latest Alan Sorkin show.

Man, I'm sleepy. Where's that intern with my next cup of coffee?