No Holiday for the Unemployed

It’s Labor Day 2012 and many of you are enjoying the day off. For those without jobs, however, it’s a bitter reminder of what they’ve lost or can’t have—hardly a cause for celebration.

In an effort to reach across the divide, here’s something everyone can enjoy: two generations sharing their responses to a job rejection letter. (If you’ve seen this already, pass it on to someone who could use a smile.)

Another Labor Day? Just Another Day for the Jobless

Say what you will about unions, but until all businesses and organizations are run by socially responsible, compassionate people who serve their employees and community as well as their shareholders and themselves, we need ’em.

Unemployment’s Long Reach

Here’s another Tweet about unemployment I thought you might enjoy:

“due to poor jobs number, the 2012 westminster dog show will divide the working group into two classes: employed/unemployed.”
—Robert Crane

[Pics from Westminster Kennel Club.]

Are You STILL Unemployed?!

For you 99ers out there who feel you can’t get a break from this economy, here’s good news: A recent government study may help you land a job.

On one of my too-few forays away from Moving Hell the other day, I noticed this headline in a newsbox: “Report: Unemployment High Because People Keep Blowing Their Job Interviews.” I felt duty-bound to report back to you.

Of course, the bad news is that this information hails from The Onion. Here are a few passages. They may not help you with that next interview (assuming you’re even getting any interviews), but they just might help you break a smile.

• According to the findings, seven out of 10 Americans could have landed their dream job last month if they had known where they see themselves in five years...
Hmmm. So back in 2005, how many of you saw yourself on the dole in 2010?

• Not asking where restroom is after interview could cut unemployment by 4%.
We all know good questions are crucial during interviews.

• “If applicants would just say yes when asked if they played softball or liked golf, we could add 350,000 jobs to the private sector,” Deputy Labor Secretary Seth Harris said.
Wow! Dishonesty works!

• The Labor Department confirmed their statistics don’t take into account the estimated 20 million citizens who were unable to get interviews in the first place because of formatting errors in their résumés, or cover letters that slightly exceeded one page.
Or the other 60 million who couldn’t even apply for the jobs because the online app program was flawed.

The Unemployment Blessing

I can’t say that I enjoyed being jobless. But I am grateful that I was free to spend so much time with the pooch during her last year on Earth.

Funny how the darkest turns of our lives can illuminate a treasure and refocus our perspective.

Monday Motivation for the Unemployed (and Otherwise)

I’m starting the week with this Curious George predecessor and his long-necked pal to remind all of us that if we thrust our minds far enough into the clouds, we can rise above the gloom … see better … and think differently.


[This illustration is part of Curious George Saves the Day: The Art of Margret and H. A. Rey, an exhibit at the Jewish Museum in New York City (and traveling to the Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco). Read about it in the New York Times.]

Overheard at the Unemployment Office

I visited my local unemployment office again on Thursday determined to get specific answers about why my payments stopped in January. Amid the cacophony serenading my wait (I was no. 115 and no. 79 was called just as I sat down) were these gems:

from a one-sided phone exchange “Yes, I’d like to discuss the project. … The thing is, I’m in recovery and I have a curfew. Could we meet in the afternoon instead?”

from a mother to her crying toddler “Will you just shut up?”

from one of the security guards as he looked out a window, presumably watching a car being towed away “If you parked at the Burger King, the post office, or the mall, you WILL be towed.”

from various conversations
“As soon as I got laid off, I sold everything I owned that I didn’t absolutely need.”

“Yeah, I’ve been unemployed for 15 months.”

“I worked there for 15 years. They laid off me and one other person. Everybody else got their pay cut.”

And the kicker? “I like being unemployed!”

Geez. I guess there’s one in every bunch.

A Release from Hope

I actually received an e-mail this week from one of the publishers I applied to. It was a couple of form grafs saying although they considered me, they found someone more suitable. Basically, a rejection letter. However, I prefer to think of it as a "Release from Hope," no matter how tenuous that strand of hope may have been.

Don't get me wrong: I don't hold my breath for every job I apply to. I have no Great Expectations. But I do try to keep a little flame of hope burning.

I have to confess that's getting harder to do, which may be exacerbating my "under-the-weatheredness." I visited my local unemployment office this week to find out if I really needed a lawyer to combat the mysterious offense I'd made (see "Ouch! The IDES of February Are Hurting Me") and was told to "be patient with them." They're "behind." I should keep making my regular phone calls and someday soon I'd get another letter from IDES saying where I stood. (Of course, if it's as incomprehensible as their previous letters, I still won't know where I stand.) I wasn't in trouble. But no one could tell me whether I was or wasn't eligible for benefits.

So I've had no income for a month and I'm not sure whether there will be IDES income in the future. Makes me a little SCARED … WORRIED … TROUBLED … STRESSED … DESPONDENT … ALL those emotions I've been holding at bay by writing Lull. They've been waiting in the wings for this moment to bully me.

But I'm going to look to George Eliot for strength:

"But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope."
—From Middlemarch, by George Eliot

[Art by Vermeer.]

Ouch! The IDES of February Are Hurting Me

IDES is the acronym for the inappropriately named Illinois Department of Employment Security, which has recently caused me more pain than my mouthguard can handle.

"I like nonsense; it wakes up the brain cells."
—Theodor Geisel (aka Dr. Seuss)

The kind of nonsense IDES has been sending to me wakes up my brain cells, all right—the ones connected to anger. Let me explain.

Back in December, I received notice that my unemployment benefits would continue without any action on my part. And so they did. Until I made my claim for benefits covering the last week of January and the first week of February. In Illinois, the "Statement of Certification" IDES sends spells out exactly which weeks you're answering questions about. And when I called, I was told my benefits ended in January. I could call a particular number to find out more.

Of course I called the number. But there was no further information other than that I could leave a message and they'd get back to me.

The mailbox was full.

Then I received a new statement on February 11 saying that I was deemed ineligible because I didn't make enough money during My Year of Unenjoyment to qualify. Well, no sh_ _, Sherlock! as a college acquaintance of mine used to mutter. But I thought continued benefits were based on the same numbers used to determine my original benefit amount—that is, my earnings prior to being laid off.

I tried not to get too worked up over this confusion because on the top of the VERY SAME STATEMENT were instructions on calling in my next claim for benefits. Top or bottom? Which would you choose to believe?

I went for the top and, on my assigned day this past week, called in my claim. The Teleserve voice told me my claim was accepted.

Two days later I received a thick envelope from IDES containing three notices:
1. An explanation of my rights.
2. Another statement saying I'm ineligible; only this time, it refers me to the "adjudicator's determination," which was not enclosed. My "interview" (read: hearing) is scheduled for seven days from the date of the statement, which was forward-dated to the day it actually arrived in my mailbox (the other notes in the envelope had earlier dates, so that was nice of them, I guess).
3. The regular "Statement of Certification" telling me when to call Teleserve next (as if all's well).

I knew before Christmas that IDES was having trouble keeping up with the Federal extensions granted to the jobless. In fact, state employees were having to override the computerized system and enter information manually. A friend of mine was told this by an IDES staffer. But I assumed they'd be caught up by now. (Or maybe they ARE caught up and my ineligibility is a bigger problem than I thought.)

How much extra work do these communication snafus cause the IDES staffers? How many times a day do they have to explain what these notices mean to people like me? IDES staffers deserve to know who wrote this tangle of the English language—or better, who approved it—and then mete out some justice.

I wrote to IDES. Volunteered to look over their communications with the outside world and edit the content for easier comprehension. On the other hand, if IDES was trying to be trying—if this was a strategy to exasperate the jobless to the point that we'd give up making claims and the government would keep the money—then they're doing a fine job.

[Portrait of Anger by Patricia Lange.]

Job-Hunting by Numbers

Today I happened upon a job board that had two unusual features. Each ad included these two figures:
1. The number of people who have applied so far for the position
2. The number of times the ad has been viewed

Is this useful information for job-seekers?

Perhaps. In some cases.

In my case? Well, 270 people have already applied for the job, and the ad had been viewed 13,421 times before I saw it.

So how would those numbers make you feel? Happy for the competition? Or discouraged by the odds? Eager to apply? Or ready to throw in the towel (or the keyboard)?

Of course, if you were the one to actually get the job, these numbers would sweeten your victory.

Again, the fact that the mainstream press continues to cite 6 as the average number of applicants per job annoys me—first, because reporters take it as gospel, and second, because it paints an inaccurate picture of the plight of the unemployed.

Last night while walking with the pooch, I saw something that looked like a shooting star. (My husband said it was more likely aliens.) I'm hoping it was a sign of good things to come for us—on this planet or another.


[Photo courtesy of Tony Cook.]

Bizzy, Bizzy

Dearest Lull Followers,

My apologies for neglecting you this week. I've been stepping up my job-hunting efforts—thinking through a résumé redesign, parking myself on LinkedIn, making connections, recovering from a botched interview—and hunting for new specs (which was easier back in the day because there were very few boutiques to choose from for unique glasses; now it's difficult to find specs that you don't already see on five other people). Plus I've been up with the pooch in the middle of the wintry night every night. I'm a wee bit tired. She probably is too.

I must confess that I really expected to have a new job by now. January 30 will mark my one-year anniversary of unenjoyment and it would be great to hit that milestone with a job in the bag. But I know what the reality is likely to be. And I know what that is going to feel like. I'll have to mark the date somehow. It will probably involve more burning people.

Chin up. Shame and hurt brushed aside. Put your perseverance on full throttle. Here we go into 2010…

"You Say It's Your Birthday, It's My Birthday Too…"

Birthdays can be a lonely time for displaced workers whose work had been their entire world. No jokes about getting older, no birthday greetings or gifts, no free lunch.

But folks who have December holiday birthdays already know the routine. For years, their birthdays have come and gone without much fanfare. When you compete with Santa and Jesus for attention, the outcome is pretty clear.

Today is my birthday. But I'm not complaining. With Santa and Jesus, I feel like I'm in excellent company. And my family never cheated me out of gifts or attention. They even gave me a holiday-related name, which I plan to reveal in 2010—with your help.

Here's my birthday wish that YOU have the power to make come true: Get more readers for Lull.

E-mail a favorite post (you just have to click on the envelope icon at the end of the post) or send them the URL to Lull's home page. Encourage them to be followers; be a follower yourself. I need to show visitors that people outside my inner circle are reading. And, by all means, please comment!

Once the audience expands, then I'll feel comfortable enough to discard my pseudonym and write under my own Christmasy name.

It's hard for me to ask for help, dear readers, but I really need it now. Help me be a new, authentic me in 2010.

Rage Against the Machine

Employees at many (most?) companies consider the HR people "them" or "other." The reasons vary, some undeserved. But earlier this week I got a full dose of the mayhem an HR department can cause.

I was doing what unemployed people do with their time: applying for a job online. Here's how the madness unfolded.


Eureka!
I found the job late Saturday. It seemed like one I was qualified for, so I started researching the company.

The company was fairly large (room for career movement), produced goods I wouldn't mind being affiliated with (nonfiction books), and was headquartered in an historic town (a picturesque relief from my current situation). All good.

Only one problem: There was a deadline for applying. I had until midnight to get my cover letter and résumé put together.


Deadline Looming
I wrote the cover letter and proceeded to fill out the online application. At the top of the app., some fields were asterisked in red and a note explained that red indicated you were required to complete those fields. Looked at another way, the fields not asterisked in red were optional.

So I skipped filling in the work history beyond the 12 years at my last job and at 11:45 pm, all I had left to do was attach my cover letter and résumé. The app. software allowed me to choose any one file but not actually attach it. When I chose my second file, it seemed to replace the first one. Then the program wouldn't allow me to delete the file and start over.


Deadline Hits
At midnight, I decided to write a note about the difficulty—explaining I would try to find a workaround—and hit "Submit" just to get the app. in by the deadline. Then I e-mailed the company that created the software and searched the Web for someone outside the HR department at the publishing house to send my files to.

Surprisingly, I reached a live person at the software company around 2 am. We volleyed e-mails for a bit, but to no avail. At 5 am I finally went to bed, no closer to a solution than I was 5 hours before.


Monday, Monday…
Can't Trust that Day
Though I wanted to call the publishing house first thing in the morning, I was due in court as a witness AND, more to the point, my cellphone service sucks. I couldn't risk a dropped call while I was asking for a favor.

So I called in the afternoon and the very polite receptionist said she'd talk to HR on my behalf. She called back moments later to relay the following information from "them":
1. They received my application at 12:15, so it was too late.
2. I submitted an incomplete application.
(Remember all the fields I said weren't marked "required"?)
3. But they'll allow me to submit a second application.
(How? They'd already taken down the listing from all the job boards.)
4. They accept only Word docs.
(Not the file types listed on the actual application: .pdf, .txt, .rtf, and .doc.)

Did they think I would just slink away? Give up? Little did they know that all the bullying life's thrown my way this year has given me a new kind of determination. All I'd wanted was an e-mail address I could send a couple of files to. But I'd do it their way.

So I found a way to open a generic application on the publisher's Web site and I answered every bloody question—even if all I wrote was "NA" or "I don't know." I wrote a note about it being my second attempt, then realized what time it was.

Drat! It was 5 minutes before I was supposed to meet a friend. I called him to say I'd be late, but all I had to do was press a few buttons and I'd be done.

But as soon as I hung up from my friend, I hit the button and…the Big Nothing AGAIN. I ended up copying and pasting my files into the little box I'd used to write notes. I had no time to review or proofread anything, which is a shame because so much can go awry when moving text from one software program to another. I shudder to think what my letter and résumé looked like to the readers at the other end.


On behalf of job-seekers everywhere, I have a message for HR people:
You should choose technology that says and does exactly what you expect. Want a Word file? Then the app. shouldn't say it accepts four different types of files. Want every field completed? Then say so. If the software provider can't customize it properly for you, then find someone else who can. Don't ignore the defaults of the system. They can give false impressions to candidates, wasting your time and theirs.

Say what you mean and mean what you say.

Thankfully, I know an HR department isn't necessarily a reflection of the company for which it toils. And I know the HR department isn't responsible for the programming. But still. HR bought the program, didn't it? Did anyone bother testing it? Is it not compatible with Macs? Why wouldn't it upload my files?!

Maybe it's just my karma kicking in. But if what goes around really does come around, then whoever signed off on that application may find themselves eliminated from Santa's Good List.

Oh, you better watch out…

Eat, Drink, and Live Large

Dear Unemployed Brethren,

This month brings a number of holidays and occasions for celebration, which can be especially dispiriting for those of us with limited funds and limited cheerfulness. But take to heart this Maugham quote and do something or go somewhere that lifts you into a different realm, that provides you with a unique and positive memory you can recall years from now.

"Excess on occasion is exhilarating.
It prevents moderation from acquiring the deadening effect of habit."
—W. Somerset Maugham, in The Summing Up

Sure, some will criticize you for it. But they don't understand the numbing state of unenjoyment we've endured for so many months now. Take flight just once. Your future depends on it.

Baron Ambrosia promoting Bronx Flavor

My Year of Unenjoyment

This week marks the one-year anniversary of my getting the boot from my job of 12 years. I kept working for the company until January 30, to "help them through the transition." But during that time I was neither a full employee nor an unemployed one. Just a hard-working outsider.

We've heard all sorts of horror stories about layoffs, like the manager who set off the fire alarm in order to corral his staff in the parking lot and give them the boot en masse. So I have to admire the owner of my company for allowing the employees he chose to keep to go to a nearby saloon with the employees he'd just let go. Everyone had a chance to graciously say goodbye to one another.

On the other hand, I may be the only person who's been laid off by a CEO and then pulled into his office later the same day because he couldn't wait to tell me how the new structure was going to work. How he was going to meld editorial staffs from different divisions into one cohesive unit, how he would be editorial director of all, how he would turn it into a news bureau of reporters (his dream had long been to have his own newspaper-ish organization—this at a time when nearly every newspaper in the country was failing).

He was genuinely excited about the prospect and eager for me to share in the thrill. I was aghast at his insensitivity to my own future outlook. All I could muster was, "I always wanted to have a reported newsletter in my division. I'm sorry I won't be here when it finally happens."

I suppose he did me a favor, however unintentionally. I have a hard time dealing with mercurial behavior in people who hold powerful positions. Or I used to. This has become one of the lessons—and blessings—from my year of unenjoyment: that my standards and expectations of civility are not always shared by others. The sooner I'm not affected by these differences, that I don't make them so important in my life, the better.

"We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures."
—Thornton Wilder

This Thanksgiving is not as grim as last year's. After a year of reflection, I find it easier to let go of the disappointments and anguish (though not to forget them). I now look forward to whatever future awaits. I'm still anxious about it, but I'm not pining after the worklife I had where I had it.

I'm thankful for this change of perspective, and to my friends, family, readers, and colleagues who have supported me during the transformation.

A Most Happy Thanksgiving to You!

Dogs Are People, Too

“Husband?” I cried (though I used his real name).

“Yes?” he said from the other room.

“There’s something in here.”

“Well, what is it?”

“I don’t know. I can’t make it out. Please come in here and help.”

Whatever it was, I’d never seen one before and it looked dead. Or maybe almost dead. Either way, I couldn’t bear to see it up close. I was imagining how it managed to sneak into our home and why it died (was dying) on the Persian rug next to our front door.

My husband came into the room, eyeing the mysterious clump. “Looks like a leaf. Probably came in with you and the pooch after your walk.”

He toed it lightly before bending down for a closer look. “No-ooo. This is a bone. Or what’s left of one.”

A bone?! We both turned to stare at the culprit, who looked back at us from one of her many beds—a look that said “Hunh? Is there a problem?”

It’s been a long, long time since the pooch pilfered anything from the trash. On the other hand, it’s probably been a long, long time since we put anything in there that she wanted.

But I wonder if this is another sign of her aging process. Or if—because none of us has a job to go to and we’re three peas in a pod of four walls, day in and day out—she has decided she’s one of us and entitled to everything we have and do.

Recently the pooch was thrilled when a former colleague of mine visited with two of her young children. For the occasion, I bought a special cookie for the 2ish-aged girl: a large round butter cookie glazed in pastel pink with a white smiley face on it and a three-dimensional white daisy “hair adornment.” The tyke loved it at first sight. I set her up with the cookie at our coffee table and then stepped away to get a plate of baked goods for her mother.

But when I returned, the pooch stood in place of the tyke and, with her giraffe-length tongue, was taking one long lick across that smiley face.

“I thought that was MY cookie?” the tyke said to me, as if I’d done a bait-and-switch on her.

“It was!” I assured her and apologized for the pooch’s behavior.

The pooch, meanwhile, looked a bit sheepish. “I’m sorry,” she seemed to be communicating. “I know I should have waited for everyone to be served. But I was just tasting it, after all—not eating it!”

Whose etiquette playbook was the pooch following these days? Patricia McConnell’s or Emily Post’s?

Perhaps I’ve given her one too many “senior passes” on her behavior. Perhaps, like the unemployed creatures who share space with her, she needs help with her identity; she needs more structure to help her make sense of her day and her existence.

Ah, the ripple effect of a bad economy. Even a cookie—now rendered inedible for both dog and child—isn’t immune from the consequences. But like the cookie, we try to keep smiling.

A Reading Recommendation for the Unemployed Book Lover

When I first got the boot from my job of 12 years, diving into books was exactly the escape I wanted. But it was hard to concentrate. Still is, actually. Which is why the reading list to the right contains so many books that are 1) short in length, and 2) not too taxing on the noodle.

Picasso & Lump is one of the first books I picked up when my Lull started and I nearly forgot to add it to the reading list. It's perfect for distracted readers: photographs on every page, bits of explanation here and there.

And if you're like me (and let's hope you're not cursed by being JUST like me), this book provides a perfect blend of many of your special interests: art, dogs, history, and fashion.

You get a glimpse of the private life of Picasso and his muses; his studio and his works-in-progress; his villa and the people who gathered there.

My other recommendation for reduced-focus reading: Browse through those coffee-table books you haven't picked up for ages. You'll see things you'd forgotten, and you'll see some things differently than before. You'll get lost in some luscious photographs that take your mind away, however briefly, from your circumstances.

The Jobhunter's Dilemma: Passion vs. Pragmatism

"Follow your passion."

This is the siren song of career coaches, career authors, and even my state's unemployment office. Everybody wants me to choose work that makes me happy, work that fulfills my aspirations.

The first step, they say, is to examine the characteristics inherent in certain types of jobs and determine how comfortable/content/enthused you would be about those traits. For instance, do you seek recognition for your work?

To this end, my state government encourages displaced workers to answer lists of questions in an effort to match passion with skills, and then directs the unemployed toward the appropriate career path.

Eager to follow my bliss, I answered all the questions and waited for my results.

"ACTOR/ENTERTAINER"

What?!? Heck, back in the Dark Ages when I was fresh from college, I knew the unemployment rate for actors: 95% unemployed. (I can't imagine what it is now.) And though my father didn't know this exact statistic, he had a hunch that the footlights wouldn't put food on my table and persuaded me to get a degree in something outside the performing arts.

And now here's the unemployment office—which, in the best interest of taxpayers, prefers to shoo people off the dole sooner rather than later—pushing me toward a potential life of poverty.

What's more, my skills don't necessarily prepare me to compete in the arenas that I would find fulfilling (in addition to the performing arts: animal welfare, museum studies, anthropology, archaeology, the fine arts). Following my bliss could mean queuing up at the food pantry. And I would guess that I'm not alone in this.

Still, it's worthwhile to at least consider the spectrum of career choices—from pragmatism to passion—so we can gauge what we're willing and able to sacrifice.

I've spent a number of months trying to find a job that lies on the outskirts of my passions yet requires the very skill sets I already have.

Nada.

Now I'm headed for the other end of the spectrum. So long, Sarah Bernhardt.

Turning "Unemployed" into "Unencumbered"

In my search for evidence to prove to the eviction court that I'm not a deadbeat tenant, I stumbled upon Richard John Neuhaus' essay "Born Toward Dying." I initially read it with an eye toward helping my neighbor mourn her husband's unexpected death. And I was struck by this quote about grief:

"The worst thing is not the sorrow or the loss or the heartbreak. Worse is to be encountered by death and not to be changed by the encounter."

With a few word substitutions, the notion easily applies to the jobless:

"The worst thing is not the anger or the degradation or the sorrow. Worse is to be encountered by loss and not to be changed by the encounter."

For many of us, unemployment catapults our brains into high gear. Swirls of negative and sickening thoughts dominate prime real estate in our gray matter—like that wild teacup ride in amusement parks, with a new thought at every twist. Except that this teacup ride never makes us smile.

It's up to us to control the ride, though. And that demands some introspection. To make this stretch of jobless time valuable, we must examine ourselves and our perceptions:

What view are we afforded of the world from this level?

How does it differ from our employed view?

How fulfilling was our worklife? Do we want to replicate that?

How many different futures can we imagine for ourselves?

Some of us were so focused on our previous jobs and responsibilities that we lost sight of who we are outside of the workday. Being relieved of those responsibilities gives us an opportunity to connect with what's left. Or what's been shoved aside for years.

Job loss also gives us an opportunity to heighten our awareness and compassion for those less fortunate. To count our blessings while counting our pennies. To see our circumstances from yet another point of view.

Allow unemployment to change more than the number of shoes in your closet, or the balance of your checking account, or the busyness of your social calendar.

Don't misunderstand me. I'm not pressing anyone to plaster on a faux smile and grab any old silver lining.

Unemployment sucks; why pretend otherwise?

Nonetheless, we must stretch ourselves to make this loss meaningful. By plumbing the depths of our circumstances, we can expand our humility, compassion, and wisdom. We can build character as well as resumes.

About Last Night . . .

I didn't get to tell all my ghost stories yesterday, and now it seems a little inappropriate. My roadblock was . . . well, I'm not certain. But the bottom line was I had no Internet access. Don't know why but it sure was irritating.

Today seems a world away from the Halloween festivities of yesterday. The weather has taken a turn for the better—sunshine, no wind—and between last night's fireworks display (is that a new Halloween tradition I knew nothing about?) and the time change, I feel like today marks an entirely new year.

But I know better. Judging from the holiday displays retailers rolled out last week, I know we still have to get through Christmas before we can say Goodbye to this wretched year. I plan to welcome 2010 in a BIG way—employed or not; or, at least, I'm going to make a BIG deal of putting 2009 in the past.