Fiiiiiiive Interviews, that's all we've got!

123 resumes sent over the past coming-up-on 8 months, and I've only been granted the opportunity to Get Personal a whopping 5 times. How inspiring! To write about, that is.

Interview #1: August 2008
It didn't take more than a few days after getting laid off to secure this one, so I was confident that hey, this whole Job Lossage wouldn't be terribly awful after all. The job in question was for less money than my unemployment stipend would be, but I didn't care because it was working for a newspaper, something I've wanted to do for ages. Oh sure it wasn't a writing position, but I let the interviewer know that that was my goal in working for such an establishment. You know, I'd plan on sticking around. Unfortunately, even though I thought it went rather well, in particular since it lasted nearly an hour mostly lying within the realm of comfortable conversation, I never heard back from them. Even after I sent a few emails, including one applying for another position they had open several months later. Alas!

Interview #2: October 2008
Well I quickly resigned my pledge to NEVER WORK CONSTRUCTION AGAIN by applying to this position, which I thought was project management but was actually some sales team bullshit for a commercial firm. I didn't think the interview went particularly well, not just because Mr. Owner Dude was an ex-marine still maintaining a haircut that you can set your watch to, but rather because I'm not a salesperson. At all. No really. If you need someone to convince you to buy something, guess what? You don't need it. Period. This goes from personal to business, but if the world worked as I wanted, how would anyone ever own a vehicle? Anyhow. So even though they said "we'll call you tomorrow with a salary package offer," I knew they would not, and I was on my way. For the second time, since I showed up the day before and sat in their office for 45 minutes before they had to reschedule my interview for the next day. Either way, even though I gave a good interview and convinced myself to suck it up Buttercup, I did not want this job. Fuck sales. They didn't call anyhow.

Interview #3: November 2008
This was an odd phone call because I was visiting my mother-out-law's house on a Saturday afternoon, and as such had enjoyed a few glasses of wine upon flipping ye olde cellular open. The position description was vague, and since it was working for a charity organization so I did not expect a high rate of pay. That combined with the fact that they were located in downtown Los Angeles (some 75 miles away from my residence) made me hesitant at best, but I scheduled an interview anyhow, perhaps influenced by said wine. It only took about 15 minutes research to realize that I would definitely not be visiting their office, regardless of how worried I was becoming about finding any sort of regular employment. Company policy seemed to be paying a salaried minimum wage for simply working over 60 hours a week of door-to-door sales. Apparently my first Metrolink experience would be held off just that much longer.

Interview #4: January 2009
By this point in time I had long since destroyed any enjoyable notion I had for NEVER WORKING CONSTRUCTION AGAIN because really, these were the only positions I could myself qualifying for. If paying the bills means I have to continue on with that stupid industry, so be it. So, this job comes around for a commercial estimator, one of the few positions left in cuntstruction that holds my interest, cool. The interview went well. The job description got better once I learned they were looking for some dude to sit inside all day digging through plans and not talking to much of anyone, just getting their work done and moving on for the day. The icing was that their building is 2 blocks away from my one band's practice space, and it provided decent pay even. Hooray! I want this job. Gimme. No? FUCK!

Interview #5: March 2009
I laughed when I applied to this one because they required a "professional appearance" and drug testing. No, I am not willing to cut my hair. Give me one reason, a reason that makes sense mind you, why the length of someone's hair has any impact whatsoever on their ability to accomplish any job, any place, any time. Hint: there isn't one. Second, fuck drug tests. I don't do drugs and have no plan on engaging in that behaviour in the immediate future, but more importantly, what business is it of yours what activities I choose to engage in during my private life? Unless the job requires the operation of heavy machinery, and you also make use of a breathalyzer, on a daily basis, get the fuck out of here with your Nazi bullshit. Anyhow, they hired someone the day before my interview, but at least had the decency to call and let me know to not bother showing up. Fuckers.