Jobs Are Just Not That Into Me

Oh my God, so I was like surfing the net the other night and I saw this job -- I know, I’m like blushing -- that was so perfect for me. I don’t know, it’s hard to say, but I just read the posting, and we just...clicked. I mean, it both seemed easy, you know - not like, easy to do – but, like an easy fit, something that would definitely be fun to try but also, and here’s the crazy part, I could totally see myself doing it in like – what, 5? – I don’t know, 10? – years. You know? Crazy.

So of course, you know me, impetuous me, I wrote to it right away and I just found myself being really honest in my letter. I felt like there was less of the usual bullshit, and I’m *so tired* of the usual bullshit. So I just said, you know, why I thought we should get together and, without being too much, why I just thought it would work out. I wrote the letter in like an hour. I was smiling to myself as I wrote. I couldn’t wait to send it. And I did. I pressed send. And for a moment I was happy. My future spread out before me like a great dawn. It was because of the job, and I was going to share my future with the job. And it made sense. Out of nowhere, things made sense.

That night I went out with some friends, you know, friends who are sensitive to my ‘situation’, friends who have jobs and who want me, too, to have a job. And they’re cool and kind, but sometimes I think they think I can’t relate to their lives. So anyway they were asking me how things were going and, you know, I wasn’t going to say anything, I’m just tired of talking about it. But I had had a drink or two and I felt good, I felt excited about it, and the next thing I knew I was just talking, like, all about it. For like an hour. And my friends were like, that’s really cool, I hope you get it. But one of my friends was like – you really like this job, don’t you? I’m pulling for you. And I smiled and had a couple more drinks.

That night, when I got home, I couldn’t help but check my email. Nothing. But what did I expect, really? That the job was going to write back to me right away? That the job felt the same way about me that I did immediately? Come on, Cinda-fella, get some shut eye.

Over the next three days I tried to keep busy, to not get too put out when my in box was empty, and when the only phone call was from my dentist setting up oral surgery. I looked halfheartedly for other jobs, and I went running, and I told myself to not get too wrapped up in it. I didn’t want to obsess and seem, well, too needy. But on the fourth day, and still nothing, I don’t know, I just felt...hurt. I re-read my email. What a mistake! Why didn’t I take more time with it, I yelled to my brain. Why didn’t I sleep on it at least! Oh, I left so much out, so much about myself and who I am, and the bits that I had thought were subtle, understated, even slyly witty, now seemed elusive, deprecatory, facile. I’m just an idiot! And of course this job had others! Others vying for its attention, affection. God, if I were this job I wouldn’t write back to me either, I thought in disgust. I did nothing to distinguish myself. What a loser. What would a job want with me, anyway?

Now I began to think that not only would this job never write me back, but that it was sharing my letter of interest with its friends. Passing me on to other vacancies as a cancer to be avoided. Look at this, it would say, behind closed doors or over drinks at a cigar bar. Look at this, it would repeat, more loudly, drunkenly, viciously. Can you believe this person ever thought there was anything between us? What an idiot!

I soon stopped checking email. I stayed in my pj’s for a couple days and ate Haagen-Dazs like an overweight, lazy, Danish princess. I didn’t answer my phone. I stopped exercising. I stopped looking for other jobs. What other jobs are there!? Huh!? Answer me that! I had my chance with my dream job and I blew it. And I deserved to blow it.

Today, though, I browsed the internet for jobs again. It’s a step I know I have to take. Tentatively, I clicked on some announcements. I’m vulnerable, I know. And I know what it is to be hurt. I hope I’m tougher, but I definitely think I’m a better friend, a better person. I can relate when others come to me saying that their jobs didn’t work out, or that they didn’t get something, or that they’re pained. And I know there’s a job out there for me, one that I won’t have to settle for. And I can’t help it if they don’t know that I’m their one.