I don’t like guests. I’m not very hospitable, and a terrible host besides. Our apartment is in a perpetual transitional state. Ripping and packing up 1500 CDs is the current project, but there’s always something. And if that weren’t enough, the cats are trained to annoy guests with their cuteness and persistent affection. Yet people still visit for some reason. It must be the scenic walk up Roosevelt Ave; the allure of slush and garbage can be intoxicating. Maybe they just come to see wifey.

I don’t really like guests on Jobless and Less either. The site wouldn’t really be about MY experiences with unemployment and under-employment if other people did all the writing. But I’m not fundamentally against guest writers. Rumor has it that other people have interesting unemployment experiences and opinions about them.

It’s been almost two years since Ben Breier—the last guest poster—shared his tales of interviewing woe. I’ve since been solicited often, though nobody ever seems to quite get it. The world just doesn’t need another post about how to write a resume or what to say in an interview. The topics have been amply covered, elsewhere, by people who actually have jobs. Why would anyone trust advice on finding work from a site run by someone who can’t find work? It’s much more fun and interesting to laugh at my repeated failures.

An aspiring contributor does occasionally get it. Charlie Johnson emailed me this past week with a link to his video. He’s a clever lad, who has been unemployed since November. Months can seem like years to a recent college grad itching to put his education and skills to work.

I know the feeling. At 23, I was impatient about my job situation too. When I failed to nail down a coveted blacksmith position at the town stables, I became a cobbler. Shoes for farmers and tradesmen would have to suffice. Then came the Great War and the Roaring Twenties, and my skills were suddenly outdated. (“Suddenly” took 15 years in my youth.) I thought my career was over, but the end of my career was just getting started.

Charlie is much younger than I am. He still has skills and experience and drive. He also has initiative and chutzpah, and a fierce jump cut to rival any Hollywood director. So I’m letting him tell his story, his way. Enjoy. Let this be a reminder that smart and creative people everywhere are struggling through this terrible job market.

Sit down, boys and girls, and let me tell you a story. It’s about someone you know, or at least someone like someone you know. Let’s call him “Our Hero.” “Superman” is already taken. He lives in the big city. He likes cookies. He dresses in grownup clothes. He rides the subway. He sits at a desk. And he works… for now.

His job is freelance. Many mommies and daddies have jobs like this. If he works, he gets paid. If he doesn’t work, he doesn’t get paid. The job doesn’t come with health insurance, which is what he needs to see a doctor when his tummy hurts. And it doesn’t come with a 401K, which makes him think he won’t have to work when he’s old. A freelance job, and the paycheck, can go away at any time. Our Hero wants a full-time job instead. But he likes money and needs more of it now. So he works. And he works. And he works.

One day he’s sitting at his smaaaaall desk in a BIIIIIIIIIG office when his computer makes a noise. “PLUNK!” He has a new email. It’s from someone he doesn’t know. The sender works in the Human Resources department at a company he’s heard of. His mommy always told him to never talk to strangers. Taking candy is fine. Email is okay too, because people who email can be trusted. The sender found Our Hero’s resume on LinkedIn. She wants to hire someone like him. The job is full-time. She sends him a description.

The job is perfect for him. He has every skill the company wants, and some more that they need. He even had the same title at his last full-time job. And that company was just like this company. Ms. HR thinks Our Hero could be a good fit. She wants to talk. They arrange to meet. He’s happy.

The first round of interviews goes well. He meets Ms. HR in person. She is a nice lady with brown hair and a big smile. They get along well. He also meets the person who would be his boss. She is also a nice lady. She is younger than Our Hero, and very smart. They also get along well.

The second round of interviews goes well too. He gets to meet the two men who run the company. They ask lots of good questions. They are very interested in what Our Hero has to say. He asks lots of questions too. He is very interested in what they have to say. The meetings go well.

Ms. HR says that she will call next week. Our Hero has a good feeling. This could be the one. This could be his next job. He tries not to get excited. He thinks about other things, poopy things, such as bills and Republicans. This makes him sad, and then angry. He waits for his phone to ring. What sound does the phone make? No not, “Ring-a-ding ding-y-dong, ring-a-dong ding ding dong.” Our Hero’s phone goes “Bzzzzzz, Bzzzzzz,” like a bumblebee with hiccups. It’s set on vibrate.

Ms. HR doesn’t call, and doesn’t call some more. Our Hero calls her and leaves a message. She doesn’t call back, and doesn’t call back some more. He calls her again a week later and leaves another message. Nothing. Our Hero gives up. He’s sad. The biggest cookie in the WHOOOOOOLE world couldn’t make him happy again.

He calls one last time a week later. “Three is a charm,” his mommy always says. He receives an email later that day. What sound does his computer make? That’s right, “PLUNK!” It’s from Ms. HR. This is what it says…

Dear Nrom,

Thank you for your interest in the XXXXX XXXXX position at XXXXX Company.

Although your experience and accomplishments are excellent, we filled the position with another candidate whose experience and background seemed better matched to our current needs. We invite you to visit our website for continued employment opportunities.

Your interest in XXXXX Company is appreciated. We wish you success in your job search.

Best,

Ms. HR

Our Hero calls his mommy to make sure he’s been spelling his name right all these years. He has. Our Hero tells himself not to take it personally. He does.

The call went out. Maybe you saw the big “U” projected onto the Empire State Building. Maybe you heard the siren song blaring from large speakers mounted on flatbeds circling the city. Maybe you received a little note slipped into your pocket as some nondescript pedestrian brushed by on the sidewalk. RT (Russian Television) needed an unemployed person, an expert, stat, to comment on this bit of ridiculousness…

Looking for work? Unemployed need not apply

Who better than me, unofficial spokesman for the unemployed? Okay, so the call was an email. And I’m not technically unemployed at the moment. Oh yeah, and I can’t form a coherent sentence without my monkeys and their typewriters. But let’s not fuss over exactly how it all went down. I got the gist right. My blog and I were in the right place at the right time. The rest is television history.

Some employers don’t consider the unemployed for open positions. That was the story making the rounds. I wasn’t surprised to find this out. I wasn’t angry. I was, at best, slightly intrigued or, perhaps, mildly bemused. An unemployed friend posted a link on Facebook about the growing phenomenon. Anyone who’s been unemployed during a recession probably suspected this was happening. I know I did. There had to be a better reason for all the unreturned calls and emails than a simple lack of jobs. I’m not that bad of a job candidate, or am I?

Companies receive tons of resumes for every opening, many from people who aren’t remotely qualified. Separating the maybe’s from the no’s takes time and resources, both of which are in short supply these days. And let’s be realistic. Most resumes are ruled out even in a normal hiring climate; the percentage only rises during a recession. Employers can afford to be extra picky in a buyer’s market. But the short-staffed and shortsighted HR department needs a shortcut, an easy way to reduce the pile. Ruling out the unemployed is that shortcut.

Common thinking suggests someone is unemployed for a reason – they’re an undesirable employee. They don’t show up on time. They do substandard work. They wear soup-stained shirts and smell like dried cat vomit. A desirable employee would’ve found a job already, or never lost it in the first place. So failure to be employed is seen as proof that someone is unfit to be employed. I failed to win the lottery today. Does that make me unfit to win the lottery? The thinking is flawed. And any company that thinks this way is missing out.

People lose jobs for all sorts of reasons. I lost four different jobs for four different reasons, none of which had anything to do with my performance. Each of my former employers experienced some sort of financial duress and could no longer afford to pay some of its employees. People don’t find new jobs for just as many reasons as they lose jobs. During an employment crisis, one reason trumps all others: there are very few jobs.

The need to reduce the applicant pool won’t go away any time soon. Unemployment sits at 9.7%, and the ratio of unemployed to available jobs is 5 to 1. Submitting a resume is easier than ever. Ruling out unemployed applicants will continue. Companies still discriminate on the basis of race, sex, age and sexual orientation, and those practices are illegal. The unemployed can only take solace in knowing that any company that picks its employees this way isn’t worth working for. Too bad solace doesn’t pay the bills.

I love how you've decorated your office. This desk is oak, right? (courtesy of http://myesllab.files.wordpress.com)

I had a job interview for an Account Manager position… a very odd job interview. I don’t really know what to make of it. So maybe teasing out my thoughts into an epic blog post, laced with humor and vitriol, will clear things up. What would really clear things up… having this post picked up by a publisher, expanded into a book bought by millions of people and turned into a movie, with the part of Norm, the fearless unemployed blogger, played by George Clooney. Maybe it wouldn’t. And George might not want to endure the months of gym time necessary to fully become the character. But I really think we should try, just to be sure.

I arrived early for my interview. So I stood outside the nondescript downtown office building, scrolling through emails on my phone. A leisurely stroll from the subway, past City Hall and through the neighboring park, didn’t kill enough time. Nor did a quick and depressing stop at the bank machine. But being early is good. It shows eagerness. It shows discipline and drive. It shows that I have nothing better to do.

The company’s office sat at the end of a meandering hallway, next to a sketchy-looking medical office. I walked in to find the receptionist vacuuming around her messy desk. It was jammed into a corner with some boxes and a couple of broken fans. A narrow walkway, lined with shiny metal chairs and blurry pictures of New York City, led to three offices. Had they furnished the space with leftovers from the previous occupant? The place was uninspiring for a marketing company. It was uninspiring for any company.

I asked to use the bathroom, and the receptionist directed me back out of the office to a door marked “Out of Order.” “Ignore the sign,” she explained. “It works.” And technically it did, thanks to copious amounts of duct tape. The bathroom appeared to have exploded recently and been pieced back together by MacGyver. Times are hard even for former television stars. I went about my business quickly, touching only what I had to.

The receptionist handed me a clipboard upon my return. A basic information sheet was attached, along with an interesting questionnaire. It contained 20 or so groupings of four adjectives, with directions to choose which of the four most and least describes me. The purpose was to create a psychological profile and ferret out the people who would excel in a certain role. I’ll make up an example to illustrate…

• Watchful
• Theatric
• Fucoid
• Helpful

I would probably check off “most” for “helpful” or maybe “watchful” and “least” for “fucoid,” since I’m not “of or like seaweed.” But the appropriate answers weren’t always so obvious. Sometimes none of the words applied, leaving me to pick the best of the worst. Sometimes all of them applied, forcing me to pick the “least” tag for something positive and sell myself short.

After completing the application, I was called in to interview. The interviewer’s office was dominated by a huge curtain-less window overlooking Broadway. Sunshine streamed in. Still the room was only slightly less depressing than the waiting area. It contained a desk and a couple more metal chairs. I don’t even remember a computer or any personal effects. The office seemed to belong to no one.

My interviewer was tall, well dressed and barely out of college. Being closer to 40 than 30, I’m increasingly aware of people way younger than me in positions of power. He asked questions as if seeing my resume for the first time. “So… you worked at company X. How was that?” I answered simply, praising the company and the experience of working there. He didn’t really listen. His cellphone rang at one point, and he checked it. After a few stale exchanges, he asked why I was applying for an entry-level job. This was news to me. My rather direct response was that I didn’t know I was. Account Manager isn’t usually an entry-level job. He ceded my point. I ceased to care about the job.

With the interview portion of the meeting out of the way, he launched into his spiel. This is the type of company we are. This is our way of doing business. This is the project we’re hiring for. He’d obviously delivered the words many times and been instructed exactly how to do so. He maintained strong eye contact throughout, as if trying to hold me in place. He leaned slightly forward, as if trying to engage me more. There was a thought-out method to all this.

I listened and tried to figure out the angle. Everything sounded reasonable, sort of like a pyramid scheme does until you actually explore a little. This seemed like a scam, but I couldn’t figure out why. I just knew that I wanted no part of it.

I imagined all the applicants who’d sat exactly where I was sitting. I imagined all the applicants who would sit where I was sitting. I felt stupid and small. Stupid for putting on a suit and dragging my unemployed ass halfway across the city for something I suspected would be a waste of time. Small for not having a choice. Putting up with such nonsense is so frustrating.

He handed me a business card at the end of his little speech. He was a partner. The company would decide quickly who to bring back for a more in-depth interview. I could expect a call as soon as that afternoon. He instructed me to keep my phone line open. I said that I would, though I was really looking forward to actively ignoring the call. I didn’t even get that chance. He never called.

This says "stats." If you had eyes, you'd know. (courtesy of http://www.recruitingblogs.com/)

Three recruiters contacted me last Thursday, all within about an hour of each other. The stars must have aligned just so, creating a world where my resume springs to the top of every job board search for “digital marketing professional.” Does this signal the end of the famine, or the beginning of the famine? I’ll let you know when I eat, or die. Maybe it just means I should buy a lottery ticket.

The first recruiter was filling an in-house search engine marketing position, but expressed concern about my extended unemployment. His clients – potential employers – think there’s a problem when a candidate’s unemployment stretches past six months, horrible job market notwithstanding. Skills deteriorate; people get lazy. The long-term unemployed guy, the thinking goes, must be spending all his free time watching “Roseanne” reruns and inhaling Little Debbie snack cakes by the the pallet. Why hire someone who can barely remember how to bathe himself?

But a job search takes a month for every $10,000 of expected income. If my second grade math skills hold up (it has been 30 years), anyone expecting to make over $60,000 a year (6 X 10,000) may want to reexamine their options. A lower salary may be preferable to perceived obsolescence. I understand the recruiter’s point. I don’t like it, but he’s probably right. The burden is on the job seeker to prove continued relevance in an ultra-competitive job market. It’s nice to know the job of finding a job is that much harder.

I wasn’t really qualified for the opening anyway. We both knew it. I tried to talk my way into a meeting anyway, because that’s what I have to do. He backpedaled away from any sort of firm commitment, like a juggler on a unicycle. Recruiters are good at that. The call ended with his promise to run my resume by the company. Even if he actually does, nothing will come of it.

The second email came from an HR person at a reputable company. I would happily work at this place; I’d even hang out in their cafeteria just to make people think I work there. My qualifications line up nicely with the company’s needs, upon first glance. I followed up by phone but couldn’t get through, not even to a voicemail. So I expressed my interest via email, twice. I’ve yet to hear back, though my fingers and toes are crossed, and crossed again. Typing is painful. I’ll follow up once more, by phone and email, before writing it off. It’s frustrating to fail before actually getting a chance.

The third recruiter left a voicemail message while I was cleaning the kitchen and blasting old Rush albums (Power Windows, Hold Your Fire and Moving Pictures, for those of you who were teenage boys in the 1980s). Following up on an email I never received, he invited me to interview for an account manager position. I don’t remember applying. Nor could I find any record in the vast Excel spreadsheet that tracks my job search exploits. Many open positions don’t include the company’s name or identifying information. So I didn’t think much of it. He left a phone number but no name.

I called back later that afternoon to inquire. A frazzled receptionist who only spoke in rapid fire confirmed the company was interviewing for an account manager. She asked a bunch of questions and then put me on hold. Upon picking up again, she had me repeat everything. She then put me on hold again, picked up again and asked for another recap. We eventually arranged an interview for 10:30 the next day. The company forwarded directions via email later that evening. The email stressed that I should “…dress professionally, and to bring a copy of your resume.” A call confirming the meeting came early the next morning.

The initial phone message and followup email both seemed weird at the time. What recruiter calls and doesn’t leave a name? And when does a company ever remind someone how to dress for an interview? The phone conversation soured me some, but didn’t seem that unusual. Having just wrapped up a stint answering phones, I know all to well that people can be distracted at work.

I researched the company as I always do, reading the website and Googling what I found there. Grammar mistakes and misspellings aside, the website was fine for what the company seemed to be – a small marketing agency. It only contained a few pages and didn’t say much of substance, but many are like that. The Flash elements on the site were pointless and annoying. All in all, though, I’ve seen much worse.

The lack of additional info beyond the website concerned me too. Besides a few online press releases, which anyone with a PRWeb account can post for free, there was nothing. Maybe I didn’t dig enough. But a search on any company name should yield tons of stuff. My name brings up pages and pages of results, not that I ever Google it. I especially don’t search for “Norm Elrod” in my pajamas, late at night, while listening to “Juke Box Hero” on repeat and pining for the fame and fortune I so desperately desire. That would be dysfunctional.

And I am anything but dysfunctional. I may have forgotten marketing and basic math, as far as recruiters are concerned. But I am not dysfunctional. I am desperate however. So I went through with the interview. As my next post will reveal, that was a complete waste of time.

Read Job interview, aka complete waste of time

Norm Elrod
Jackson Heights, NY
joblessandless[at]gmail[dot]com

January 15, 2010

Conan O’Brien
Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien
100 Universal City Plaza
Building 2220
4th floor
Universal City, CA 91608

Dear Conan:

I’m so sorry to learn of your recent job troubles. Employers can be such a pain sometimes. I know from experience, having been laid off four times in the last decade, most recently in October 2008. They never seem to do things right. And the little guy pays for it.

My purpose in reaching out isn’t to belittle employers; they’re already good at making themselves look bad. I’m writing to offer my advice and support in your upcoming unemployment and job search. I’ve been out of work for over a year, applied to hundreds of jobs and networked my way through much of New York City. I know what I’m doing. It’s a difficult job market out there. Decent-paying positions are few and far between, even for those with education and experience. You’ll need expert help to land on your feet.

The first thing to remember is that the pending layoff isn’t your fault. You showed up bright and early to work every day. You were generally funny or interesting or at least amusing to look at. You shot wax replicas of Tom Cruise and The Fonz out of cannons and let company clients, like Bruno, make inappropriate advances. In short, you did your job. NBC is reneging on its end of the deal. This is nothing new; many of my former employers told me my performance was good and my job secure, right up until my layoff. And then they let me go without severance or, once, my last paycheck. Sometimes a situation just isn’t right, and circumstances are beyond your control. Economies tank; television networks program terrible prime-time shows and yield to unfunny has-been celebrities. It happens. Don’t get down about it. A bad attitude won’t help you move forward.

Staying positive may be the hardest part of unemployment, possibly harder than finding a full-time job. I’ll let you know which is worse when I succeed at one of them. The trick, they say, is to start the day strong. Set the alarm for a reasonable hour. I’m guessing your typical day starts around noon. Stick to that. Don’t sleep in, and don’t lay in bed staring at the ceiling wondering if you’ll ever find work again. Get up and get going.

Tackling the day head on will boost your spirits and prepare you to be productive. Keep the same early afternoon ritual… shower, coffee, hair sculpting, Chinese massage, whatever it may be. Those flannel pajamas with pink bunnies and a hole in the crotch may be comfortable, but they’re for lounging around the house. No one in the real world wants to see you in those. Dress for success. You had a dream job, and you will again.

You’ll be commuting down the hall rather than to the studio. Getting a job is your full-time job now. So set aside a little space as an office. This may be hard when sharing a home with a wife and two young kids; I’ve taken over half of the dining room table. But a place to concentrate and work is essential for job search success. Those unemployment checks will stop coming before you know it.

I spent my first few days of unemployment reaching out to contacts. Given the public nature of your employment issues, let’s assume everyone knows you’re in the market. The next step is to sign up for a few of the major job boards… CareerBuilder, HotJobs, Monster. Enter in your resume and click through the pages. See what’s out there for a comedian with network and freelance experience and a degree from Harvard. Then set up some job alerts to ping you with appropriate leads.

A quick search for “talk show host” openings in the Los Angeles area yielded 15 results. There seems to be work as a movie extra. What a coincidence…  I get same sort of listings when looking for marketing jobs. You’re a little gangly and have beady eyes, and competition is fierce for these positions. Given your experience, they might also be a small step back. Sometimes sacrifice is needed to get ahead. But don’t settle just yet. There’s also an opening for a bi-lingual tax preparer and director of catering sales. Both are worth a look, as a part-time change of pace to bring in a little money during the job search. Experts say to allow a month for every $10,000 of annual income you expect to earn. So your unemployment may last for many, many years.

A job search shouldn’t fill every waking hour. You’ll go crazy looking for something that doesn’t seem to want to be found. Find a hobby, a distraction to fill up the days. I started a blog called Jobless and Less about my experiences with unemployment. The idea was to be productive and learn new skills, which I have. You could take to breeding pigeons or scaring children or something. Lots of volunteer organizations need help too. And that’s a good way to network. Regardless, stay active and get out of the house each day. There’s more to life than work, or finding work.

I know this is a lot to digest, particularly while going through a drawn-out layoff. Reading about it day in and day out, combined with news of the nation’s ongoing employment crisis and my own problems, is pretty discouraging.

You’ve given me a lot over the years. So let me extend my offer one step further. Come hang out at my apartment in NYC, and I’ll mentor you in the ways of unemployment. The job market has changed a lot since you were last unemployed many years ago. With the Internet as the main job search tool, the potential for rejection and disappointment has increased exponentially. Let me help you ease into unemployment and what will likely be a prolonged job search.

New York hasn’t changed much since you left, though my neighborhood of Jackson Heights is pretty far from Rockefeller Center, culturally speaking. There’s plenty of room at my dining room table for another laptop. We can comb the job boards together, proof each other’s resumes and lunch at Subway on $5 footlongs (have to watch the pennies now). We can lift weights and play video games to take out our frustrations. And if the wife kicks you out because you can’t provide for her and the kids anymore, you can crash on my couch. Though consumed with worry, you might have trouble sleeping. Carson Daly can help with that.

So that’s my offer: unemployment advice and tutelage. Think it over and contact me at joblessandless[at]gmail[dot]com if you’re interested. In the meantime, I’ll keep my eyes pealed for openings that match your skill set. I hope the layoff goes smoothly and they send you off with a nice severance package and cover your COBRA. And keep your sense of humor; they can’t take that. Good luck.

Norm Elrod

Is that Norm, in a onesie? I'll never wash my eyes again! (courtesy of http://thekathleenshow.typepad.com)

Unemployment is an emotional roller coaster. One day (one hour even) I’m way up, and the next I’m way down. What triggers the peaks and valleys isn’t always obvious or logical. And even if it is, the level of emotion is rarely warranted. I used to be fairly even-tempered… strange and goofy, but even-tempered. So the huge swings present some cause for concern. My sense is that the highs and lows will level out when I’m employed and can get out of my own head a little. Here’s hoping I get to test my theory soon.

I received an email last week that gave me a huge boost, in a healthy way. The email thanked me for Jobless and Less, honestly and sincerely, calling it “…funny, interesting, appealing, witty and insightful.” The email’s author is enduring her own unemployment. She is intelligent, educated and experienced, and is currently weighing her temping options. This isn’t where she wants to be, but she understands that this is where she is. I understand the situation all too well. My job prospects aren’t looking up in the new year, despite news of economic growth and mixed reports of job growth. I’m seeking work wherever I can find it, including temp and freelance positions. My unemployment insurance will run out shortly. My bills won’t. And, frankly, the ongoing unemployment is really wearing on me.

Instead of getting manic from such praise, I felt my median temperament rise a little. And I’ve ridden that wave of good feeling ever since. Us unemployed take our wins however we can get them. And emails like this are definitely a big win. I know people read the blog, thanks to Google Analytics. I can even tell all kinds of things about them… geographic location, web browser, pages viewed, the naughty sites they visit after mine, what they’re wearing, what they had for dinner. But stats are impersonal and sometimes misleading. Actual feedback is much more meaningful to me. It tells me that real people out there are reading and understand. It tells me I’m not alone.

Here’s the email, with the author’s permission. I hope it provides a little comfort and solace to others in our situation. We may be sitting by ourselves at our own desks, looking at our own computers. But as my grandfather always says, “we’re all in this together.”

I stumbled across your blog when I was considering signing up for various temp agencies. I was looking for any advice on how best to do this or even whether or not it would be worthwhile, when I found your funny, interesting (though somewhat demoralizing) posts on temping. I know I can’t kid myself that temping will be a barrel of laughs or give me a truly fulfilling employment experience. But, like you, I have come to see that being unemployed feels like drowning and even though temping may feel like treading water, when I would rather be swimming – I can’t really afford the luxury of *not* being employed anymore, even if I end up doing horribly demeaning jobs that are somewhat beneath me – or the sort of work I could have done easily out of high school, without the benefit of a college degree or the years of work experience that I have.

I was very impressed by your blog though. I had started an unemployment blog myself, but I didn’t stick with it and I have to say that your blog is everything that I wished mine was: which is funny, interesting, appealing, witty and insightful. (I rather think I got discouraged with my blog – because I was mostly just complaining a lot! Also, I had no readership – and it was a bit of a drag and felt kind of pointless for me to post about my observations, when no one was reading them. So I stuck with journaling instead, which no one reads either, but at least I don’t kid myself in thinking that someone *will* read any of my journals!)

Anyway – I wanted to send you a note to let you know how much I appreciate your observations and what you’re doing with your blog. I also wanted to send some encouragement your way, especially after I read the notorious “Joe’s” comments and your response. It seems like there are always those out there who believe they have all the answers and are ready to pass down judgment to others. I get that all the time really. Those who haven’t experienced long-term unemployment can’t possibly understand what it’s like. And this economic downturn is very different than any we’ve ever experienced. I read a recent news article where a recruiter comments that it used to be that the difficult people to place were those who were ex-offenders or the homeless, but now it’s the chemists and engineers! In other words, many many people out there who are highly skilled, highly trained, highly educated and very qualified are nevertheless finding themselves unemployed for extended periods of time. It’s not a reflection on you – though I’m sure you know that by now. I’m still struggling with that myself really.

So thanks again and keep writing… And if you have any further advice for me on my way to the temp agencies, let me know!

[Note: I added the links to her email for context, and because links make me happy. Not as happy as super-nice emails, but happy still.]

Are you the keymaster? Can I have the bathroom key?

The receptionist is keeper of the bathroom key. I prefer the title, “Keymaster,” as it sounds much more badass. This is an important responsibility; without bathrooms and keys to them, nothing would get done around the office after about 11:00 Monday morning. But the responsibility requires very little actual work. There is no rationing or tracking of keys. There is no evaluation process to determine who has worked enough to deserve access. I rarely even touched the keys, unless, I, myself, needed to go. They sat in a wire organizational basket at the corner of the desk, three women’s keys in back, three men’s in front. People took them as needed. Others, like wifey, used their own. The receptionist’s only responsibility is to email the office when the keys don’t find their way home. Being a temp, I didn’t even have to do that.

The job of Keymaster – Bathroom Key Manager on my updated resume – required no physical effort. But it did take up an inordinate amount of brain space. The circumstances surrounding the keys were a little dicey. There’s a certain etiquette to be mastered, a certain awareness required in the delicate two-second encounter that repeats itself all day long. Maybe you’re aware of the subtle maneuvering at every bank of urinals in every men’s bathroom; the front desk key pickup falls into that category. Experienced receptionists master it. Temps, like me, just try to muddle through.

From the front desk, looking out across the lobby, I could sometimes tell when an approaching person needed the bathroom key. They walked quickly, with a purpose. Their eyes said, “don’t bother me, I have pressing business to attend to.” I didn’t pick up on this my first day. I made eye contact and smiled at approaching people, trying to be friendly and make a good impression. I sometimes said, “hello,” and started a conversation. They were walking my direction, so logic and previous work experience suggested they wanted to talk to me. They didn’t. They needed the bathroom key. And I received a few odd looks for my gaffe. Even those who stopped to chat were probably just being polite. Clenching up, they probably thought, “he’s new, I’ll let it slide. But next time I’ll have to jab that key in his larynx.”

The realization that I was grinning at and making small talk with people on their way to the bathroom made me feel totally skeezy. It wasn’t as bad as the homeless guy in the Port Authority who solicits change from people at urinals. But it wasn’t exactly the impression I was going for either. I abruptly changed my approach. Instead of looking at people, I looked past them. That way there was acknowledgment without creepiness. I saw them but didn’t make eye contact. It suggested that I was aware of their presence but not specifically interested in them or their actions. The approach works for avoiding crazies on the subway, so why not in an office with normal people? But then I felt rude. People there were friendly and nice, and they all know wifey. My revised approach was standoffish and perhaps confusing. Occasionally someone actually wanted to talk to me and I appeared to ignore them.

So I tried yet another approach… not reacting at all. I carried on with the phone answering, door buzzing and internet surfing, pretending not to see them. I didn’t look in the person’s direction at all. I didn’t even glance up or shift in my seat. If they wanted to talk to me, they would. And I would respond. This approach seemed to work best, vagaries aside. It got me through the rest of my time, relatively gaffe-free. Mastering the finer points would require a long-term stint is Keymaster. Here’s an example of a typical occurrence. Some people approached the front desk quietly and from behind, startling me and forcing me to look up and break form. I’d need weeks, perhaps months, of conditioning and simulation to avoid this reaction.

I moved on to another bathroom key-related matter… tracking exactly what people left on the desk, seemingly in exchange for the key. (This sentence makes me wonder if maybe I could’ve used my time more wisely.) Because the keys live there, the front desk serves as a way station. Staff and passersby left all kinds of stuff for temporary safekeeping… drinks, lunches, notebooks, pens, packages, gifts, money, purses, jackets, scarves, gloves, and more. Unfortunately, nobody left an armadillo or a space helmet, or something else not typically found in an office. People usually asked for permission, or commented in acknowledgment. Sometimes they didn’t. I didn’t mind either way; they always came back. My favorite remark – “don’t let anybody roofy this” – accompanied the leaving of a cup of coffee. I laughed, as I fingered the knockout drugs in my pocket. They’d have to wait for my next visit to the Meatpacking District.

Hello, is this the Kremlin? I have detained your cookies. I will eat one every ten minutes until you comply with my demands. That's right, I need spoons... lots of shiny silver spoons. (courtesy of www.ad-i.co.uk)

I will never temp again. I will never temp again. I will never temp again. That’s been my mantra after every temp assignment, dating back 12 years. And that’s what would run through my head during yoga class, were I to take yoga, or even own one of those mats everyone carries around with a smug look on their face. It’s not that every temp experience has been negative, though many have. It’s that a temp assignment feels like treading water, whereas a freelance project or full-time job feels like swimming. Both are better than unemployment, which feels like drowning.

I have another short-term temp assignment this holiday season, again courtesy of wifey’s employer. The full-time receptionist is on vacation, and I am filling in. This isn’t where I imagined myself after college, when I first manned a front desk, after grad school or even after my last layoff. But this is where I am. So I’m going with it, tail tucked firmly between my legs. If my dad can sell stereos with a PhD, I can answer phones with an MBA. Maybe my hypothetical future kid will repair Slurpee machines with an MD. Someone has to carry on the proud family tradition.

Getting up and getting out of the apartment made me feel like a normal person. Oh, how I missed the morning routine… waking to the talk radio voices on my 20-year-old clock radio, stumbling to the shower that doesn’t drain, racing for the subway in the frigid cold. Believe it or not, I couldn’t decide what to wear my first morning. All my work clothes were still in dry cleaner plastic from a year ago. Putting them on felt odd, like they didn’t fit right anymore.

I was actually a little nervous that morning too, and even the night before. What if I missed a call? What if I broke the phone system? What if I tripped over my own two feet (as I often do), spilling coffee on a computer, causing it to explode and burn down the entire building? This is my wife’s company, our household’s main source of income. Besides, what would failure say about job prospects in my field? How could I expect to find the right job if I couldn’t do this job? The question is ridiculous, of course. I’m not actively looking for receptionist work, so one has little bearing on the other. But that’s how the unemployed mind works sometimes.

Answering phones has changed a little in 15 years, but mostly in the details. People still call; I still answer. Some are friendly and chatty. Some don’t have time for anything, least of all pleasantries with a peon. Most fall in between, but closer to the friendly side. Here’s a typical exchange (receptionist humor)…

Me: Good morning, Company X

Caller: May I please speak to So and So?

Me: May I ask who’s calling?

Caller: Such and Such with Company Y

Me: One second please…

And then I transfer the call.

One difference is that people now call from cell phones, often while walking though a wind tunnel, conducting three meetings and ordering lunch. I sometimes have to wait for the caller to get around to talking to me. The calls come in waves. And when the waves of calls come, so do the messengers and visitors, ringing at the front entrance to be buzzed in. Each appears on a three-inch black-and-white security monitor next to me, looking like a perp in a police TV show. The security camera makes even old ladies and babies look like criminals, which serves them right. The busy times are late morning and mid-afternoon, usually on the hour or half hour.

The front desk is often quiet for 10 or 15 minutes at a time. This is likely because of the holidays. When not answering phones, signing for packages and pressing the door buzzer, I surf the Internet or mess around with my blog. I avoid job sites, because my monitor is out in the open and visible to passersby. We wouldn’t want visitors to get the wrong idea. When the internet gets boring, as it does when my go-to sites aren’t updating, I just stare out at the lobby. All the austere-looking marble reminds me of the lobby at a previous employer. That one is intimidating by design. This one is smaller and not at all intimidating. Sometimes wifey drops by to say hello.

Offices seem to be interconnected and interdependent. This office has its own internal patterns as well. People go to the bathroom, or at least pick up the key from the front desk, in waves. Busy times are generally around 11:00 and 3:00. (Bathroom key etiquette is complicated enough to deserve it’s own post.) I’ve settled into my own patterns. Video footage airs near the elevator banks, and I respond to the voices with random goofy comments every time I walk by. I’m strapped to a desk by a phone cord all day, so I take full advantage of my free time.

Admitting to thinking about bathroom patterns and answering random voices won’t help me find another full-time job. But it’s nice to know I’m still capable of an honest day’s work; all the unanswered job inquiries eat away at my confidence sometimes. If full-time work continues to elude me, temp work can put a little money in my pocket. It’s not ideal. It’s not a stepping stone to greatness. But it doesn’t have to be painful either, as proven these last few weeks. Treading water is much better than drowning, even if I’d rather be swimming.

Just how I like my Christmas elves... large and creepy.

After visiting the mall this weekend, I’m extra happy that temporary holiday season job at the big department store fell through. What a horrible nightmare of crowds and slush and noise. Holiday spending may be down, but holiday shopping is alive and well. As is the Queens Christmas spirit, which translates into lots of pushing and screaming and grabbing. I’m actually making a documentary about it; the working title is “Holiday Kill! Kill! Kill!” I did find a little temp work to prop up the bank account. Rather, a little temp work found me.

Wifey’s company sends out holiday gifts every year to contacts and clients. Most companies do. It’s a corporate holiday tradition to get in a little branding with the giving. Though in my experience, few companies are as classy and generous about it. They hired me to run the show, to be head elf. I was happy to oblige.

I’d forgotten what it’s like to wake up for work. Sleeping in isn’t my usual approach to weekdays. But I never have to be anywhere for anything either. My schedule is fluid and flexible, yet stuff always fills up the time. It felt oddly freeing to wake to an alarm and know that I had an hour to leave the apartment. Those with jobs may be wondering exactly what kind of crack I’ve been smoking. The 2008 model Norm would’ve asked a similar question. But unemployment is a seemingly endless series of uncertainties. Something defined and concrete frees up the brain to think about other things.

That something was putting gifts in boxes. Wifey’s employer sends out snazzy-looking hats emblazoned with the company logo. They design a new one each year. As a rule, I prefer my baseball hats to advertise for overpaid, underperforming sports teams, not corporate brands. Overexposure to crap-tastic corporate conference schwag has scarred me for life. But sports teams are just corporate brands anyway, and these hats are sharp. So what do I know? That’s right, nothing. You can say it. I know the truth, or, uh, I don’t. I’m so confused.

There were five of us to do the job. Each person was a friend or family member of a company staffer and in a similar situation – unemployed and/or cash-poor. The project was straightforward and is best presented in list form, last week’s diatribe notwithstanding…

1. Separate box tops from bottoms.
2. Put tissue paper in box bottom.
3. Put hat on tissue paper.
4. Put top on box.
5. Put bellyband on box.
6. Repeat steps 2-5 approximately 1300 times.

Some boxes got mailing labels and postage. Most didn’t. That was the extent of the project.

With our marching orders, we convened in a conference room and set about separating the boxes. The space was a little cramped, the back wall a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over much of the office. It didn’t occur to me until later that we were on full display. Within a couple hours, we filled the room with swaying stacks of box tops and bottoms. A gentle breeze would’ve toppled them all, spelling disaster for the fearless crew, or at least minor annoyance.

We didn’t talk much initially, being complete strangers and all. Nor did anyone want to make an executive decision on what online radio station to play. Group deference led us to a middle-of-the-road pop station. I’m not up on what the kids like these days, not since the end of my DJing days many years ago. So figuring out samples in songs was a fun diversion while working. One co-opted Elton John‘s “Tiny Dancer” in the name of Hip-Hop. Another put a melody over Gary Glitter‘s “Rock and Roll, Part 2” – the “Hey” song played at every sporting event ever, by law. I mentioned that the artist who recorded the original, went to jail for child pornography. Nothing like a little light trivia to break the ice and let everyone know I’m completely normal. After that, we all became fast friends, chatting about everything from Michael Jackson to AARP to hair salons. Did you know that hair stylists have to rent individual chairs in salons? I didn’t.

After separating boxes, we filled them. Two people took on tissue paper duty. Two others did hats and box tops. I did a bit of everything, from getting more supplies to breaking down boxes to hat stuffing. All the boxes were stuffed by late morning the next day, and the belly bands affixed by lunch the day after that. We hit a little snag with postage, because I miscounted the number of boxes. But that soon resolved itself.

With the boxes done, two of us stayed on to put together holiday gift bags for extra special contacts. The bags -themselves reusable shopping bags – contained some serious schwag, including fancy brownies, a cookbook, spices, a dove made of blown glass and more. All of the gifts came from companies that do something good for the world. And a booklet was included to explain what.

The work was mindless and monotonous, as assembly line-type work tends to be. My feet and lower back hurt by the second day. And a dull headache lingered throughout. But my coworkers were friendly and hardworking. And we had unlimited access to the stocked snack closet and all the holiday sweets that came through the office. I was happy to be productive, and to push back my unemployment insurance by a week. Box stuffing isn’t a career move, nor will it bolster the old resume. The experience was worthwhile though. I always think of temping as a horrible soul-sucking experience. But this time was different. I didn’t sense the least bit of condescension, maybe because they knew me already. More likely, it’s just a good company with good people. I also felt like what I was doing mattered in some small way. It’s nice to have a purpose, to be relevant again.