The Unemployment Diaries

HOME RUN! (2.05.10)

That’s right. HOME RUN. I did not forget the baseball analogy, which I started so that when I finally got a job, I could type HOME RUN. I’m sure it feels almost as good as doing the real thing.

Enough with the small talk. The rumours are true! As of May 10^th I am gainfully employed in the journalism world.

It’s not at a newspaper, and I don’t care (for those of you who haven’t been following, this was the original premise I started the blog under). It’s not really a job either, it’s an internship. Still don’t care.

I will go somewhere to work five days a week, and I’m getting paid to write. Mission accomplished.

Thanks to everyone for reading, sharing, and indulging my deprecation. You’ve made being unemployed truly a blast. Next week, I will put together a grand finale entry that will make your computers explode in to fireworks. This week, a simple narrative.

Like all good things in life, they are followed and preceded by bad things. Here’s the story of the roughly 24 hours leading up to finding out I got a job. Also, you have to read it to find out what my job is. I think this is called creating “tension.” Feel it?

Here we go…

MY skirt is soaking wet with beer. The guy beside me spilled a pint and because we’re packed like sardines in this basement bar, it went all over me.

“Sorry,” he says, getting up to grab some paper towels. “I guess I should’ve absorbed some myself.” He laughs. The dudes clothes are bone dry.

He doesn’t even offer me a beer, or a quarter of his club sandwich that arrives shortly after. I awkwardly ring one side of my skirt out, tie it in a knot, and turn my back on beer boy.

Tonight is not my night. I just came back from the Ottawa Writers Festival and am experiencing some serious self-doubt. I’m trying to be a writer and I only make it out to one event because my friend had a free ticket? Why haven’t I read any of these books? Why have I never heard of this quintessential Canadian writer? Lame-o. Hypocrite. You’ll never succeed in life.

I’m doing the whole self-hate thing in my head, expounded by the fact I just heard a presentation by Canadian writer and anthropologist Wade Davis, who makes public speaking seem as natural as those Olympic divers who barely make a splash. Now there’s a smart man. When you speak it’s like more like a belly flop. He can rattle off names of places you’ll ever be able to pronounce, much less remember. Did someone say these things are supposed to be inspiring?

I guess they can be, but not when you’ve been waiting a week to find out if you got a job. It’s been like waiting to hear for someone to determine my self-worth. Am I smart or stupid? A success or failure? I know “the job isn’t everything” but after four months of unemployment, it kind of is.

The only thing that could make me more depressed and anxious right now would be meeting a bunch of smart, ambitious journalism grads talking about something like how to “change the media landscape.”

The people I’m sitting with at aforementioned basement bar have gone for a smoke break. I tune into beer boy’s conversation and realize he and his two friends are discussing different CBC shows they’ve worked for.

Our proximity is such that I’m sitting in between my table and theirs and staring directly at one of the guys. At this point, it’s creepier if I don’t say anything.

“You guys work for the CBC?” I ask, casually. They laugh at this.

“No no,” says the girl with thick glasses and brown hair. “We’re journalism students.” The scariest kind!!!

Turns out these three Carelton University students are sitting together to discussing the creation of a website that somehow maintains press privileges they had as students once they’ve graduated. In other words, like all journalism students, these kids are trying to take over the world.

There’s nothing scarier when you’re feeling self-conscious about your unemployment than running into a group of driven journalism students with their summer internships lined up.

Naturally, we start talking shop. Beer boy and the girl had done internships at the CBC and the other guy had worked at a small-town newspaper.

When unemployment gets you down, fight back!!!

The girl just got a summer internship at the Ottawa Citizen (an internship I applied for and thought I was still waiting to hear back about) and beer boy was off to some developing country to practice do-gooder journalism.

I tried talking about my passion for narrative non-fiction, but these hard-nosed journalists weren’t having it. Beer boy told me he didn’t think good storytelling really had a place in newspapers. He also thought I’d never make a living writing this way, and would have to find a job that supported my passion on the side.

I furiously scanned the bar for a self-esteem IV, and realized another beer would do the trick.

The next morning, I wake up with the inability to get out of bed. I force myself up and to an exercise class, which leaves me exhausted. I think about how I’ll never be as sharp-minded as Wade Davis. I think about how I’m not like the ambitious J-school students with their hard news sensibilities.

I go over last week’s interview in my head, and pick out every faulty answer that may have resulted in me not getting this job. I call my friend to tell him I’m stupid and never succeed. He entertains me for a bit, and tells me some people are naturally talented as others have to work hard at it. This makes me feel worse.

I put on a dress for an interview I have at the restaurant down the street and practice saying “Want some cheese with that?”

I see I missed a call and check my messages. “Hi Angelina, It’s Steve Maich from Canadian Business. Can you give me a call back when you have a chance?”

Here it is. The conversation that determines my self-worth. I had been so confident I would get this job. I’ve worked at a business magazine before. My clippings are good, my references solid. I even mimed hitting a home-run after walking out the building.

A week later, I wasn’t so sure. I took a couple breaths and braced myself for a conversation with Steve-O.

“Hi Angelina,” he said cheerily. And, well, you know the rest.

I started jumping. Up and down. Up and down. Mouthing screaming sounds and waving my arms. Next week, I’m starting a year-long writing internship at Canadian Business.

I called my friend back to tell him I got the job. “I knew it,” he said. “See? No need to cry like a baby.”

Maybe that’s the moral of the story for all of us struggling with unemployment. Patience. Don’t panic. As my dad always reminds me: “I had a kid at your age.” Things could be worse. I think he also ate cat-food.

I called the restaurant to tell them I couldn’t make the interview.

“I’m moving to Toronto in a week,” I said excitedly to the guy who responded with an unenthusiastic grunt and click of the receiver.

Next Sunday, the Unemployment Diaries will reach you from my friend’s Toronto apartment where I’ll be spending the night before going to work in the morning. For real, this time.