…Or more appropriately, new employment. A few weeks ago, I attended a job fair. I figured it would be a good way to outsource myself to some recruiters, who work for actual companies and not Temp Agencies. I even signed up a month in advance, reworked my resume at least twice, and even had a general cover letter to distribute. I had my “power outfit” ready 3 nights before, and I contacted several persons for moral support. I was so ready.
But even still, that morning I was kind of nervous. What if none of the recruiters liked me? What if I didn’t like them? What if I handed them my totally kick-ass resume, and they hated it? Even worse what if they loved me, scheduled an interview on the spot and I actually had to live up to how awesome my resume says I am? (SCREAM!) But whatever, I was in this to win this. Game time.
Fast forward to 11am. As I followed the directions I’d written out for myself, I gave myself a pep talk. I was awesome. I was capable. I was personable and people loved me. I looked amazing. According to my father, I would get jobs based on my looks alone. Can’t nobody do it like me, son! And then…I saw a line stretching around a city block. Apparently, this was the line to get into the Career Fair. There had to be at least 80 people ahead of me. One of them wearing a pair of over the knee leopard print boots, another in a do-rag-jeans-timbs-dirty-jacket combo. In fact, scanning the line I noticed A LOT of people were “underdressed”. Could I be stepping into the wrong line? I even saw a woman dragging her child towards the back (not a baby, but a 9 year old girl. Why wasn’t that child at school?). I really wasn’t sure what to think at this point. The line seemed to be stemming from the entrance to the hotel, so it had to be the correct line. Anyway, I found its end and took my place.
Not 5 minutes later, a crowd formed behind me, and I heard this: “Shiiiiit. I told that heffa we shoulda left from home, instead of going to that stupid office first! Look at this fuckin’ line? Ugh.” And then a response: “This is a fucking waste of time. Whateva! Imma just have dem sign dis paper so I ken prove I was here. Fuck all dis.” And then…two voices cackling together. How can you be tired after only being on line for 6 minutes? As I continued to “eavesdrop” on their conversation, I learned that they were unemployed and on public assistance. They were required by their case workers to show up, and get at least three signatures from companies to prove attendance. This was so they could keep their benefits. I knew what this program was- my sister Desi had been avoiding this aspect of her welfare agreement for years. These women didn’t seem like amateurs. Didn’t they know how to work the system properly? Being in their mid 40s, they should’ve learned something by then. But who knew their real ages? Crack-rock can age a person. What I did know was that I didn’t have the desire to keep listening to their conversation. They’d been going on about their long commute from Far Rockaway…
And then suddenly, the woman in front of me made herself known. She turned around, and engaged Team Ratchet in conversation. “OH MY GAAWD. My sistah lives in Far Rockaway and I live in Brooklyn. How long did it take you to get here??!! Then we gotta stand on this line too? OH MYGAWWWD”. I couldn’t help it, I looked up and saw in front of me messy weave. Actually, not messy…totally unkempt. Tracks were showing, the pony tail was knotted, and she definitely had naps at the neck. It was horrible. She was wearing hospital scrubs, so I assume she had a job somewhere, so I was baffled by this hair. I wondered if she had any real friends, or if her husband hated her. How could they let her leave her house looking that way? Shame on them. But more importantly, why couldn’t I escape Desi? Her clones were everywhere.
I just couldn’t believe out of the entire line, I ended up surrounded by hot ghetto mess. Could I never escape? Was this Jesus’ way of telling me I was forever doomed to be surrounded by live action Zane novels? But then I had to consider the upside. It was now abundantly clear that I didn’t have any real competition at this shindig. I was going to absolutely KILL when I hit the scene. Lights, Cameras, HIRE ME BITCHES.
Finally the line began to move, and it only took me an entire hour of my life to get into the hotel, where I was immediately let into the fair due to my pre-registered status. As I entered the room, I looked around to see…7 out of 20 companies had arrived. And NO ONE was looking for an admin assistant. Aflac, as always, was looking for a sales rep. And the anorexia case representing them laughed at me condescendingly, when I asked if any Executive Assistant positions were available. The lovely lady at the Mary Kay table was friendly and we had a nice conversation but they were offering makeovers, not jobs. After her, no one else was very friendly. Representatives were just glaring at potential applicants from their tables, seeming as though they either didn’t want to be there or didn’t want anyone to ask any questions. Not that this stopped me. I spoke to every single person, annoying the shit out of them. But that’s why I was there. I didn’t age 10 years waiting outside, to not make the rounds. Of course, this did nothing for me but hone my conversational skills as no one was taking resumes. Or handing out business cards. All of the recruiters were directing people to websites for interested parties to apply online. Wait? What? What was the point of hosting a career fair if you weren’t going to take resumes and applications on the spot? I asked myself that very question as I made my way around the room. I was open, friendly, polite, and made direct eye contact. I was the girl on fire. I could tell, despite their cold angry demeanors, people fucking LOVED me. But even though my ego hit the stratosphere, I still wasn’t able to gain any real contacts, so I left and went to Starbucks. Where I was stalked and accosted by a Jesus Freak, as I sipped my extra caramel (no foam) macchiato. Perfect ending, to a wonderful morning…even though it led no where.
newboldtopia 