IT'S NOT SCHADENFREUDE IF IT FILLS YOU WITH DREAD
All joking and things said in the midst of temper tantrums aside, the very thought of job-hunting is one of the few things that drive me to depression. Even now, secure in the job I think I might have until I die (which, c'mon, is only about four years away anyway), I can't casually pick up the Help Wanted section without waves of melancholy washing over me. Blame it on being underemployed for a large part of my adult life, or unemployed for the first six months I was in New York. Or maybe I'm just unadventurous. Whatever.

Anyway, that's why I'm cringing at JadedJu's misadventures as she looks for a job. Funny, yes, but... would one of you west coasters hire her, ferchrissakes?

Reason #3,456,789 that I'm Still Unemployed

And Again with the Reasons for Not Having a Job

The latter entry, by the way, strikes far too close to home. When I first moved to Manhattan, I got an interview for a position as Press Secretary to a Member of Congress. The interview went well, until the Representative stopped in to say hello... and ask one quick question -- 'Which political figure do you most admire?' -- after which I spent the longest 20 seconds of my life as every possible cliched answer flittered through my brain.

...Bobby Kennedy? Why in hell's name
would you say Bobby Kennedy? You
know nothing about him. Say -- no,
don't say Cuomo. That's stupid, and
you don't even like the man. Moynihan?
Um...

I bought a few additional seconds by smiling and asking her "If I say you, do I get the job?", but, in the end, it was a momentous moment of interview disaster. My eventual lame answer (I won't bore you with the details) was not enough to recover.

The moral: Members of Congress don't generally hire press secretaries who go deer-in-the-headlights when asked a question. Lesson learned.