This photo is not a mistake and no, it has absolutely nothing to do with today's post. This is for my sister-n-law Cheryl who wanted to see just how it is that Sam messes up my photos that I have stored on the computer. I call this one : Example One. And I have no idea how she achieved this.
I'm sure no expert would agree with me, but it seems to me, and for me, the only guaranteed way to get hired is to be completely ambivalent about getting the job.
I had a job interview yesterday. I had very mixed feelings about getting a job. Many, many reasons for this, some reasonable, some less so. I finally feel like I'm actively pursuing some life-long goals, and I certainly don't want my writing to derail due to lack of time or energy. That is a big one. I'm also intending to go forth with a business venture with my friend Chris (more on that at a later date when I get it off the ground). Again, time and energy concerns are factors. On the plus side for the job I applied for, it could really help me with this business venture. I like my stay-at-home life. Oh, I know I complain ceaselessly. You didn't really buy that, did you?
Yes, the gardening is time-consuming, back-breaking and very satisfying. I can't really adequately describe what writing means to me, but it is second in my life, only to my family. And of course, my family is my greatest concern.
Sam provides hours of chores for me, usually requiring a sewing machine, but hours are also spent just keeping her occupied and content. Will I still be able to do so? If I didn't get a job I don't think we could afford to keep her clothed or content since her idea of entertainment usually requires money. It was a tough year all around for this family this year. We've managed, against the odds and against some opposition ( you're not paranoid if people really are out to get you), to stay afloat and may I say it? Thrive. We don't always feel like we're thriving, but we have and we are.
So the new job? I won't be able to speak in much detail in the near future. Advice from Dooce.com, the first blogger to ever be fired from her job for blogging, is to be VERY careful about what one writes about work. Unless you work for yourself and then you're fair game for your own humor. But other people sometimes don't appreciate that humor. That humor or little detail can get one in a lot of trouble. And in my case, with my new job, I have to be very careful about confidentiality.
I've been hired to work at a place called Partners in Community Living (PCL). I have yet to go through orientation, but my current understanding is that I will be helping developmentally disabled adults in whatever capacity they need help. Sometimes it will be a group home setting, sometimes not. I may be feeding and bathing some people, helping them on the toilet. I continue to hope that some day, oh please some day, the only butt I will wipe will be my own. But that isn't in my immediate future. I may be taking people to doctor appointments, their job or job workshop (where I think I'd like to eventually work, come some openings), we may go grocery shopping or just on some outings.
Full time is considered 30 hours a week or more and comes with retirement, earned paid leave, and medical/ dental/ vision for the whole family. That isn't easy to find these days. And as one of the forty-some million Americans without health care, that means a lot to me.
But so do the rights of the disabled. This job gives me a chance to see what opportunities await Sam in the future. PCL only serves adults at this time, but time flies. Miranda started school in Dallas as a fifth grader and is a high school freshman now. Sometimes it seems like we've only been in this house for a couple of years. Of course, one look at my carpet and one thinks it's been twenty very tough years. So I'm glad I can see what is available for Sam and maybe we can steer of influence situations that will aid her in the future.
Right now I'm just hired as a caregiver. One of the great things about PCL is that they have over 600 employees and a great variety of jobs. I see room for advancement, room for change, but in the meantime, I will humbly and graciously be the best care giver that I can be. When you truly believe in equality, you realize that while we aren't all equal ( it's not a level playing field) we need to all be treated equally. We all have the right to be treated with respect, dignity, and consideration. We all have the ability to learn and we are all capable of teaching. I am ready to learn.
But just to stir up my continued ambivalence ( yes, I know I'm being contradictory, what of it?), I learned that the only shifts that are available are graveyard shifts. Let's pause for a moment of grim silence.
You'd think someone who owned a bar in Southeast Alaska, a bar that could legally stay open until 5:00 a.m., a woman who prior to the purchase of said bar actually did stay up on numerous occasions until closing time, wouldn't hesitate to work a graveyard shift. Well, think again.
Graveyard shift? This may just kill me. That's only a slight exaggeration. I'm not just talking about my preferences, nothing so piddly as preferences. A preference is tea over coffee--which is a very serious matter to some--but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the possibility of debilitating exhaustion. I'm talking about the body protesting, not adjusting, and then just giving out. I know myself and I know myself well. This is not a touch of hypochondria (Mick). One thing, with no insurance, you don't run around seeking a doctor's diagnosis, you just suck it up and get on with life. Which I have done at my own pace. That's the advantage of self-employment and of being a housewife ( a term I embrace. I hate the term home-maker and domestic engineer is too ridiculous, domestic goddess hits me in my gag reflex, so house wife it is).
Other considerations with scheduling revolve around concerns about Samantha. Right now I don't even know for sure when Mick is coming home. Within a month, I believe. But until I know and until he's here, Miranda can't shoulder the burden while I run off to work. They are not going to be left alone all night because Miranda would never sleep out of concern and then she'd be the one collapsing due to exhaustion.
And once the school year is out? I ask this question as week two commences. The answer is, I don't know. We'll deal with that as the time approaches. I may not get to be a full-time employee with benefits. I can't worry about that now. I can only worry about the next two weeks of orientation and whether or not Zeus should eat garbage and over-looked Barbies in the house, or whether he should eat compost out in the yard and try to escape as people walk by. Compost, I believe, wins that debate.
I started out saying that ambivalence was key to getting hired. That sounds a little cynical. Not entirely accurate either. Ambivalence results in the applicant being more relaxed, more natural. I used to be frozen with nerves when I'd apply for a job. On edge, wooden, stilted, stomach in knots. I had trouble showing the employer who I really was because I felt like I so desperately needed the job. I know what I'm talking about because when I was in college I went through a ten-month period of being unemployed and actively job-seeking. It was HELL!
That cycle ended with self-employment. I ran some ads and cleaned houses for the rest of the time I was in college. I loved the sense of freedom. I appreciated not punching a clock and not having a supervisor constantly hanging over my shoulder. I later took a job in the Dietary dept. of the hospital in Pendleton, Oregon and I enjoyed that until I became bored out of my mind. After that, on a whim, I called up Pelican Seafoods and got hired over the phone. Again, I didn't need the job because I already had one. It is the only job where I got hired sight unseen. After I saw some of my co-workers I understood.
Talking about supervisors hanging over one's shoulder, Pelican Seafoods was one of the worst for that. Sometimes it seemed like there was little else for a supervisor to do. It didn't hurt my feelings when I eventually quit. A week later I was to find that Pelican Seafoods was done anyway. I was ready to be self-employed again, to enjoy that freedom and self-determination, and while I didn't put in as many hours as Mick at running the bar, I was busy running a household and taking care of a newborn. And then it was a toddler and a newborn. And then it was a toddler and an autistic toddler and at that point I became intimately familiar with EXHAUSTION (and poop). My tendency to ramble on and on seemed to develop at that time, too.
Even with living above a bar, motherhood brought strong feelings of isolation. It would have been different if any of my friends were having kids, too, but they weren't. When I would bartend it was almost with a desperate need for adult contact. Bar patrons don't always deliver on that front. It's kind of hit and miss, but I wasn't necessarily the greatest conversationalist either. Oh, I talked on and on and on. But I was just full of poop stories. Many fishermen didn't really want to hear about the variety of strange objects I'd found in Sam's diaper that day ( she had something like Pica for awhile there). On the other hand, there were a few fishermen who were more than willing. Or it may have been the huge, lactating boobs in the low-cut shirt that made them a captive audience. Who knows? Who cares? I was just lonely for human contact.
Which brings me full circle. While I don't miss working for people, I miss working with people. I need that human contact. I need to be around some like-minded individuals. And it sounds like I'll be able to share lots of poop stories. Who could ask for more?
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