“See?” I pointed out. “It isn’t easy, is it? I literally sat at my desk for hours today trying to come up with some great bands that have formed in the last few years and I ended up having to include bands that I don’t even like. The only one worth adding to the list is Muse.”
“Who’s Muse?”
***
The lobby to my apartment building was lined with a horizontal row of silver mailboxes, each of which held a small lock in the center. Every afternoon, like clockwork, I’d spend at least ten minutes trying to force my key to unlock the damn door, which usually resulted in my fist beating it repeatedly until it swung open.
Which was exactly what I was doing when Dylan came strolling through the front door.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss California herself,” he greeted, sidling up next to me. His mood seemed to have slightly improved since our last encounter.
I groaned and continued to toy with the lock. Dylan watched me for a good thirty seconds before reaching out and taking the key from my grasp. “Allow me,” he said, unlocking the door in one swift move. I stared at him in bewilderment.
“Try turning the key to the left and then to the right,” he explained. “Works every time.”
I nodded and scooped a pile of junk mail into my arms.
“A thank you would be nice.”
I feigned a smile and mumbled “thanks” before turning to walk away. I could feel his glare as I began to ascend the stairs.
“Why are you such a bitch all the time?”
I spun around to face him, but said nothing.
“Christ, I know we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot,” he continued. “But I’m trying to be cordial and say hello. The least you could do is reciprocate.”
I felt like I had suddenly teleported back to middle school, back to when the class bully would poke fun at you in front of everyone, and instead of coming up with a wise comeback, you’d be too frazzled to think of a good response. I remember racking my brain for something, but I always ended up sputtering off at the mouth and sounding like a complete idiot.
Which reminded me that in most circumstances like these, it’s better to keep your mouth shut.
Without another word, I turned around and stomped up the stairs to my apartment. Somehow, I could feel Dylan laughing at me as I made my way up the stairs. I couldn’t see him, I couldn’t hear him, but I could feel him. And the bastard was laughing.
Being unemployed whisks you into this magical world where you lose all concept of reality. You never know what day it is, what time it is, and you can’t understand why you’re still constantly late for everything when you have no job. People have a tendency to blame everything on work: the reason they’re behind on chores, the reason they’re late to events, the reason they need to go home early after a few cocktails. Ironically, all these things still take place when you’re jobless, except now you have nothing to blame it on.
My life, up until a few weeks ago, had consisted of cramming in school work, actual work, and time with my then-boyfriend and then-best friend.
My life now consisted of sleeping until noon, checking my email, applying for jobs, watching reruns on Soapnet, fielding calls from my long-lost friends and relatives, and running the occasional food shopping or laundry errand. I’d lose count of how many days it had been since I last showered until someone actually invited me out into the real world.
I came to the realization it is not impossible to become extremely busy doing absolutely nothing.
I also came to the realization that I was in desperate need of a job.
***
Surely there are worse things in life than going from a music writer to a resume writer. When I find out what they are, I’ll let you know.
With my minimal experience, the only job that I could find was writing resumes for Staffing Pros, a recruiting firm that occupied the fourth floor of the Fiduciary Trust Building in South Station. In addition to the fact that I had now been demoted from an entertainment industry expert to a corporate suit, I was also forced to take public transportation, since ninety-nine percent of places downtown didn’t provide on-site parking.
When I arrived, Elaine Curtin, my new boss, barely said two words to me before leading me to a cubicle-infested room and pawning me off on my co-worker. The girl, a short brunette who didn’t look much older than me, pulled up a chair beside her and motioned for me to take a seat.
“I’m Angela,” she said, peering up at me through her purple Vogue eyeglasses. “I’ll be going over your job duties with you, but they’re pretty easy. You’ll speak to candidates over the phone, ask them about their job responsibilities and put together a nice, formatted resume that highlights their experience.” She handed me a stack of sample resumes. “You’ll also need to provide them with a cover letter, as well as a thank you letter that they’ll send to clients post-interview.”
She wheeled her chair towards the computer screen and opened a resume template. “Basically, you want to make sure to emphasize how the candidate’s role affected the business as a whole, instead of just listing their individual responsibilities. I always recommend searching for similar resumes and job postings online to get ideas.”
I nodded. “Sounds easy enough. Is this what you do, too?”
She shook her head. “I’m a recruiter. Basically, after you’re done with the resume, it’s my job to find the candidate a job with one of our clients.” She pointed to the row of cubicles to our right, where two middle-aged women were typing on their computers. “That’s Nancy and Linda. They’re the other recruiters. And over there,” she said, pointing to our left, “is where Kerry sits. She’s the other resume writer.”
“What about the girl in the front?” I asked, motioning to the six-foot-tall Asian woman who was seated at a desk in front of the entrance. She looked like she weighed about ninety pounds, and her hands were the size of my entire head.
“Oh, that’s Kim. She’s a temp who’s working as Elaine’s assistant.” She leaned in closer to me and whispered, “We’re all convinced she’s really a man.”
She grinned, then looked over her shoulder at the clock. “Do you want to go grab some coffee before we get started? There’s a great little café downstairs.”
I grinned back, stood up and followed her to the door. And for the first time since I’d moved back home, I got the feeling that things were starting to look up.
***
After my first day on the job, I arrived home from work a little after six, just in time to catch Dylan bidding farewell to his girlfriend in the parking lot. Her hair was a tornado of poorly bleached curls, her shirt looked like it was laminated to her breasts, and her jaw line was sporting a fresh trail of orange facial concealer that went along nicely with her giant layer
