we're going with another candidate

My interview at Borders did not go well. I have never been good at job interviews. My therapist and I once worked on differentiating between a job interview and therapy. I tend to act the same in both situations.

I really wanted to work at Borders again. I had a fantasy of just zoning out and making perfect OCD stacks of books. I love helping customers find just the right book or cd, never giving up until the mission was accomplished. I remembered how good I was and how much I enjoyed it, I was so excited.

I got to the interview ten minutes early as recommended by my work program teacher in high school (one of the other recommendations was not to smoke, even if the interviewer asked you if you wanted a cigarette, can you imagine). A bald "operations manager" directed me to sit in the cafe and wait for someone to come down and get me. I waited for a half hour. Finally a lady came down and started yelling "Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy..." in the bookstore, not the cafe. I had to go out and follow her call to find her.

We waited for an elevator together. She didn't say anything until she cracked her neck real loud, "I've been waiting all day to do that." Charmed! We walked into the backroom past the employee breakroom full of employees flopped all over a table staring at me with blank expressions to my still hopeful shy smile.

Into a room where we were met by a squat woman with homemade tattoos on both arms. Ah, Borders! Good to be back. So edgy with your helpful workers with soul patches and body jewelry. The asexual pierced boys and goth girls who fit happily into such a strange corporate groove. I'm not bitter.

I sat between the two women as they began their questioning. Maybe I've been watching too much "Damages" but I felt like I was giving a deposition. They went through a list of questions that all started with, "Tell me about a specific time when..." My mind started racing, I knew I couldn't come up with specific times when I was helping a difficult customer or had a disagreement with a manager or whatever. My memory is so fuzzy, I don't catalog things like that in my head. I gave general answers, good general answers-- I actually surprised myself. But ohhh how they wanted specifics, "Can you tell me about a specific time when that happened?" I considered making things up but I'm not good at that. Well, I'm good when it doesn't have to make sense. "Once there was a turtle that came in and he was looking for a book on sewing and he was real mad because he had a broken leg so I suggested we go swimming together but first we decided to go to Arby's..." I can do that.

Anyway, they were not happy with me and I just got frustrated to the point that I was like-- "Ahhh NO! We already established that I can't remember specific times!! Let's move on ladies!!!"

It's been a rough few months. A rough half of a year since I landed back in Illinois from dreamy California. I don't know if its my anti-anxiety meds but that seems so far away and hazy. Who was that person driving around in a black Kia on Hollywood Boulevard? Such a mystery to me. I've become so fixated on that person who could get up at 6:30 in the Los Angeles sunshine everyday and do things. Writing funny 30 Rock scripts like it was no big deal. So fascinating from this perspective- a considerably less sunny place.

I received a friendly voicemail yesterday informing me that they went with another candidate but my resume will be kept on file.

You are well aware of your inner feelings

I recently graduated from college at thirty one years old. I do consider this an achievement. I would like to go back immediately. I desire approval and constant positive reinforcement for writing papers on topics like Sandra Bernhard and Big Brother 7. I have been thrust into a new world that isn't interested in such things. It is confusing and fast paced and I don't appreciate it.

I had high hopes when I graduated. I really wanted to work for Big Brother. Seriously. I was ashamed to say this. I think, however, the show encompasses all that I am interested in -- documentary, psychology, pop culture with a large dose of trash. I sent my resume and I have not been contacted. Which is really unfortunate. She doesn't know what she lost.

I have subsequently sent my resume to other jobs I am interested in-- Oprah, Playboy, coffee shops, temp services. Lackluster results at best.

Yesterday after a morning of talk that would have made me cry if I wasn't so hopped up on antidepressants-- getting real with the boy I love, we went to the zoo. Very pleasant. An ice cream by a pond with ducks and foliage, talking of movies and things. A suggestion was made for me to apply at Blockbuster video which was met with great resistance on my part. Not feeling well with my dirty clothes and hair, painted fake toenails and general crazy.

I went into the blockbuster feeling like a teenage boy asking for a summer job with his mom out in the car. The E. Lynn Harris gentleman at the desk was so kind to me that I almost cried again. He looked into my eyes and told me that they were hiring in September and gave me the information in a very friendly and nonjudgmental tone.

So today, I applied online. A thirty seven page personality test ensued. I had taken it before, which was one of the reasons I dreaded applying. These tests always stump me.

You are often very anxious about issues in your life:
Strongly Agree
Agree
Disagree
Strongly Disagree

Strongly Disagree!!
I am a robot. I have no concerns. I have reached total enlightenment. I have no desires, wants, needs or problems in my life. This is why I have decided to apply at Blockbuster Video.

hamster wheel

Today a return to therapy. I was boycotting my therapist because I wasn't happy with my life. I was blaming my therapist. Someones gotta take the blame and it sure as hell ain't me.

Feeling okay this morning. I am very excited about Big Brother. The houseguests have been announced, the theme is high school enemies and the house is decorated in a Alice In Wonderland theme. From the pictures I've seen, they could have done a better job with that but whatever. As I have mentioned, I did send my resume to the new producer of the show, one Ms. Alison Grodner, along with a paper I wrote on Big Brother for Critical Studies class. I have not been contacted. I can confidently say that it is a huge loss for them. I would have been a dedicated employee.



I have been listening to the book, "Finding My Voice" by Diane Rehm. She is my current role model. She started volunteering at a public radio station when she was in her late thirties and worked her way up to having her own show "The Diane Rehm Show." She became afflicted with a neurological disorder called spasmodic dysphonia that affects her voice. She is still plugging away. Very inspiring.

Today I want to work on figuring out what the hell I want to do with my life. I'm not sure if I want to go back to school. It's the only thing I can think about that I am even remotely interested in. But I am doubting this idea for a number of reasons-- Do I just want to do this because this is what I am comfortable with? How will I pay for it? Will this get me anywhere? I really want to do it. I'm not sure exactly what I want to study.

Last night my mother and I went to a seminar at the Newberry Library on genetics and genealogy for African Americans. It was very interesting and reaffirmed my interest in continuing my education.

I do NOT want to work in a random office right now. I am absolutely unable to do that. For the first ten years out of high school, I bounced around from working at McDonald's to Borders to various temp jobs. I feel like I have DONE that. Repeating that would be a huge waste of time and simply would not work. The idea makes me want to throw up on myself. All that is to me is making money so I can spend it. A hamster wheel, going nowhere. Education does not feel that way to me. Even if I don't have a job at the end of it, I feel a sense of acheivement and something tangible to point to and say that I did this. Perhaps I am naive. But I don't feel that there is any other way. I'm sure there is, but this seems like the path that makes sense to me.

Okay, gotta take a shower.

chinese baseball annoucer

"Want to get paid watching Cubs games? You need to speak Chinese mandarin fluently, understand baseball rules and go to the games. Baseball fan is a plus."

I must be going crazy because I honestly considered this job for half a second. I don't even like baseball.

Simulated wood has not made the comeback I thought it would. I do like the wood iPod cases I have seen in my journeys.

The best time to catch me is in the morning. With a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Things turn shitty around noon.

oxygen

back from walk. i have decided that oxygen has a profound effect on the human body. take that down.

i saw squirrels. lots of squirrels. i saw a sign in front of my apartment building announcing that they pay heat. well, they also pay my electricity and that better not be changing anytime soon.

brewing a pot of personality in the kitchen. french roast ambition. if i may steal a phrase from dolly parton.

its about money kids. and if ya dont work. ya dont make money. thats what its about. aint no pussyfootin' around it. thats just been a little hard for me to digest. been givin me a stomachace for a real long time now. and its time to face facts.

again, i am not my bank account. i am not my shoes.

going to work on my book now. the one im writing about me. there's only one star...

your account is overdrawn

your account is overdrawn. friendly email reminders from chase bank. thanks for ruining my day! suck my assh*le. their fault not mine. not true.

missed my appointment at the apple bar or whatever its called, to get my ipod fixed. even though this is really minor, it put me in an ass mood. baby was sleepy. baby had to go back to bed. i did awaken at 6:30 with high hopes. but i am now idle.

my next goal is to do laundry. yes, thats what i shall do. oh! and turn off the air conditioning unit and let some fresh air get in.

just did it. birds are outside and sound of cars and movement of things. train going by as we speak! a real cacophonous cavalcade.

let it go. let it all go. any expectations, dreams hopes plans, for the moment can be put on hold. laundry, simple task.

ergophobia #2

For pete's sake. So, I took this PA job for a "major reality show." I left after 6 hours of sitting in a hotel room doing nothing. The whole time I was there, the only thing I did was fill two ice buckets. They weren't actually ice buckets they were garbage cans. I was told to use the garbage cans as ice buckets. There were five other gentlemen PA's there. Some of them were asked to go do other stuff because they had cars.

Maybe I'm not a nice person. And I'll just come out and say it- I'm insecure. And I don't mean to spread negativity. Kara was telling me about this saying "You spot it. You got it." Meaning that if you see something in someone else that really bothers you, you might have that same quality and that is probably why it bothers you so much.

That said-

I couldn't take another second with these people. There was this bitch of a producer lady who was real stupid. All dark hair in a ponytail and tomboy lesbian acting talking on her cellphone. Real annoying. And then this blond woman with an australian accent. And then some gay guy and a bunch of other guys and I didn't like them at all. Not one single person. Perhaps it was my attitude and not the entire production crew that was the problem. Whatever. I don't care. It was fucking retarted and I hated it.

So I left. I was beating myself up about it but as I look back on it I am happy with myself for leaving. So ridiculous. That's not how I roll.

Anyway, so back to the drawing board as far as jobs go. I am a very sensitive, rather crazy person. I am beginning to accept this. I don't think I am going to be happy in a traditional job. Oprah had a show on all about "Do You!" meaning you have to do what you are good at and what you enjoy and you will be happy.

What I enjoy-
morning television
pop culture
decoupage
writing things
helping people write things
working with kara
going to disneyland with my boyfriend
helping heather come up with ideas for her store
smoking- although its really gotta stop, i cant take the constant disapproval from society, family and friends

What I do not enjoy-
working for people who are disorganized and stupid
working on things that mean nothing to me
highly stressful situations

I don't know I guess that's all jobs. Hey, look people I'm trying to figure myself out here. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Give me a break.

and Dr. Will on Young and the Restless

Some real bad acting. It's like he finds himself so charming he can't stop smiling.

exactly

Haven't been feeling well the last three days. Can not get enough sleep. Mumblings from loved ones about not going outside, living in a cave, etc. I don't believe this is the case. Probably Epstein-Barr virus, which we all remember as a very serious disease. Dorothy struggled with it in a two part Golden Girls episode. Not to be sniffed at.

So I'm dealing with that. Also "looking" for a job. A humiliating pursuit:
-Turn product features into strong consumer benefits
-Craft compelling sales propositions
-Shoot yourself in head

It's all bullshit. Can we cut through the bullshit people???

Office in weird downtown building needs someone who can pretend to work. Looking for someone with severe personality problems to deal with manager who also has severe personality problems. Duties consist of making copies of things that will never be looked at again, lots of UPSing.

I don't know what you want but I can't give it anymore.

I just want that hip Sedaris lifestyle. Just lots of crazy crafty parties, making up your own rules. Hilarity. Thrift store clothes and smoking. A kitschy lamp and a vintage stuffed animal with one eye missing.

Spent the morning showing unreleased Madonna videos to boyfriend who was diligently working on a mass email.

blocked

Hey listen folks I'm just up on the third floor drinking a slimfast and feeling shitty. I guess it boils down to work. I am pissed off that I have no money but I have made no attempt to find work.

I don't want to work at an irritating coffee shop. I wouldn't mind getting the random hot guys latte. It's the training and the names of blends and roasts and coffeephilia that really gets under my skin. Blechh.

I don't want to work at an office. Lots of negative energy all around. Ladies waiting to get married or waiting to get divorced.

ergophobia

High hopes yesterday. Felt like I was back in the work force, waiting for the train. Anne Welles in the beginning of the "Valley of The Dolls." I don't know what I thought I'd be doing. Sitting at a big oak desk in the sixties answering calls and filing my nails, looking fabulous and being taken out to lunch.

The job was to transcribe, by hand, educational and employment histories (printed out from websites) of lawyers from various law firms. Then these transcriptions were to be used to headhunt. While I read the histories of these lawyers, many who were much younger than I was, I was sometimes depressed, but often just intrigued. Some had pictures, confident looking young men and women, just graduated from law school- ready for a big sexy lawyerly well-dressed world. Futures bright as shiny dimes.

My hand hurt. My back hurt. I remedied this by resting my hand on a big law book as I wrote.

I tried to get into some sort of rhythm, system. Write down what firm they were currently working for, which states they were admitted to practice law, their graduation dates, any honors received, any extra languages they spoke, employment histories. Then, staple the printout from the web to the cover sheet (on which I transcribed their information) and move on to the next one. A stack of printouts the size of two phone books.

They let me listen to my iPod. This was very nice. Even so, the door was closed three times so I could not hear whatever it was I was not supposed to hear. I was reminded twice that this information I was working with and the job I was doing was confidential. One time I was told that the reason the door was closed was because they were firing an employee. An employee I was introduced to minutes earlier.

I can't describe it and am not looking for any sympathy for this 'disorder' I have. Anxiety I guess. I decide that yes, yes, I must go. I will need to leave now. Go. Go. Leave. Goodbye.

Downstairs for a cigarette, talking to my mom on my cell.

"I think I'm going to just call my temp agency and tell them that 'this job isn't for me and I'm sorry I committed for a week and I hope I haven't created a problem by canceling at such short notice."

She says that's ridiculous and that I need to lighten up and it's not for life- it's for food and money until I go back to school, and where do I think I'm getting my money from? She is correct on all points.

I can't explain to her how much it hurts. Wanting to cry, I am short with a goodbye to her. Go up to my office and take a klonopin. "Just sit here. Stay here. It is money. You need money. It. Is. Not. The. End. Of. The. World." Tell that too my nervous system.

Finished out the day. Got home, went to bed.

Woke up feeling ok. Got on the train and it all comes back. Text messaged Kara.

Me:
"All right, well I'll try this again. Butitellya-- i dont like it one bit"
"I got a mental illness here"

Kara:
"Hang in there, Madonna WOULD do it"

Sat back down at my desk, began transcribing. A monk in khakis with coffee stains.
Ok for a little while.

Then I decide, sure of myself and calm, that I will take a cigarette break and leave. I take my building pass out of my pocket and place it on the faux wood desk (so I wont have to come back to drop it off). Make sure to have my phone and my iPod in my jacket. I tell the receptionist that I'm going out to have a cigarette (nice that they even let me have cigarette breaks at all). Go down the elevator, on to the street, on to the train and come home. Semi-psychotic in simplicity, vanishing forever on a smoke break.

I call the temporary agency and leave a message explaining what I should have explained the day before. They call me back and leave a message asking me to call them back. Why even bother. I left my job on a smoke break, are we going to find a way to make this workable? I call him back, explaining what happened. He listens to my explanation and is short with a goodbye. More or less what I expected.

The problem wasn't the job. It was more or less like any job. The problem was me. I don't think I am incapable of being a productive person. I just have some sort of thing that makes me feel like I need to ESCAPE. NOW. I knew when I got there that this would happen and I shouldn't and couldn't be there. Not there, not right now, for one reason or another.

"Maybe try again tomorrow." -Alica Nash, A Beautiful Mind

when people stop being polite

I will have to get a job. I will have to sit in that chair and talk about my skills during an interview. That will have to happen.

I have a tendency to confuse job interviews with psychotherapy. Instead of impressing the interviewer with my smooth communication skills, I tend to take on a confessional tone. Lots of sighs and defensive posturing. I forget that I'm trying to get a job and act as if we've both come to peel back the layers of Jeremy.

My therapist decided that we should do a mock interview once. I didn't like that my therapist was now turning into a fake prospective employer. I don't think I did very well. She didn't tell me if I got the fake job.

I worry that some day, when my family loses patience with me and my friends are married with kids and have either relegated me to the gay friend they invite over for Thanksgiving or worse, that I will have to go to a group home.

When I was in group therapy for anxiety, many of the patients talked about how they were going back to their group home. The idea was exciting to me. I imagined it like "The Real World" for people surviving mental illness. The decor would be whimsical but very high quality. The common area would have two or three overstuffed, funky colored sofas. Maybe a pool table or a pinball machine for those late sleepless nights.

I would be the gay one. The manic depressive, schizoaffective, borderline personality girls would love me. We would compare our prescriptions, paint our toenails and talk about our crush on the hot guy with anger issues.

We'd make art and smoke cigarettes and solve each others problems.

Something tells me this isn't what group homes are like.

Filter

This urgent note was posted by the bathrooms at Filter- a coffeehouse in Wicker Park:

WHOEVER TOOK THE THE DIESEL JEANS FROM DOWNSTAIRS NEEDS TO RETURN THEM. ITS A SHITTY THING TO DO, STEALING SOMETHING FROM PEOPLE YOU WORK WITH.

WE WOULD NOT WANT TO IMPLEMENT NEW RULES SUCH AS NOT ALLOWING EMPLOYEES TO BRING IN BACKPACKS OR ANY TYPE OF OVERSIZED BAG OR HAVING RANDOM BAG CHECKS.

BOTH OF WHICH ARE ACTUAL RULES AT OTHER RESTAURANTS. BUT WE DON'T WANT TO BE LIKE THEM DO WE?

Such desperation about a pair of expensive jeans in a coffeehouse in an area of Chicago that supposedly holds a counter culture-anti-corporation-down with the man-thrift store shopping-doing whatever it takes to get by-way of thinking.

I imagine that before the author wrote the note, he/she spoke to coworkers quietly in between customers, discussing possible suspects. The suspect was probably narrowed down very quickly. Rather than confronting the suspected jeans thief, the victim probably acted normally to the suspect and chose instead to post a very passive aggressive note by the bathrooms. The purpose of the note was not to get the jeans back, they were gone. He/she understood this and had already purchased another, better pair.

MAMA NEEDS A JOB

Going a little crazy trying to find a job. Although I do love morning television, there really is a limit to how much Star Jones and Kelly Ripa a boy can take. Seriously, if you have ANY leads or can provide ANY help looking for a job I would greatly appreciate it. I really don't want to move back in with my parents.

My Skillset:

-can make good foam for a cappucino
-make pretty good mix cds
-have had extensive experience in therapy (very good at dimestore psychology)
-outstanding lipsynching (must be seen to be believed)
-pretty good at trivial pursuit, except sports and geography questions
-certified in food sanitation
-have worked selling big macs, artificial chrismtas trees and commercial wallpaper
-performed in two, two person shows, Chicago Reader called me "a freaky gay boy" and said that i did a dead on impersonation of a school counselor, "Hilarious"
-very good at putting me or my friend's heads on celebrity bodies using Photoshop
-can hookup vcrs and dvd players very quickly
-good with my nephews (except playing Pokemon or YuGiOh--- dont like it, dont understand it, not interested)
-know all the lines to Annie
-can do long division

temporary employee

I am temping. I am on the 34th floor at 181 W. Madison. High above the street. Ridiculous, really. So high. They don't allow smoking at my desk. Unusual. "SG Americas Securities" is the name of the joint. I think I am sitting at the desk of a gay man. A Disney Villains coffee mug. I have one at home on my desk. Three muscular action figures. A giant rubber band ball. A postcard from Dollywood (really want to go there.)

Just sneezed on my arm and green stuff flew out of my mouth and on to my shirt. Classy.

Dream on Thanksgiving Day:

Kara and I were in line for Great America. A security guard was searching through my bag and found my journal and scanned it for dirty words or controversial material. He found some bad words and wouldn't allow me entry into the park. Kara took a liking to this guy and they went off inside Great America. I waited outside Great America for Kara. Each page of my journal had been ripped down the center.

Hello!

I go to Dunkin Donuts before work and spend about a half hour drinking coffee and people watching. A lot of regulars.

One of them is a twentysomething Filipino girl who rides a bright pink Hello Kitty bike with a basket and huge handlebars. She has a Hello Kitty backpack and usually wears a Hello Kitty tank top. She rides her bike with hard plastic high heels on.

I thought maybe she was a graphic designer, or maybe she just traveled down a Hello Kitty rainbow to the Dunkin Donuts on Ohio and St. Clair for coffee. Either way I thought it was cool that she had taken her love of the constantly content kitty to the extreme. This is what she liked and she was going to live in this Hello Kitty world, whether anyone liked it or not.

One morning, I arrived and she was asleep. She was taking up three tables laying down. Taking a closer look I realized she looked CRAZY. Her plastic high heels were totaly scuffed and shredding on the heels from her bike riding. She looked like she didnt have anywhere else to go. She had Hello Kitty pencil with a Hello Kitty pencil topper between her small breasts.

Had she spent all of her money on Hello Kitty merchandise, thinking it would take her to another happy, cheery, perfect, japanese cartoon, Hello! world?

I felt like she was trying to escape something really bad. I can relate to this. Trying to buy yourself in to another prettier fictional world.