I'm home quite a lot of the time these days. I now get to see a wholly new perspective on what goes on during the day on the street where I live and what a revelation it is. Now I know that this is not a ground breaking observation but you know how it is with say a hotel. You arrive at the hotel and magically it has been cleaned and prepared for your arrival. You leave and the hotel house elves descend on your room and all it becomes sparkly afterwards for the next visitor. I exclude French 1 star hotels from this metaphor on the basis that it seems they defy description in the first place and often there seems to be no difference between one occupancy and the next.
Whilst I was working I would disappear early with a friendly wave to the family, who full of sleep, would grunt at me, and return much, much later to a cleaned house, hot food on the table, scrubbed and attentive children, a chilled cocktail and my favourite brand of cigar. OK I admit that some of the last sentence is based on a 1950s American advert for a fridge that you could keep a small car in. But the point is that stuff happened but I wasn't involved. I mean now I help unpack the food when Mrs Prize comes home from the weekly stripping bare of the shelves of Tescos. I never knew we ate all this food. I am convinced that we are feeding another two families lodging in a priest's hole somewhere in the house. As for cleaning the house, well I've done some. And then Mrs Prize has to go around afterwards with the white gloves on inspecting my dusting prowess. I mean to say. I have a Cub Scouts badge for domestic something or other. Or was it for dismantling a Sten gun? No that was the army cadets.
What do I see through the round window today? A whole new world that's what. For example there are a couple of women that live together who pass by regularly. I've seen them walking and exercising their dogs but only from a height of 500 metres as I fly by in my powerful company car thinking of meetings, aims and objectives and excuses for not doing the things that I agreed to in those meetings. Now we pass the time of day although I harbour dangerous thoughts of violence towards their Yorkshire terrier with the red bow on the collar.
I have met my neighbour across the street. What is so amazing about that? Well he would leave around the same time as me and return late. Now I know he works at home occasionally and so we have spoken. In about 10 years time we will get around to asking each other's name - us Brits are so reserved. In fact I have spoken to many local people as I walk into town and back. They want to know why I insist in wearing a sandwich board saying "Job wanted - talk to me." on the front and "How is my job searching going? Ring 0800 000800 to comment." on the back.
I now know our Postwoman to talk to. "Why do you only bring job rejections?" I demand. "Don't you have a public duty to deliver work to me at home and bring me daily job offers from employers desperate for my skills?". We don't talk much, oddly enough. In the olden days, when Posties delivered your mail before 6am whistling a cheery ode from Beethoven, and there were ten deliveries a day I knew our Postie by name - it was Jamie. Jamie was great. He knew everybody and everything. A rabbit could not escape from its hutch without Jamie letting the neighbourhood know. If you were on holiday he would keep an eye on your house. He knew that Mrs Jones's bunions were playing her up something bad and that meant snow. He could recommend a painter, knew who was selling something you wanted and could talk about Patagonian politics. He was Neighbourhood Watch incarnate. We didn't need CCTVs. In fact we even raised a local petition to the grey, faceless bureaucrats at the local Post Office HQ to "Save our Jamie" when it was decided to redeploy Posties at a moments notice around the UK when there was dangerous Postie work to do. It didn't work, I think he ended up with a round in the Falklands Islands. Anyway we do seem to have some sort of postal consistency at the moment.
I've just watched (so you are really busy today Mr Prize and what of your job searching? Blimey, bang to rights, I'll do it next) the refuse collection happen along with the recycling and garden waste. These guys run along the street. I've not seen this much activity before. When I had a vacation job working on the dustcarts (as they then were, we had to empty ash cans) we were on fixed routes and hours. None of this efficiency lark for us. But the residents were very good. Those that took them used to neatly parcel up their pornographic magazines so the crew could read them at their leisure. I recall the look of horror one day in the cab when I used the built-in wash basin to clean my hands before eating my lunch. The truck was probably at least 5 years old and the basin had never been used before. That neatly labelled me in their eyes as one of those student types. These guys even have someone who comes and picks up the stray litter afterwards.
I've also started developing a rash of "Why on earth don't they..." according to the events going on in the street. For example, today someone's rubbish bag across the street had had a good going over during the night by a neighbourhood fox or one of the people living secretly in our house. The result - litter all over the verge. I saw them come out, look at it, get into their giant 4X4 and drive off. They delivered the kids to school, poor mites it's at least 500 metres to walk to school on level, tarmac'd pavements, returned, looked at the litter again and went inside. Meanwhile I'm in the middle of the road attempting to dodge the traffic trying to pick up an escaped cardboard box moving up the road like tumble weed in a Western town deserted except for the men in the black hats with evil intent on their minds. "Why on earth don't they pick it up..." I begin to say, then caught myself. I'll be writing to my local council next and using Strong Words. Oh just take me out and shoot me now.
There must be more to this new world out of my window. Not seen a policeman or policewomen yet but I'm sure there are legions out there. Postie has now been - no job offers. Better start on todays search.
Friday, 18 May 2007
Tuesday, 8 May 2007
"Only connect", Howards End, E M Forster
I have to admit it.
Nothing is cooking in my kitchen.
My boat is not afloat.
My flag is not up the flagpole though I am going to see the doctor about that.
After nearly eight weeks of unemployment there is no end in sight so I thought it would a good time to have a review of what I've done and how effective it has been. And with no end in sight the result would seem to be self-evident.
Goodbye.
Sorry there is more. I have been following the "get a new job recipe". There are a number of steps to take to getting new employment though I don't recall being taught this in school. All we were taught was Latin and, frankly, there is not much call for that around here though there is quite a lot of Anglo Saxon being used down the road as workmen repair a traffic light that was knocked down a few days ago.
It's a bit like the movie "Battle of Britain" where the Luftwaffe is throwing all its might against little besieged Britain on that decisive day in the second world war. The wing commander strides into the RAF Ops room where all the WAAFS are pushing those little corks with flags around the planning table like some demented Ouija board game. Taking his pipe out of his mouth he asks grimly "What are our fighter reserves?". "None Sir" replies a pert WAAF, "they are all up in the air". I feel like that with my job search at the moment. I've done all that I can. I have no reserves.
This is what I have done - points are awarded out of 10 for effectiveness.
On-line jobs. I have been auto-emailed hundreds of on-line jobs that "closely fit your criteria". Well the computers must be dyslexic then because they don't and that includes the intern job in Orange County Fla. and the other post in Ontario - a bit of a commute I'd say. If you are in IT or finance sales and you have, dare I say, relatively modest salary aspirations then these sites might conceivably work for you. They really don't work for me so as a tool for finding a new job I give them 1 point. For being unbearably perky and full of garish colours I give them full marks but don't rely on them for the job of your dreams (or nightmares come to that because they probably couldn't match the criteria for that either).
Friends and relatives. I've told everyone who will listen - the milkman, the local builder, the man who cuts my hair - you name them I've told them. People scuttle past on the other side of the road now with their coat collars turned up - a bit of a giveaway on a hot May day - to avoid being told. It's a bit like the so called witches house in the neighbourhood. "Dare you to knock on the door!" "NO - he might tell me how long he's being looking for work and it will bore me to death". Of course there is a natural compassion fatigue so others must go on and live their lives and deal with their problems and it becomes a much lesser issue for everyone. But I know where they live. For finding a new job - 1 point but you never know...
Emailing ex-colleagues and other work related contacts. No response whatsoever. My emails must be directed straight into junk mail. I have become invisible, a reminder that redundancy might taint them. Finding a new job, 0 points.
CV on the web. Yes it's there, nestling away in a tiny corner of the web with all its meta-tags snuggled up to it. And no I didn't really expect to get a job through it. It's more of a short cut to giving prospective employers a taste of just what they'd get with ME. I use it to point people at if if they say "Well, what do you do actually?". Finding a job 0 points, but part of the armoury.
Business cards. This was a recommendation from the States and who am I to ignore the sage knowledge of a guru in San Francisco? I found a web site that prints business cards for free. Yes free, all 250 of them. So I've now got some plain cards with my contact details and web URL to press into people's hands (they are just lucky I didn't order the 25 free fridge magnets as well). The plan is...well you know the plan. This is part of the "remember me" bit. Well it's free got to be worth a try. Points - 0 so far.
National newspapers. Good grief there are a lot of jobs churning around in the economy. Us job seekers know 'cos we look at every Anglo Saxon one. I've applied for three. One interview and subsequent rejection. Two outright rejections. The thing is, the one I was interviewed for was a "oh what the hell I'll send in a standard CV" via the web and one of the ones I had a straight rejection for was a carefully nuanced, weighed, strategically written CV based on every possible competence that they required. I was a perfect match. And I still got rejected because "they had a candidate that more closely matched their requirements." HOW? Did they make the candidate out of spare parts like Frankenstein's monster? Did they use a serif font and I used a sans serif? Did they use a slightly heavier paper for their CV? Did they want a signature in blue ink and not black biro? Once I had stopped sulking after the rejection (about three days) rationale took over and I realised that replying to ads in the newspapers is incredibly competitive, that there will be hundreds of candidates and, sad to say, there really is a candidate that more closely matches their requirements. Or they are mad. As a method for finding a new job 4 points, but the odds are massively stacked against you. Of course someone must be successful, just isn't me.
Networking. Well I've been unemployed for nearly eight weeks. Except that I haven't, because I've been working for six weeks with a part time job that I found, yes you guessed it, through a network. By using some contacts that I had actually kept up with for years, I found an unadvertised job. "Do you" they asked "have any experience with quantum physics, penguins and jacquard looms?" "I'm your man" I shouted 'for I have just woven an Emperor penguin and placed it in Schrödinger's box along with his cat." So I have a job for the next month or two at least (three days a week). And I met the Emperor Ming from Star sec 5/16 last week. OK, actually the MD of a large Group in the Middle East who may (emphasis on may) have some part time work sometime. Yes I know that is vague but I'm clinging onto straws here. Anyway the point is I got to meet him through a connection - another unadvertised post. So for finding a job I award networking 8 points.
Conclusion. So the award for the most effective way to find a new job so far goes to - networking. So why haven't I been networking like mad for the last seven years preparing for this very time? Because you are stupid I hear you say. And you are probably right. All the other things I have done may have had a teeny weeny impact but the only action that has even got me some work is networking. I suppose it's like advertising really "50% works - except we don't know which 50%".
Eight weeks. I wonder how many more? I have no more reserves. But then you only fail when you give up and I haven't done that by a long way.
Nothing is cooking in my kitchen.
My boat is not afloat.
My flag is not up the flagpole though I am going to see the doctor about that.
After nearly eight weeks of unemployment there is no end in sight so I thought it would a good time to have a review of what I've done and how effective it has been. And with no end in sight the result would seem to be self-evident.
Goodbye.
Sorry there is more. I have been following the "get a new job recipe". There are a number of steps to take to getting new employment though I don't recall being taught this in school. All we were taught was Latin and, frankly, there is not much call for that around here though there is quite a lot of Anglo Saxon being used down the road as workmen repair a traffic light that was knocked down a few days ago.
It's a bit like the movie "Battle of Britain" where the Luftwaffe is throwing all its might against little besieged Britain on that decisive day in the second world war. The wing commander strides into the RAF Ops room where all the WAAFS are pushing those little corks with flags around the planning table like some demented Ouija board game. Taking his pipe out of his mouth he asks grimly "What are our fighter reserves?". "None Sir" replies a pert WAAF, "they are all up in the air". I feel like that with my job search at the moment. I've done all that I can. I have no reserves.
This is what I have done - points are awarded out of 10 for effectiveness.
On-line jobs. I have been auto-emailed hundreds of on-line jobs that "closely fit your criteria". Well the computers must be dyslexic then because they don't and that includes the intern job in Orange County Fla. and the other post in Ontario - a bit of a commute I'd say. If you are in IT or finance sales and you have, dare I say, relatively modest salary aspirations then these sites might conceivably work for you. They really don't work for me so as a tool for finding a new job I give them 1 point. For being unbearably perky and full of garish colours I give them full marks but don't rely on them for the job of your dreams (or nightmares come to that because they probably couldn't match the criteria for that either).
Friends and relatives. I've told everyone who will listen - the milkman, the local builder, the man who cuts my hair - you name them I've told them. People scuttle past on the other side of the road now with their coat collars turned up - a bit of a giveaway on a hot May day - to avoid being told. It's a bit like the so called witches house in the neighbourhood. "Dare you to knock on the door!" "NO - he might tell me how long he's being looking for work and it will bore me to death". Of course there is a natural compassion fatigue so others must go on and live their lives and deal with their problems and it becomes a much lesser issue for everyone. But I know where they live. For finding a new job - 1 point but you never know...
Emailing ex-colleagues and other work related contacts. No response whatsoever. My emails must be directed straight into junk mail. I have become invisible, a reminder that redundancy might taint them. Finding a new job, 0 points.
CV on the web. Yes it's there, nestling away in a tiny corner of the web with all its meta-tags snuggled up to it. And no I didn't really expect to get a job through it. It's more of a short cut to giving prospective employers a taste of just what they'd get with ME. I use it to point people at if if they say "Well, what do you do actually?". Finding a job 0 points, but part of the armoury.
Business cards. This was a recommendation from the States and who am I to ignore the sage knowledge of a guru in San Francisco? I found a web site that prints business cards for free. Yes free, all 250 of them. So I've now got some plain cards with my contact details and web URL to press into people's hands (they are just lucky I didn't order the 25 free fridge magnets as well). The plan is...well you know the plan. This is part of the "remember me" bit. Well it's free got to be worth a try. Points - 0 so far.
National newspapers. Good grief there are a lot of jobs churning around in the economy. Us job seekers know 'cos we look at every Anglo Saxon one. I've applied for three. One interview and subsequent rejection. Two outright rejections. The thing is, the one I was interviewed for was a "oh what the hell I'll send in a standard CV" via the web and one of the ones I had a straight rejection for was a carefully nuanced, weighed, strategically written CV based on every possible competence that they required. I was a perfect match. And I still got rejected because "they had a candidate that more closely matched their requirements." HOW? Did they make the candidate out of spare parts like Frankenstein's monster? Did they use a serif font and I used a sans serif? Did they use a slightly heavier paper for their CV? Did they want a signature in blue ink and not black biro? Once I had stopped sulking after the rejection (about three days) rationale took over and I realised that replying to ads in the newspapers is incredibly competitive, that there will be hundreds of candidates and, sad to say, there really is a candidate that more closely matches their requirements. Or they are mad. As a method for finding a new job 4 points, but the odds are massively stacked against you. Of course someone must be successful, just isn't me.
Networking. Well I've been unemployed for nearly eight weeks. Except that I haven't, because I've been working for six weeks with a part time job that I found, yes you guessed it, through a network. By using some contacts that I had actually kept up with for years, I found an unadvertised job. "Do you" they asked "have any experience with quantum physics, penguins and jacquard looms?" "I'm your man" I shouted 'for I have just woven an Emperor penguin and placed it in Schrödinger's box along with his cat." So I have a job for the next month or two at least (three days a week). And I met the Emperor Ming from Star sec 5/16 last week. OK, actually the MD of a large Group in the Middle East who may (emphasis on may) have some part time work sometime. Yes I know that is vague but I'm clinging onto straws here. Anyway the point is I got to meet him through a connection - another unadvertised post. So for finding a job I award networking 8 points.
Conclusion. So the award for the most effective way to find a new job so far goes to - networking. So why haven't I been networking like mad for the last seven years preparing for this very time? Because you are stupid I hear you say. And you are probably right. All the other things I have done may have had a teeny weeny impact but the only action that has even got me some work is networking. I suppose it's like advertising really "50% works - except we don't know which 50%".
Eight weeks. I wonder how many more? I have no more reserves. But then you only fail when you give up and I haven't done that by a long way.
Thursday, 3 May 2007
The Adventure of the HR Manager – by Arthur Conan Doyle Prize.
I was seated at my desk one morning catching up on the messages sent by electronic means from my friends in Yorkshire (it was eee-by-gum mail) when the maid brought in a telegraph. I asked her to leave the newspaper on the chair and hasten out and bring in the telegram which I had heard arrive a moment before. In her haste and dyslexia, she had confused the two. “Have you couple of days to spare?” read the telegram “I have been asked by a detective from the Metropolitan Police, you recall Corner of the Yard, to investigate a most perplexing murder in Coventry, the automobile carriage centre of England.”
Having not been sent to Coventry before, well not since that most distressing incident in Prep school concerning the dreadful allegations about the school hamster and the butter, I packed a small bag into a larger bag and caught the 0850 from Liverpool Street Station. At 1015 I returned to Liverpool Street, after a most disconcerting time spent in Brentwood, a small village of no note, and travelled to Euston Station where I caught a further train to Coventry. I was pleasantly surprised when I arrived at the tiny, well kempt station in the Midlands, to note the small meticulously kept village of Coventry. As we swept down from the station in the pony and trap we passed by some of the finest examples of medieval and Tudor houses I had seen anywhere in my travels. Everywhere was neat and clean and the locals pleasant and welcoming. “Surely” I thought “a jewel in the crown of England and no one will permit this to ever change – it will be treasured for ever." I believe this still to be the case.
Holmes was waiting for me at the Inn. He was in a high state of agitation and it took me and the local constable some minutes to persuade him to climb down and join us. His eyes gleamed as he recounted the circumstances of the murder but he professed himself satisfied than he had already solved the case. Corner of the Yard, who had presently joined us from Mrs Godiva’s School for Young Madams where he had been pursuing complaints about some woman from Prague doing the waltz in a local hostelry, or “pole dancing” as it appears to be called locally, said loudly “I nivver fink you ‘av solved the case rite away as you was proceeding in a westerly direction, cor blimey let’s be avin you, it’s ten years in the clink for you m’lad.” (Corner’s father had indeed asked for a refund from the prestigious Swiss finishing school he’d attended – for twelve years.)
“Here are the facts” Holmes said. The “HR manager of the Godiva Rubber Parts for Gentlemen’s Horseless Carriages has been found dead in her office in one of the charming thatched houses that characterises the centre of the village of Coventry. She was surrounded by several hundred applications for jobs. There are two suspects, two people who were turned down for a job whose applications were very close matches to her requirements but were not shortlisted for an interview. The first suspect, Mr Jay Gue’ar was seen arriving on foot at 9am and then seen running out of the office 15 minutes later shouting “You’ve had my application for five weeks now and never got back to me. I’m off to Brown’s Lane to look for a big cat then you shan’t see me again this side of Candlemass.” The other suspect is Eleanor Purrjoe who claims she arrived by car half an hour later merely to hand deliver her job application to the HR manager.”
“But” I gasped, for I had been playing on the childrens’ swings and roundabouts all this time, “You say you know who done it.”
“Yes” said Holmes pressing the fingers of both hands together and staring down his aquiline nose at me and Corner of the Yard. “You see I asked Miss Purrjoe about her car and she told me that she had recently bought an expensive Japanese horseless carriage made in Asunderland. I knew it must be her as soon as she told me that.”
At that point the local constable brought in Miss Eleanor Purrjoe and stood her in front of us.
“You are the murderer” said Holmes “Book her Dano, I mean arrest her and she will get her just deserts at the next assizes.”
“You got me fair and square and no doubt about it.” she said in that delightful accent they have hereabouts “I shall plead guilty and do my time.” The constable led her off.
“Holmes you astound me, how did you deduce that?” I blurted out.
Holmes looked at me and smiled his thin smile.
“Ellie sent CV, by dear Datsun” said Holmes. “Now back to Baker Street on the next train or Mrs Hudson will be flinging our dinner from the window again.”
This has been a "too much time on my hands this week production" by Eyes on the Prize enterprises.
Having not been sent to Coventry before, well not since that most distressing incident in Prep school concerning the dreadful allegations about the school hamster and the butter, I packed a small bag into a larger bag and caught the 0850 from Liverpool Street Station. At 1015 I returned to Liverpool Street, after a most disconcerting time spent in Brentwood, a small village of no note, and travelled to Euston Station where I caught a further train to Coventry. I was pleasantly surprised when I arrived at the tiny, well kempt station in the Midlands, to note the small meticulously kept village of Coventry. As we swept down from the station in the pony and trap we passed by some of the finest examples of medieval and Tudor houses I had seen anywhere in my travels. Everywhere was neat and clean and the locals pleasant and welcoming. “Surely” I thought “a jewel in the crown of England and no one will permit this to ever change – it will be treasured for ever." I believe this still to be the case.
Holmes was waiting for me at the Inn. He was in a high state of agitation and it took me and the local constable some minutes to persuade him to climb down and join us. His eyes gleamed as he recounted the circumstances of the murder but he professed himself satisfied than he had already solved the case. Corner of the Yard, who had presently joined us from Mrs Godiva’s School for Young Madams where he had been pursuing complaints about some woman from Prague doing the waltz in a local hostelry, or “pole dancing” as it appears to be called locally, said loudly “I nivver fink you ‘av solved the case rite away as you was proceeding in a westerly direction, cor blimey let’s be avin you, it’s ten years in the clink for you m’lad.” (Corner’s father had indeed asked for a refund from the prestigious Swiss finishing school he’d attended – for twelve years.)
“Here are the facts” Holmes said. The “HR manager of the Godiva Rubber Parts for Gentlemen’s Horseless Carriages has been found dead in her office in one of the charming thatched houses that characterises the centre of the village of Coventry. She was surrounded by several hundred applications for jobs. There are two suspects, two people who were turned down for a job whose applications were very close matches to her requirements but were not shortlisted for an interview. The first suspect, Mr Jay Gue’ar was seen arriving on foot at 9am and then seen running out of the office 15 minutes later shouting “You’ve had my application for five weeks now and never got back to me. I’m off to Brown’s Lane to look for a big cat then you shan’t see me again this side of Candlemass.” The other suspect is Eleanor Purrjoe who claims she arrived by car half an hour later merely to hand deliver her job application to the HR manager.”
“But” I gasped, for I had been playing on the childrens’ swings and roundabouts all this time, “You say you know who done it.”
“Yes” said Holmes pressing the fingers of both hands together and staring down his aquiline nose at me and Corner of the Yard. “You see I asked Miss Purrjoe about her car and she told me that she had recently bought an expensive Japanese horseless carriage made in Asunderland. I knew it must be her as soon as she told me that.”
At that point the local constable brought in Miss Eleanor Purrjoe and stood her in front of us.
“You are the murderer” said Holmes “Book her Dano, I mean arrest her and she will get her just deserts at the next assizes.”
“You got me fair and square and no doubt about it.” she said in that delightful accent they have hereabouts “I shall plead guilty and do my time.” The constable led her off.
“Holmes you astound me, how did you deduce that?” I blurted out.
Holmes looked at me and smiled his thin smile.
“Ellie sent CV, by dear Datsun” said Holmes. “Now back to Baker Street on the next train or Mrs Hudson will be flinging our dinner from the window again.”
This has been a "too much time on my hands this week production" by Eyes on the Prize enterprises.
Monday, 30 April 2007
"The times they are a-changin'" Bob Dylan
It's temporal displacement time again. I have said before that I think recruitment consultants work in a different time dimension than those who consider themselves normal people, working to GMT or some other internationally accepted variant. They, consultants, have a different take on time to the rest of us and for them it matters not one jot whether an eon passes between getting back to us to talk about opportunities in outer Mongolia or some other far flung place like Carmarthen. Whole species can have evolved and become extinct before a return phone call. My theory on the end of the dinosaurs is that they were told to wait by a recruitment consultant because "he'd be back in a minute" and they starved to death.
However there is another temporal shift going on now. I am in my sixth week of unemployment, though I do now have a part-time job (that's 14.5 hours a week MAX Job Centre guys if you are reading) that should keep me going for another six weeks or so. I am now honing the new routine of being unemployed, looking for work and carrying out a part- time job.
The thing is though, that time is shifting. You see I used to hang on until 1pm to eat my lunch at work even though I was so hungry by that time that I could have eaten my notebook and several of the 250 rubber bands that seemed to have mysteriously found their way into my desk drawer. This acted as watershed for the day; after that, going home time (6.30 to 7.00pm) would be that much nearer and more achievable. Dinner may or may not have been with the family and by the time the dishes were washed, next day's sandwiches made and coffee drunk it was easily 9pm. Evening life didn't start until then.
But now lunch has been pulled forward to 1200 over the last few weeks. I am beginning to think anxiously about food around 1145 and sandwich preparation might be starting at 1150. Dinner is now around 6pm, with the family, and the dishes cleared by 7pm at the latest. By flinging a small child bodily off the Mac at 8pm I can catch up with emails and the like much earlier. At this rate of meal pull-forward, by the summer holidays (if I am still unemployed by them) lunch will be at 10am, dinner at 2pm and the bottle of wine will be opened at 4pm (though that's not such a bad idea come to think of it) and we will be several days ahead of ourselves. By July 1st we will be on July 7th's meal times. Breakfast will be taken the night before.
Part-time job time is different as well. I've stopped wearing a watch and my battered Filofax lies unloved and forlorn. Three months ago I was filling in the many appointments and meetings in pencil, altering and amending them to meet the changing circumstances, being dynamic and flexible as a senior manager in International DooDads. Now the pages are empty except for "sign on at Job Centre" and "dentist 0750". And I forgot to go to the dentist in any event. After I grovelled and promised never, ever to miss another appointment they let me off with 50 lines and gave me another appointment - at 0750 next week. I accepted it and it was only after I had walked most of the way home I wondered why? I mean, I am not at work so why am I taking a 0750 appointment? I could have wandered in at say, 1130, and been home making my lunch at 1145 (see, time is creeping again, it does this if you are not careful).
It's the same with the part-time job. I can work from home much of the time (research and analysis if you must know) and log my hours accordingly. Without the stricture of office hours, turning up and spending 50% of the day chatting to colleagues and whinging about your other colleagues, I am working at very odd times. A few hours here, a half morning there, even a full day next week. So as I do not fall foul of the lovely people at the Job Centre I have to call a halt at certain times of the week and postpone work until the following week. Then start again. Try logging this work pattern with the Job Centre. Believe me they do not have any way at all to cope with this. Not one form in the many, many forms we looked at last week can record this working style. "Does not compute" they shriek and then their heads spin on their axes (they aren't armed - my wife tells me this is the plural of axis) and pop off onto the floor smoking and whirring. So as not to cause them any more distress I am therefore "signing off" for the next 6 weeks as neither party can cope with the bureaucracy involved in trying to sort this out. I'll just have to go through the whole signing-on process all over again.
Other people now have to cope with my time. When the optician called to say my new glasses were ready I was in the shop waiting as they put the phone down to me. Library calls to say my "ordered books are ready for collec...oh it's you already Mr Eyes on the Prize" as I hand over my library card at the desk. I had a call last week from an independent pension adviser acting for one of my pathetically tiny pension funds. 'Can we see you to discuss your pension?" they asked. "Yes" I said "what time and date?" "Oh we have slots from 0830 to 2000hrs every day, each day". "Right" I said "tomorrow at 0830". "Let me just confirm that Mr Eyes - that's 8pm in a week's time." They found it hard to understand that I really DID mean tomorrow at 0830. When people ask "what time is convenient" and I say "any time" they find it really difficult to cope with this level of flexibility compared, I suppose, to customers demanding all sorts of obscure times to suit their busy lifestyle. "No" they cry "you must be really difficult and obnoxious so we can be awarded our employee of the month dealing with idiots award and send email recordings of your telephone aggression around the company." But not me, not right now. My time has been feng shui'd into a calm, relaxed haven of peace and tranquility.
So what shall I do now?
I think I'll go for a walk into town.
Or wash the car.
No it's 1130 and lunch time.
However there is another temporal shift going on now. I am in my sixth week of unemployment, though I do now have a part-time job (that's 14.5 hours a week MAX Job Centre guys if you are reading) that should keep me going for another six weeks or so. I am now honing the new routine of being unemployed, looking for work and carrying out a part- time job.
The thing is though, that time is shifting. You see I used to hang on until 1pm to eat my lunch at work even though I was so hungry by that time that I could have eaten my notebook and several of the 250 rubber bands that seemed to have mysteriously found their way into my desk drawer. This acted as watershed for the day; after that, going home time (6.30 to 7.00pm) would be that much nearer and more achievable. Dinner may or may not have been with the family and by the time the dishes were washed, next day's sandwiches made and coffee drunk it was easily 9pm. Evening life didn't start until then.
But now lunch has been pulled forward to 1200 over the last few weeks. I am beginning to think anxiously about food around 1145 and sandwich preparation might be starting at 1150. Dinner is now around 6pm, with the family, and the dishes cleared by 7pm at the latest. By flinging a small child bodily off the Mac at 8pm I can catch up with emails and the like much earlier. At this rate of meal pull-forward, by the summer holidays (if I am still unemployed by them) lunch will be at 10am, dinner at 2pm and the bottle of wine will be opened at 4pm (though that's not such a bad idea come to think of it) and we will be several days ahead of ourselves. By July 1st we will be on July 7th's meal times. Breakfast will be taken the night before.
Part-time job time is different as well. I've stopped wearing a watch and my battered Filofax lies unloved and forlorn. Three months ago I was filling in the many appointments and meetings in pencil, altering and amending them to meet the changing circumstances, being dynamic and flexible as a senior manager in International DooDads. Now the pages are empty except for "sign on at Job Centre" and "dentist 0750". And I forgot to go to the dentist in any event. After I grovelled and promised never, ever to miss another appointment they let me off with 50 lines and gave me another appointment - at 0750 next week. I accepted it and it was only after I had walked most of the way home I wondered why? I mean, I am not at work so why am I taking a 0750 appointment? I could have wandered in at say, 1130, and been home making my lunch at 1145 (see, time is creeping again, it does this if you are not careful).
It's the same with the part-time job. I can work from home much of the time (research and analysis if you must know) and log my hours accordingly. Without the stricture of office hours, turning up and spending 50% of the day chatting to colleagues and whinging about your other colleagues, I am working at very odd times. A few hours here, a half morning there, even a full day next week. So as I do not fall foul of the lovely people at the Job Centre I have to call a halt at certain times of the week and postpone work until the following week. Then start again. Try logging this work pattern with the Job Centre. Believe me they do not have any way at all to cope with this. Not one form in the many, many forms we looked at last week can record this working style. "Does not compute" they shriek and then their heads spin on their axes (they aren't armed - my wife tells me this is the plural of axis) and pop off onto the floor smoking and whirring. So as not to cause them any more distress I am therefore "signing off" for the next 6 weeks as neither party can cope with the bureaucracy involved in trying to sort this out. I'll just have to go through the whole signing-on process all over again.
Other people now have to cope with my time. When the optician called to say my new glasses were ready I was in the shop waiting as they put the phone down to me. Library calls to say my "ordered books are ready for collec...oh it's you already Mr Eyes on the Prize" as I hand over my library card at the desk. I had a call last week from an independent pension adviser acting for one of my pathetically tiny pension funds. 'Can we see you to discuss your pension?" they asked. "Yes" I said "what time and date?" "Oh we have slots from 0830 to 2000hrs every day, each day". "Right" I said "tomorrow at 0830". "Let me just confirm that Mr Eyes - that's 8pm in a week's time." They found it hard to understand that I really DID mean tomorrow at 0830. When people ask "what time is convenient" and I say "any time" they find it really difficult to cope with this level of flexibility compared, I suppose, to customers demanding all sorts of obscure times to suit their busy lifestyle. "No" they cry "you must be really difficult and obnoxious so we can be awarded our employee of the month dealing with idiots award and send email recordings of your telephone aggression around the company." But not me, not right now. My time has been feng shui'd into a calm, relaxed haven of peace and tranquility.
So what shall I do now?
I think I'll go for a walk into town.
Or wash the car.
No it's 1130 and lunch time.
Monday, 23 April 2007
"For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction." Newton's third law. It ain't necessarily so.
Newton's third law is one of the immutable laws of physics (if I remember my Physics "O" level course well enough).
It states that: "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction."
I say: do HR departments and recruitment agencies know this?
I have been studying many advertisements for jobs recently. Call me Sherlock Holmes. These range from the super jobs on the first page of the jobs sections of the "heavy" newspapers to the mid-range jobs further on in the pecking order of jobs. I have deselected myself from the '£100,000 per week, plus bonus, plus company helicopter, divorce lawyer, free photographs of your children updated monthly otherwise you will forget what they look like, must sign Faustian contract" job adverts and not yet looked at those jobs in the classified ads that read "Sls mgr req, mst be able to txt, gr8 opps, £OTE 46p daily. Sth coast." Not yet anyway.
Jobs adverts, as you will have noticed, are written in a code. Some are easy to understand, others are impenetrable. The more more obscure job codes remind me about the messages the BBC broadcast on the wireless during the war (I want to point out that I read about this, I am not that old) to our agents in occupied Europe. They went something like this; 'Elephants like dandelion and burdock. Play mouse catch", "Lemons are walking, tie the lace" and "Attack the sub pens at St Nazaire tonight at 8pm".
This is why Newton's third law may not apply to HR departments and recruitment agencies. If they want a reaction then they have to give you, the job seeker, a way to react. Many ads seem to be designed precisely to stop you responding to the advert as you can't decode them in the first place. Some examples therefore. Have a look at "Marketing" - in the jobs section huge one page adverts are taken out by recruitment agencies advertising multiple jobs, perhaps 10 to 15 per page. But they do not; tell you the name of the client, the salary (it's always £competitive), where the job is (the hemisphere would be a start), what the job involves (other than you have to be a team player, GSOH, like working in a mad environment, work all hours, have no other benefits, no life whatsoever outside work). How do you respond to an advert like that? Easy, you don't.
Another two examples. I have signed up to several on-line recruitment web sites like "Monster", "Wrong jobs", "Cannot send you jobs that in any way match your criteria that you set out in your profile" and so on. One actually sent me a job that matched my profile (fell off seat) BUT did not tell you the salary or the location. Email for more information it said. I did asking "is it commutable from where I live?", not an unreasonable question I feel. Two weeks later and I'm still waiting. Another one gave no indication of the size or type of company although it did actually locate the general area to a land mass in the Northern Hemisphere. All it talked about was the functional requirement of the post."Pretty please tell me about the company, size and scale." Silence.
It is a standard 4 box array based on two axis, X and Y. You can see my theory in all it's glory at above. Here goes - the law.
The X axis depicts the Quality of the advert (decoding necessary to respond to it) running from poor quality at the bottom (i.e. impenetrable and thus rubbish) to high at the top (i.e. you know the client, the salary, the location and what the job entails).
The Y axis depicts the Quality of response from the recruiter. At the far left it is Poor (Silence, poorly written rejection email, ask for SAE for response) . At the far right the Quality of response is High (they write back, they let you know the format for interviews, you get polite rejection letters) .
If you are still with me then you can now plot the Eyes on the Prize law based on the advert and response. But we need more.
We need to now have a descriptor for each of the four boxes.
I have based my descriptor on the quality of alcohol bought as a student at University - I am forever mentally scarred by the low standards of beer based on a restricted student income.
Descriptors.
In the bottom left hand corner: low response and low quality advert - we call this Watney's Red Barrel. You had to have run out of your grant and be desperate to buy this rubbish - looks like cold tea, tastes of yeast.
Top left quadrant: High quality of advert but low quality of response- we call this Hirondelle red wine. Shows a naive sophistication at the moment but has promise.
In the bottom right hand quadrant: low quality advert but higher quality response - we call this Mateus Rose. A small step up from Hirondelle and also made a great candle holder and light stand as well in thousands of student bedsits.
Finally top right hand quadrant: high response and high quality advert - we call this New Zealand sparkling wine, method champenoise.
So you can now plot Quality of Advert by Response, categorise them and have useful descriptors as well. And, just like my student days, most of mine seem to be Watney's Red Barrel. Still you could always buy a Watney's Party 7 - 7 pints in one tin. Yum.
It states that: "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction."
I say: do HR departments and recruitment agencies know this?
I have been studying many advertisements for jobs recently. Call me Sherlock Holmes. These range from the super jobs on the first page of the jobs sections of the "heavy" newspapers to the mid-range jobs further on in the pecking order of jobs. I have deselected myself from the '£100,000 per week, plus bonus, plus company helicopter, divorce lawyer, free photographs of your children updated monthly otherwise you will forget what they look like, must sign Faustian contract" job adverts and not yet looked at those jobs in the classified ads that read "Sls mgr req, mst be able to txt, gr8 opps, £OTE 46p daily. Sth coast." Not yet anyway.
Jobs adverts, as you will have noticed, are written in a code. Some are easy to understand, others are impenetrable. The more more obscure job codes remind me about the messages the BBC broadcast on the wireless during the war (I want to point out that I read about this, I am not that old) to our agents in occupied Europe. They went something like this; 'Elephants like dandelion and burdock. Play mouse catch", "Lemons are walking, tie the lace" and "Attack the sub pens at St Nazaire tonight at 8pm".
This is why Newton's third law may not apply to HR departments and recruitment agencies. If they want a reaction then they have to give you, the job seeker, a way to react. Many ads seem to be designed precisely to stop you responding to the advert as you can't decode them in the first place. Some examples therefore. Have a look at "Marketing" - in the jobs section huge one page adverts are taken out by recruitment agencies advertising multiple jobs, perhaps 10 to 15 per page. But they do not; tell you the name of the client, the salary (it's always £competitive), where the job is (the hemisphere would be a start), what the job involves (other than you have to be a team player, GSOH, like working in a mad environment, work all hours, have no other benefits, no life whatsoever outside work). How do you respond to an advert like that? Easy, you don't.
Another two examples. I have signed up to several on-line recruitment web sites like "Monster", "Wrong jobs", "Cannot send you jobs that in any way match your criteria that you set out in your profile" and so on. One actually sent me a job that matched my profile (fell off seat) BUT did not tell you the salary or the location. Email for more information it said. I did asking "is it commutable from where I live?", not an unreasonable question I feel. Two weeks later and I'm still waiting. Another one gave no indication of the size or type of company although it did actually locate the general area to a land mass in the Northern Hemisphere. All it talked about was the functional requirement of the post."Pretty please tell me about the company, size and scale." Silence.
I have therefore developed a law of job adverts called the Eyes on the Prize law (TM).
The law states that the "likelihood of getting a quality response from the organisation or recruitment agency is in inverse proportion to the amount of decoding necessary to find out what the hell sort of person they want to recruit in the first place." Now, as I want to be rich and famous and be invited to speak about my new law at prestigious venues around the world,
I have produced a model to describe my law.The law states that the "likelihood of getting a quality response from the organisation or recruitment agency is in inverse proportion to the amount of decoding necessary to find out what the hell sort of person they want to recruit in the first place." Now, as I want to be rich and famous and be invited to speak about my new law at prestigious venues around the world,
It is a standard 4 box array based on two axis, X and Y. You can see my theory in all it's glory at above. Here goes - the law.
The X axis depicts the Quality of the advert (decoding necessary to respond to it) running from poor quality at the bottom (i.e. impenetrable and thus rubbish) to high at the top (i.e. you know the client, the salary, the location and what the job entails).
The Y axis depicts the Quality of response from the recruiter. At the far left it is Poor (Silence, poorly written rejection email, ask for SAE for response) . At the far right the Quality of response is High (they write back, they let you know the format for interviews, you get polite rejection letters) .
If you are still with me then you can now plot the Eyes on the Prize law based on the advert and response. But we need more.
We need to now have a descriptor for each of the four boxes.
I have based my descriptor on the quality of alcohol bought as a student at University - I am forever mentally scarred by the low standards of beer based on a restricted student income.
Descriptors.
In the bottom left hand corner: low response and low quality advert - we call this Watney's Red Barrel. You had to have run out of your grant and be desperate to buy this rubbish - looks like cold tea, tastes of yeast.
Top left quadrant: High quality of advert but low quality of response- we call this Hirondelle red wine. Shows a naive sophistication at the moment but has promise.
In the bottom right hand quadrant: low quality advert but higher quality response - we call this Mateus Rose. A small step up from Hirondelle and also made a great candle holder and light stand as well in thousands of student bedsits.
Finally top right hand quadrant: high response and high quality advert - we call this New Zealand sparkling wine, method champenoise.
So you can now plot Quality of Advert by Response, categorise them and have useful descriptors as well. And, just like my student days, most of mine seem to be Watney's Red Barrel. Still you could always buy a Watney's Party 7 - 7 pints in one tin. Yum.
Tuesday, 17 April 2007
"even then...eternity would scarcely have begun." J Joyce, "A portrait of an artist as a young man".
Let me share this with you if you don't already know it. It still makes my head hurt.
"You have often seen the sand on the seashore. How fine are its tiny grains! And how many of those grains go to make up the small handful which a child grasps in its play. Now imagine a mountain of that sand, a million miles high, reaching from the earth to the farthest heavens, and a million miles broad, extending to remotest space, and a million miles in thickness; and imagine such an enormous mass of countless particles of sand multiplied as often as there are leaves in the forest, drops of water in the mighty ocean, feathers on birds, scales on fish, hairs on animals, atoms in the vast expanse of the air; and imagine that at the end of every million years a little bird came to that mountain and carried away in its beak a tiny grain of that sand. How many millions upon millions of centuries would pass before that bird had carried away even a square foot of that mountain, how many eons upon eons of ages before it had carried away all? Yet at the end of that immense stretch of time not even one instant of eternity could be said to have ended. At the end of all those billions and trillions of years eternity would have scarcely begun. And if that mountain rose again after it had been all carried away. And if the bird came again and carried it away again grain by grain, and if it so rose and sank as many times as there are stars in the sky, atoms in the air, drops of water in the sea, leaves on the trees, feathers upon birds, scales upon fish, hairs upon animals, at the end of all those innumerable risings and sinkings of that immeasurably vast mountain not one single instant of eternity could have said to have ended; even then, at the end of such a period, after that eon of time the mere thought of which makes our very brain reel dizzily, eternity would scarcely have begun."
James Joyce. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.
Well it's a bit like that when you are unemployed. After the first three weeks or so of being busy now it's the waiting time. I am the the pile of sand that Joyce refers to, though more of a sandcastle sized pile really. Everything is now about waiting and learning whole new ways of being patient.
Waiting for:
"I put it to you, as defendant in the dock, that you have willfully, and regularly ignored phone calls, CVs and attempts at networking whilst in your last job sending them off to HR or putting them directly into the bin thus causing exactly the same emotional response as you are feeling now. That is correct is it not? Answer my question, yes or no".
I suspect that for most of us the answer is yes, that's how we treated other attempts from other people when they were seeking employment so it's hardly surprising that is what happens to us.
So wait. If you don't hear anything after submitting an application (certainly after two weeks) it's a goner, move on, if people won't call back find new contacts, look for other sources of jobs, follow up network contacts but after a reasonable time (remember they have jobs and therefore very important meetings to go to and then do nothing), go for a walk, get fit. Do something.
Don't wait passively is my advice (if you've been waiting for any and it's taken ages to come what with all that Joyce stuff) but wait positively and actively. Because one day someone will ask you "what have you been doing with all this time?" And they won't wait for an answer.
"You have often seen the sand on the seashore. How fine are its tiny grains! And how many of those grains go to make up the small handful which a child grasps in its play. Now imagine a mountain of that sand, a million miles high, reaching from the earth to the farthest heavens, and a million miles broad, extending to remotest space, and a million miles in thickness; and imagine such an enormous mass of countless particles of sand multiplied as often as there are leaves in the forest, drops of water in the mighty ocean, feathers on birds, scales on fish, hairs on animals, atoms in the vast expanse of the air; and imagine that at the end of every million years a little bird came to that mountain and carried away in its beak a tiny grain of that sand. How many millions upon millions of centuries would pass before that bird had carried away even a square foot of that mountain, how many eons upon eons of ages before it had carried away all? Yet at the end of that immense stretch of time not even one instant of eternity could be said to have ended. At the end of all those billions and trillions of years eternity would have scarcely begun. And if that mountain rose again after it had been all carried away. And if the bird came again and carried it away again grain by grain, and if it so rose and sank as many times as there are stars in the sky, atoms in the air, drops of water in the sea, leaves on the trees, feathers upon birds, scales upon fish, hairs upon animals, at the end of all those innumerable risings and sinkings of that immeasurably vast mountain not one single instant of eternity could have said to have ended; even then, at the end of such a period, after that eon of time the mere thought of which makes our very brain reel dizzily, eternity would scarcely have begun."
James Joyce. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.
Well it's a bit like that when you are unemployed. After the first three weeks or so of being busy now it's the waiting time. I am the the pile of sand that Joyce refers to, though more of a sandcastle sized pile really. Everything is now about waiting and learning whole new ways of being patient.
Waiting for:
- The jobs section every week in the papers.
- A position that one can reasonably apply for.
- New jobs on the on-line recruitment web pages.
- The mortgage protection policy provider to pay out.
- Any, any recruitment consultant to answer emails or messages left on their voicemail ever. I reserve a special place in Recruitment Consultants' Hell for these people. It will be particularly fiendish.
- Interviews.
- Feedback from interviews.
- Feedback from the submitted applications. Public sector applications have an astonishingly lengthy process. Six weeks to submit a dazzlingly complex application form (I do not remember how many "O" levels I got as I cannot find the certificates and why do they want to know the grades?) and then a "if you do not hear from us in 10 years you may assume your application was unsuccessful."
- Application forms to come. It's amazing how many web links do not work.
- Rejections - most applications just "disappear" and I refer you to point 5. This is like the error message in Excel, 'cannot resolve circular argument'.
- Call backs from people you are trying to network with.
- Responses from those people you used to know quite well when you worked but now don't respond to emails, phone calls, pleading or begging.
- To sign on at the Job Centre.
- To get a different form from the Job Centre.
- Even the traffic seems to conspire against me though I accept that this may now be sign of faint paranoia.
"I put it to you, as defendant in the dock, that you have willfully, and regularly ignored phone calls, CVs and attempts at networking whilst in your last job sending them off to HR or putting them directly into the bin thus causing exactly the same emotional response as you are feeling now. That is correct is it not? Answer my question, yes or no".
I suspect that for most of us the answer is yes, that's how we treated other attempts from other people when they were seeking employment so it's hardly surprising that is what happens to us.
So wait. If you don't hear anything after submitting an application (certainly after two weeks) it's a goner, move on, if people won't call back find new contacts, look for other sources of jobs, follow up network contacts but after a reasonable time (remember they have jobs and therefore very important meetings to go to and then do nothing), go for a walk, get fit. Do something.
Don't wait passively is my advice (if you've been waiting for any and it's taken ages to come what with all that Joyce stuff) but wait positively and actively. Because one day someone will ask you "what have you been doing with all this time?" And they won't wait for an answer.
Friday, 6 April 2007
"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." Polonius in Hamlet and he was a gloomy one as well.
It's not the first two weeks of unemployment that bring home the reality of what has happened and the mountain that must be climbed, it's week three when it gets difficult. After that sombre opening - some gratuitous positive statements and then a cup of tea. Well, I am British and, as we know, a cup of tea solves everything from being a little down after a busy day to dealing with the after effects of a nuclear war. I love those asides you hear when someone says "there's nothing worse than a [fill in blank here] stain on shirt/spilling a drop of coffee/running out of milk in the evening/seeds not germinating." Oh yes there is - try a tsunami for starters, though living in central England as I do, that comes under the "possible but not likely heading".
The first two weeks comprise quite a bit of denial and a fair amount of busy, busy, work, work. Got to knock the CV into shape, tell friends and acquaintances of your new situation, tell your Mum and Dad (three times), email all those networking contacts, find the business cards for those networking contacts so you can actually email them, sign on at the Job Centre, answer all those personal questions about your life, fill in more forms than you normally see in 6 months (10 pages + 12 additional photocopies for mortgage protection insurance alone and now they want 6 more), log on to and upload CV to Monster/totaljobs/fish-for-jobs/trawl-desperately-for-jobs/
exec-jobs/lowly-paid-mac-job/
you-know-I'll-do-any-thingatall-jobs-including cleaning-Raglan-sewers-again-jobs
(although that would be a sort of job job on reflection). There's also the tasks around the house that you now have the odd hour for and can now complete and, gosh, the garden hasn't looked that good for years has it?
I met a man the other day. Early 50's, been unemployed for seven weeks now, first time in his life, 18 years with the same company and then "let go". Hurl. Hadn't done a thing to look for a job so far. Walks the dog twice a day, wife asks to him to go out because it's upset her routine, thinks he ought to start looking for a new job soon. At this point I feel like a grizzled veteran from a Second World War movie, like John Wayne or Audie Murphy, watching the fresh troops move up to the front line with their shiny rifles and wearing their newly pressed combat clothes. You know the sort of thing, Big John spits out his disreputable cheroot, wipes his filthy brow with the back of his hand and snarls "most'll be dead in two days". These men, Big John and Audie, are combat vets, they've seen all the action and can smell a fresh recruit from a mile away. Yep, it's just like that at the Job Centre.
What happens now is that it goes deathly quiet. You may have submitted several CVs for likely looking jobs, perhaps talked to some recruitment consultants and attracted their attention for all of two minutes, maybe even had your first rejection. But now all that early work is complete. This is the time when it gets very hard indeed to keep motivated until you find the new routine of job searching to replace the old routine of actually having a job. But you will find that new routine because you have to. You have to adapt. When someone asks how you are, they do not really want to know that you are totally brassed off and could cheerfully roast a member of staff from the Job Centre over an open fire. What you really need to be is positive, not elaborate on the circumstances, and just make sure that they know you are still looking and maybe they can refer you to someone who might be able to help (that's a newly learned tip, see even the vets need new ammunition). Oh, and ask them do they have any matches?
I have discovered that you are very unlikely to find an old oil lamp that you can rub and then find a genie popping out telling you that you have three wishes. Actually I did find one once but wasted two wishes asking for two KitKats when I realised that I could have just used one wish to ask for a four-finger bar. It is a very true and pithy aphorism that states "finding a new job is a job in itself." I'm spending a minimum of two hours a day, starting at 0700, working on the job hunt. Some days I spend all day and then worry it is not enough. I have to share this valuable point: don't apply for jobs (not yet anyway) that you are not qualified for and wouldn't want in any event. It's bad enough being rejected so why increase the number of rejections to make yourself feel even more worthless and unwanted? Q. Why do people get low paid jobs? A. They apply for them.
I've had some terrific advice from some great people across the world e.g. get out of the bathroom someone else is waiting. No, some truly great advice from people who I didn't know before (and haven't met and may never meet) but are willing to try and help. There are some who have helped shaped my CV and given me interview tips, others that have suggested adapting my networking skills and suggested books to read. Having this community of empathetic people is a great morale booster. What isn't a great morale booster are people bemoaning the fact to me that their bonus is only paying out 95% and they may have to drop that fifth holiday later this year. I have a word, indeed several, for those sort of occasions. I won't share those with you. Others have commented on this blog about the Job Seekers' Allowance (a non sequitur, as there isn't one if you have more than 5p in life savings) and undertaking part-time work - although I may have solved this out by finding some part-time work that more than compensates for the JSA that I'm not getting in the first place.
The score after three weeks unemployment.
2 interviews - 1 rejection, one offer of part time work for three months. To be confirmed next week.
1 vague possibility of a few weeks work far, far away in another galaxy - and if this comes off I'll eat my Job Seekers' Allowance.
2 further jobs applied for, no feedback
2 further jobs, work in progress
50 networking emails sent - some limited feedback with a sort of job offer in a city 150 miles away for 60% lower salary than I had been earning. Bit of a mismatch I feel.
278 versions of my CV produced (OK, some exaggeration perhaps)
"The best of times the worst of times." If you knew that this would last seven months and then a wonderful job would come along wouldn't that be great? Except that you don't know how long it's going to take so...as Polonius said, sort of, good or bad, only thinking makes it so. No genie, no wishes so you might as well be positive.
The first two weeks comprise quite a bit of denial and a fair amount of busy, busy, work, work. Got to knock the CV into shape, tell friends and acquaintances of your new situation, tell your Mum and Dad (three times), email all those networking contacts, find the business cards for those networking contacts so you can actually email them, sign on at the Job Centre, answer all those personal questions about your life, fill in more forms than you normally see in 6 months (10 pages + 12 additional photocopies for mortgage protection insurance alone and now they want 6 more), log on to and upload CV to Monster/totaljobs/fish-for-jobs/trawl-desperately-for-jobs/
exec-jobs/lowly-paid-mac-job/
you-know-I'll-do-any-thingatall-jobs-including cleaning-Raglan-sewers-again-jobs
(although that would be a sort of job job on reflection). There's also the tasks around the house that you now have the odd hour for and can now complete and, gosh, the garden hasn't looked that good for years has it?
I met a man the other day. Early 50's, been unemployed for seven weeks now, first time in his life, 18 years with the same company and then "let go". Hurl. Hadn't done a thing to look for a job so far. Walks the dog twice a day, wife asks to him to go out because it's upset her routine, thinks he ought to start looking for a new job soon. At this point I feel like a grizzled veteran from a Second World War movie, like John Wayne or Audie Murphy, watching the fresh troops move up to the front line with their shiny rifles and wearing their newly pressed combat clothes. You know the sort of thing, Big John spits out his disreputable cheroot, wipes his filthy brow with the back of his hand and snarls "most'll be dead in two days". These men, Big John and Audie, are combat vets, they've seen all the action and can smell a fresh recruit from a mile away. Yep, it's just like that at the Job Centre.
What happens now is that it goes deathly quiet. You may have submitted several CVs for likely looking jobs, perhaps talked to some recruitment consultants and attracted their attention for all of two minutes, maybe even had your first rejection. But now all that early work is complete. This is the time when it gets very hard indeed to keep motivated until you find the new routine of job searching to replace the old routine of actually having a job. But you will find that new routine because you have to. You have to adapt. When someone asks how you are, they do not really want to know that you are totally brassed off and could cheerfully roast a member of staff from the Job Centre over an open fire. What you really need to be is positive, not elaborate on the circumstances, and just make sure that they know you are still looking and maybe they can refer you to someone who might be able to help (that's a newly learned tip, see even the vets need new ammunition). Oh, and ask them do they have any matches?
I have discovered that you are very unlikely to find an old oil lamp that you can rub and then find a genie popping out telling you that you have three wishes. Actually I did find one once but wasted two wishes asking for two KitKats when I realised that I could have just used one wish to ask for a four-finger bar. It is a very true and pithy aphorism that states "finding a new job is a job in itself." I'm spending a minimum of two hours a day, starting at 0700, working on the job hunt. Some days I spend all day and then worry it is not enough. I have to share this valuable point: don't apply for jobs (not yet anyway) that you are not qualified for and wouldn't want in any event. It's bad enough being rejected so why increase the number of rejections to make yourself feel even more worthless and unwanted? Q. Why do people get low paid jobs? A. They apply for them.
I've had some terrific advice from some great people across the world e.g. get out of the bathroom someone else is waiting. No, some truly great advice from people who I didn't know before (and haven't met and may never meet) but are willing to try and help. There are some who have helped shaped my CV and given me interview tips, others that have suggested adapting my networking skills and suggested books to read. Having this community of empathetic people is a great morale booster. What isn't a great morale booster are people bemoaning the fact to me that their bonus is only paying out 95% and they may have to drop that fifth holiday later this year. I have a word, indeed several, for those sort of occasions. I won't share those with you. Others have commented on this blog about the Job Seekers' Allowance (a non sequitur, as there isn't one if you have more than 5p in life savings) and undertaking part-time work - although I may have solved this out by finding some part-time work that more than compensates for the JSA that I'm not getting in the first place.
The score after three weeks unemployment.
2 interviews - 1 rejection, one offer of part time work for three months. To be confirmed next week.
1 vague possibility of a few weeks work far, far away in another galaxy - and if this comes off I'll eat my Job Seekers' Allowance.
2 further jobs applied for, no feedback
2 further jobs, work in progress
50 networking emails sent - some limited feedback with a sort of job offer in a city 150 miles away for 60% lower salary than I had been earning. Bit of a mismatch I feel.
278 versions of my CV produced (OK, some exaggeration perhaps)
"The best of times the worst of times." If you knew that this would last seven months and then a wonderful job would come along wouldn't that be great? Except that you don't know how long it's going to take so...as Polonius said, sort of, good or bad, only thinking makes it so. No genie, no wishes so you might as well be positive.
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