Cha-Cha-Cha

Joanie (a friend from my previous job, who, incidentally is a fabulous salsa dancer) convinced me to enroll in salsa lessons about 4 months ago. I am nearly completing Basic 3 Salsa mastering the cross-body, Susie-Q, broken left and side step and it is A LOT better than my college ballet class (where I cried every class). I still need to get to the clubs and put my smooth moves to the test, but in the meantime the salsa classroom has been a welcome distraction from my job-searching.

I have to admit that this article is not about the Cha-Cha-Cha, or any other latin dance. It is about ChaCha, a new and amazing wireless research service and I have decided that I would be the perfect ChaCha Guide.

"ChaCha is like having a smart friend you can call or text for answers on your cell phone anytime for free! ChaCha works with virtually every provider and allows people with any mobile phone device to ask any question in conversational English and receive an accurate answer as a text message in just a few minutes."

Wow. I can get paid for sitting in my apartment, drinking coffee, petting my cats and finding answers to people's questions. At .20 cents per answer I estimate that I might be able to bring in around $12.00 an hr. and stay in my pajamas. Now we're talkin' !!!

I visited the ChaCha website and completed an application:

"I love research and I love helping people. Friends from graduate school can attest to my nerdy-bookish quest for finding information and applying it to papers, lectures and finally a doctoral thesis. As a ChaCha guide, I would use my savvy internet research skills to find answers to questions and provide prompt, pithy, accurate answers to users' inquiries. But, I am also not afraid to use my personality. You can count on me to handle any question in a professional manner with some spunk."

ChaCha receives thousands of inquiries for ChaCha Guides weekly, so it is unlikely that my 270 words will make it to Human Resources. In the meantime, back to craigslist.com . . .

Monkey

Dads are the best. Especially when their daughters are in trouble or need. Like me. My dad worries about me because I don't have a job. I do have temporary health insurance and am paying Citibank, Amazon, Juniper, Chase, the U.S. Department of Education and my landlord, but my dad worries (like other dads would) that he might get the dreaded phone call one day:

"Dad, I need to borrow some money."

In my case, I would have to insert the word *more* between *some* and *money* since I am sure that my parental loan is already in the tens of thousands. Luckily, I have a dad who is a brilliant man. Always coming up with new marketing ideas for my singing website, always telling me what results come up when he googles different combinations of my name, skills, education and performances.

Today my dad sent me an email. It was pithy in perfect business-like fatherly fashion.

He wrote one single sentence:
"I will get you a monkey you can stand on the corner with to collect money while you sing."

The next time you see someone on a street-corner beating a white bucket, playing a pan flute, or singing and playing an electric guitar hooked up to a complete audio system, stop and give him a buck, ok? His dad might have been the one to give him the idea.

Dinner & Drinks

When you get laid off and are forced to leave the place where you spent approximately 1/3 of your life without even one goodbye, it is not only hard on you, but hard on all of the friends you have back at the office. You don't get the bagel breakfast goodbye or the afternoon cake and ice cream farewell where everyone says nice things about you and wishes you luck. No. You have to pack up your things, turn in your keys and leave by the back door. The exit of shame.

And then, everyone wants to take you out for dinner and drinks.

My first week *off-the-job* was a bit of a celebration. Everyone wanted to get together for drinks. Lots of people emailed with their condolences but I responded with absolute positivity. This was the best for me and the organization. We all knew I had been unhappy and there was no looking back. Although everyone missed my personal visits around the office (I couldn't sit in my cube for very long so everyone expected my mid-morning and mid-afternoon visits), I promised to keep in touch with my new office-world friends.

Although it took about two days to even want to write a cover letter, I was motivated to find another job. After all, rent had to be paid. Cats had to be fed. Filing for unemployment just seemed like an awful idea. There was a brighter future waiting for me and I was convinced with my experience and education I would get snatched up in no time.

Gym Gym Bor-ee

Yes! I like children. I like music. I could play and sing with children. Why not?

I was invited to the group Gymboree interview and decided to do it with an open mind. While my vast knowledge of mélodie and lieder would be useless, perhaps all the Mary Poppins I watched as a kid would help me win this job!

There were about 30 of us waiting in our socks for our moment to shine. Some people had brought their guitars, others were vocalizing, preparing for their audition. The Gymboree staff welcomed us in cheerful, fashion and an announcement rang through the playroom:

Gymboree isn't for everyone and if anyone, at anytime, feels that they are no longer interested in the job, just give us a sign and you may leave.

The interview/audition began. They were dropping like flies. I told myself that I would stay until the end. After all, how many times in my life am I going to audition for Gymboree? Once.
I left Gymboree after nailing all aspects of the interview: my prepared song, the Gymboree song, the equipment set-up. I was sure I would get called back for a second interview. And I did.

During my second interview at Gymboree I got to observe a music class for 12-20 month old children. I kept thinking, "I can do this. Sure, why not? There are a bunch of kids yelling and running around, but at least their parents are there with them. I can sing and smile and talk about music." I put my shoes on and left the play center to meet the owner for a face to face interview.

I felt like she was trying to convince me that the job wasn't right for me. Maybe she saw right through me into my soul-filled with mélodie and lieder. She knew I wouldn't be able to fake it and she was right. While I sang the clean-up song, I would be thinking of Bohème and while children marched and bounced on knees, they would be doing it to Bizet's Toréador song. Still, I smiled and talked about how much I loved music & children.

I got my rejection letter a few weeks later.

June 16, 2008: The Day I was Set Free

Monday, June 16, 2008, 8:30 a.m. Lovely morning. Had a fun weekend. Sunny. New Pay Period. What else could I desire as I bid farewell to my precious cats and headed to earn my hard-won $$$. The sun was shining and the breeze moved gently along the lake cooling the city. I savored my favorite part of the work-day which is taking in the view of our gorgeous Chicago skyline as I creeped south on I-94. As usual, I greeted my boss warmly asking him if there was anything I could do (of course I knew there would be nothing for me to do but I hoped for a response that would make the next 8 hours move swiftly and painlessly). I sat down at my computer workstation and tried desperately to drown out the dull-gray cubicle world that engulfed my. . . let's just say. . . *more than free-spirit*. I found cubicle land to be less than satisfying but the paycheck that was deposited into my account every other week was definitely more than satisfying. So, I plugged along thinking that maybe I was wrong and that this is what life was going to be like. Steady paycheck. 401K. Cushy health insurance, vacation and sick pay. Nice.

10:30 a.m. My boss approached informed me that the CEO would like to see me in her office. I grabbed my pen and yellow memo pad and marched bravely into the chamber of liberation. At this point, all I remember is a string of disconnected phrases. . .we hate to have to let you go . . . this is not performance based . . budget crisis. . . you are endeared by your colleagues . . . we will pay you until the end of the month. . . letter of recommendation . . . enroll in COBRA . . . collect unemployment . . . you can get your things together today. . . any questions . . .?

Relief.

11:45 a.m. My apartment. Listening to voicemail. My friend Joanie (this is not her real name but in order to maintain confidentiality with my former employer, I can not reveal details of my previous job except for the color of my cubicle. Really. It was clearly stated in the confidentiality agreement I was reading while I sipped my Corona) had just left a message asking me where I was and if I still wanted to have lunch with her. Needless to say, Joanie and I didn't have lunch that day. I sipped my Corona (and then a few more) as I scanned the electronic pages of craigslist and npo.net in search of my new job and the adventure began. . .

It has been 45 days since I was laid off from my first *real* job and every day I move further and further away from wanting to find a *real* job. . . I have applied for *real* jobs and *not-so-real jobs* and have been learning a great deal about myself, the world we live in and what can happen when one becomes *too* qualified for a job. The following stories are based on real situations. Some of the details and names have been changed and some stories may be slightly exaggerated. My ultimate hope is to make a few people laugh along their journeys, and yes, to find myself a job.