|Harry Clarke, Descent into the Maelstrom|
October 8: Sent out fifteen resumes before noon. Took a break to read up on yoga and breathing techniques to slow my metabolism so I won't have to eat so damned often.
October 15: Rough week. No calls. Slim pickings on Craigslist today. Don't smoke enough to qualify for the $100/week smoker study at UPenn; can't afford to buy more cigarettes.
October 19: Bought new slacks for office assistant interview. Forgot to peel the sticker off; had it pointed out to me by the man conducting the interview. Tried to save face by peeling it off, slapping it over his mouth, and telling him to shut up and listen while I told him why I'd be an invaluable, incomparable asset to his team. Don't have a good feeling about this one.
October 21: Epiphany. Job interviews in customer service are a fine conversational kabuki wherein the applicant and the interviewer both (as individuals and as a pair) pretend they don't despise the average customer. Dispensing with the mendacity and trying to level with the interviewer on this point—decidedly not recommended.
October 23: Took the online evaluation/personality profile component of the application for Cheesecake Factory dishwasher. Pretty sure there was a mix-up and I was actually taking the psychological exam administered to CIA agents. Uncertain whether the test was designed to weed out paranoid personalities or to inculcate paranoia in applicants, but if they call me back I'm not talking to them on an unsecured line.
October 27: After filling out all those forms and coming in for an interview and a test, the people at the sperm bank told me this morning I'm not fit to be a donor. Stayed home all day and jacked off. Felt shortchanged in addition to pathetic.
October 29: Replied to a listing: "Seeking egg donor: young woman between the ages of 21 and 28 who has Jewish heritage on her mother's side of the family." Had a very cordial and encouraging email conversation, but the interview did not go well.
October 31: Spent six hours on Facebook, reading former high school classmates' posts about their careers. Posted passive aggressive boasts about getting 12–14 hours of sleep every day and still finding time to keep up with all the TV shows.
November 2: Got an interview at freaking Starbucks in half an hour. I have applied Old Spice (original scent) to my entire personal surface area, and I still smell like desperation. This will not play in my favor: nothing interferes with the coffee aroma like desperation pheromones and propylene glycol. Stuffing pockets, briefs, and cheeks with coffee grounds. Too late to turn back now.
November 3: Whose dick do I have to suck to get a call back about that male escort position?
November 3 (continued): Well, that answers that.
November 4: I don't think I have the CV to substantiate my qualifications for these "delivery expert," "customer service wizard," or "coruscating apotheosis of overnight stocker" openings. I once believed these were just want-ad euphemisms for "human being showing vital signs who can follow directions and will not be a lighting rod for liability suits," but after trying and failing for nearly two months to land jobs I should be overqualified for, I'm no longer so sure. Is it possible that I'm a lone mortal living in a city of prodigies and magic people?
November 6: Called the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline and said "give me a job or I'll kill myself." Bold idea, worth a shot—but ultimately ineffective. Probably burned some bridges that would really come in handy if this job hunt goes on much longer.
November 7: "So tell me, why do you want to work at Walmart?" "So I can afford the mood stabilizers I will require to work at Walmart." Then I started to cry.
November 8: Need a job. Need income and structure. I fear I'm turning feral. Fought a crackhead last night. Ate his coat this morning. Saving his beard for lunch.
November 10: Was looking over my resume and made a terrifying discovery. On line 19 of my CV: "correcting and adjusting content to meet house standards." Present tense! All of my other duties are listed in the past tense! I'm such a fucking idiot. Ramen and stale bagels are too good for me.