Whoa Mama

Friday, March 13, 2009


So we are all caught up on the relocation, move, and current state of affairs for the family. If you can read between the lines of my answers to “what are you doing now?” on the international voyeuristic fascination we call Facebook, you know that I have been job hunting.

I have found some potential fits, some moderately satisfying opportunities and some that fit that category of better check it out just in case. Then I found my ideal job. It was listed by a community organization that supports the area where we own our house and an area that I love dearly. The title was Business and Development Specialist, that is to say ideally reflective of the two areas in which I have masters degrees – MBA & MSW.

I applied.

They didn’t call immediately.

Simultaneously, I applied for about 6 other jobs. One of which was Volunteer Recruitment Coordinator. The recruiter for this one called. Yay! Lots of phone work, she told me for a non-profit that shall remain nameless. Warm leads, not much cold calling. I suited up and went off to interview.

It was a dreary, snowy Buffalo day in January. I was simply buoyant. I can do calls. I’m perky, positive and persuasive. Not a usual combination, but I’m good at it. I had breakfast with my dad and fully caffeinated, headed off to wow them.

I followed my directions only to find myself at a strip mall staring at a sign that said:


I almost threw up. This cannot be my life.

Oh that doesn't fit. I don’t do self-pity. This has got to stop. I closed my burning eyes and thought of Jean Eagan. My grandmother had an unwavering work ethic, driven by having successfully survived the Great Depression and her profound intelligence and perhaps just a smattering of Irish pride. My grandmother was strong and proud and would have no sooner turned away work when she needed it than she would have run down Downing Street naked. I psychologically straightened my pillbox hat, slammed an iron rod in my spine and marched in.

After filling out an application and taking a series of skills assessments, I chat with the recruiter and she tells me when I should report to the agency. I report for this job that I affectionately termed “purgatory” for 6 weeks, 5 ½ weeks longer than the 5 other people that were hired with me. (There is another entry that goes to this topic)

In the meantime, I waited three weeks and heard nothing from this community agency. I’m pretty surprised but get that it is a tough time for job hunting to say the least. After the appropriate amount of time, I sent a follow up email and for good measure attached my resume again.

And now the executive director of the neighborhood association calls!

Again, I suited up and this time I am much more prepared for what I am facing. There are very few surprises for me in that I am familiar with the agency and their mission and objectives. I dare say he was surprised as I knocked his socks off!!! He pumped my hand when he repeatedly thanked me for coming in because it was “such a great pleasure.” We move on to second interviews when I learn that I am one of three culled from the pool of 83 applicants. He’ll make his decision over the weekend to allow for the announcement of the hire to be made at the Wednesday board meeting. I am sure that this is mine.

That was Friday. Monday comes and goes. Well, he mustn’t have been able to reach the executive committee. Tuesday morning comes and goes. One o’clock rolls around and I have to screen out a call that I don’t recognize while on the phone with a long-awaited human being on the customer service line. It is the executive director with a vague message with the comment that he would follow up on email. This does not sound good. I immediately call back and am told that he must have just left. Coward. Then I get the email. I did not get the job.

That is what prompted my sweet sweet husband to write this. Thank you.


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