The Job Hunt
My black and white dress and red sweater hang up in the bathroom. I brush my teeth for an extra 30 seconds, nervously going over what I'm going to say. It dawns on me that shaving before an interview is probably fairly important so I quickly begin the process, staring down at my phone for the time. Realizing it's almost time to be on my way, I begin shaving in double time.
A very sharp pain begins to throb around my ankle. I mumble, 'Great,' under my breath, figuring it was a tiny nick on my ankle. I go on with my make-up routine and mind preparation. I drop something on the floor.
When I bend over to pick up the item, I see a pool of blood around my feet. Forgetting my earlier shave, I immediately begin to think I am dying. I have just begun the job-searching process and the stress has already taken its toll on my malfunctioning body that has gone into hemorrhage mode.
I put Band-Aid after Band-Aid on the wound, but it is quickly overcome. I finally put a large bandage around the injured area. 'This sure doesn't match my outfit,' I mumble to myself.
Slightly defeated already, I make it to the store. "How are you doing, mam?" says the greeter. I irrationally feel like he can see the bandage around my ankle, which by this time, has probably tripled in size. I take a deep breath and say, "I'm doing well, thank you." I give myself bonus points for saying "well" instead of "good." Surely they notice details like that, right?
They ask me to tell them about myself; I wonder if this elicits my experience with online dating sites or if they just want me to read my carefully doctored resume aloud. I figure a little bit of both will suffice.
Fast forward to the next day:
I'm almost to the office and I look down and quickly peruse my shirt to see if any crumbs reside. I am known for getting more food and make-up on my clothes than in my mouth or on my face. Instead, where my sparkled buttons on my cardigan should have been, I saw nothing but black material. Irrational once again, I figure that my buttons must have fallen off for an initial second. When that made absolutely no sense, I quickly realize that my cardigan is inside out. Nothing says professional like, "I can't dress myself." I flip the sweater around, fall out of the car and apply pressure to my bandage to make sure it's secure. Leaving a half-mangled bandage on a possible boss's floor is more traumatic than a wardrobe mistake.
I have another interview tomorrow, and I can't wait to see what my crazy life has in store for me. Everyone has their own advice for you before you enter the job hunt process, most of which can be summed up by, "Be yourself." So laugh all you want, but I am following this wisdom fervently. It's hard to let interviewers know the true answer to "Who are you?"
The truth is, I'm not a fancy business suit, crisply ironed. I'm an outfit I hurriedly picked up at Target because the interview suddenly came up; I'm a bandaged ankle, but I keep on walking. I'm an inside out sweater that hopes my inner beauty outshines sparkling buttons. I'm a girl with broccoli in between my teeth who keeps on smiling.
And one of these days I know I will find a job that appreciates my gumption; my ability to learn-- and laugh as I do. This process isn't easy. It's printing out resumes on expensive paper, only to be told to apply online. It's reading a description that sounds appealing and finding that the only requirement is that you can carry 150 pounds. It's showing up at a location and being greeted by barefoot, pregnant women who want to know "what you want." I wish I could say that these were hypothetical and that my resume is not displayed on my parents' fridge like a 1st grade report card. But I can't. It's life.
I need your prayers as this process commences. Not for un-bandaged knees and perfect outfits put together, but for a strong heart and spirit. And maybe when I see those qualities radiating within my own being, others will begin to see it too.