Tips from The Sis

Hey guys, as some of you may know, The Sis is here in DC, too! As she is also living through the intern/extra job/no time cycle, I wanted to bring her in to share some advice. Read on for a guest post by The Sis!

 

Hello fellow blog-o’readers! I’ll start with two things—first, a welcome/thank you to Aftan and you, her dedicated (yes, DEDICATED—so spread the word!) readers on what may be the first of many guestspot blogs (spogging? Blottings? Hmmm…). Second, is an apology to Twin, since I’ve been promising her I would write a guest blot/spog  for….oh, about 8 months. *Insert wry—I mean, ashamed, very very ashamed face—here.*  Sowwy seester. *Sincere chagrin this time*

That being said, I’ll get write to it (see what I did there?).

I’m going to delve today into that messy, discontinuous, often painful, always transforming, unexpected, surprising, character-building experience we all face after college (or any other kind of school for that matter): getting a job. I know Twin has expounded on this before, her tips and her experience, expertly wielding both realism and hilarity, and maybe only a slight dash of hyperbole. I want to add to this topic, provide some advice that was given to me, as well as my own reflections on the matter now that I have been in this job-hunting underworld for over a year.

I moved to DC over a year ago, taking a stab in the dark and a leap of faith with an internship at an Undisclosed Relevant Organization (URO). To my dismay, the internship had been somewhat (read: a lot) misrepresented to me over my phone interview, and the job was nothing like I was expecting it to be. But I trucked through, despite my disappointment and dissatisfaction with the turn of events, determined to make what I could out of the experience.

Essentially, the experience was a very humbling one that taught me how to continue to give my best efforts for a supervisor for whom I held little to no respect or affability. This is, actually, a very, very important lesson. You may not always like who you work for, whether it’s your direct supervisor, CEO, or a lateral colleague in another department. You cannot let this affect your performance. No one wants a surly, unhappy employee, whether or not they’re justified.

One positive thing the internship did provide was some new connections to expand my network. Since Twin has amply dissected this topic, I’ll only add that she is absolutely right. In this day and age, in this city, it’s not really WHAT you know (although that does help!), it’s WHO you know. I can’t tell you how many people I’ve witnessed obtaining jobs because of who they knew already on staff. It’s important. Do it. You can’t get anywhere on credentials alone anymore—there are too many people with equivalent experience, and too few jobs. You need another foot in the door.

One of the people I met gave me his idea of some valuable fresh-to-the-job-market advice. I found his thoughts particularly helpful, which I will share. First, he recommended getting business cards. It’s an easy, smooth way to exchange contact information, and it avoids the awkward tackiness of “Oh, erm, let me scribble down my email address for you… Do you have a pen?”  You don’t need a job to have business cards. 

Or a pen. Get a pen.

So where can you pass out these cards? Why, at events of course! Policy events, social events, informational events, you name it! Also, who knows when a chance encounter on the metro can turn into a serendipitous opportunity? Got your business card on you? Sweet, now you look smooth, prepared, AND professional.

At these events will be like-minded people who usually have a job in that kind of field. Be personable! Chat them up! Keep your ears and eyes peeled, and start a conversation with someone next to whom you are sitting!

And try not to be too utilitarian. Beginning a conversation, even though, yes it’s DC and that’s how everyone does it, by asking what they do is obvious and can backfire, especially at such an obvious networking-potential event.

Instead, try to start a conversation through a back door. Show your interest in them as a person, not as someone you hope can do something for you. “Hi, I’m So-and-So. Pretty interesting so far, huh? I like what the speaker said about [fill in the blank]. …What brought you to this event? Oh, really? Tell me more. That’s so neat, I love work like that as well. I hope to work my way to [fill in the blank]. ” This works a lot better than, “So, what do you do?”

At the end of the event, maybe you can ask for an informational interview, to learn more about the kinds of things that person does, and their tips or thoughts on how to accomplish that. People are much more responsive to enthusiastic individuals sincerely interested in a conversation rather than someone who clearly just wants to use them to get somewhere else. Odds are, at the end of the interview, they’ll either offer to be of some help to you or perhaps put you in touch with someone who can. At the very least, they’ll remember you. Especially if you stay in touch with them (depending on the rapport established of course).

Connected to this is the notion of connecting over drinks or other casual settings—people are more relaxed, approachable, and communicative with a beer in their hand. So go to those networking happy hours! They exist for a reason! Whether it’s an organized young professionals happy hour (they exist all over) or just an informal outing with friends, go out. See and be seen. In a city of high stress, high tempo, high workload kind of jobs, most people loosen their ties and hairnets at a bar at the end of the day. Also, be open to events with people you might not know so well; they can connect you to other circles. You know that game, Six Degrees to Kevin Bacon? Yeah, well, it’s true and applicable.

Speaking of alcohol…. In addition to being a perfect wingman for happy hours, I might also recommend alcohol when writing cover letters. Cover letters should be passionate and tell the potential employer about yourself, but not in a boring, predictable, template manner. And sometimes there’s no better way to eschew over-formality and embrace creativity and flow than with a drink in hand. DO NOT BLAME ME IF YOU TAKE THIS TOO FAR. Discretion, people; we’re professionals.

Finally, faithful readers, find out what and who it is that does the kinds of thing you like. Don’t just think of the Big Name Places. Look at littler organizations. The organizations that may not be as well known—competition there might not be as fierce, either. Find those places that are in your field, find their offices, go to their events, talk to them. Be present.

That about sums it up for my first guest entry. I hope I’ve adequately been able to share some of the advice provided to me, and that you can take it and run with it, little peacocks. There is so much I could say on the matter, more heavily weighted in my own personal experiences and tips, but this is a nice start.

NOT COOL, ROBERT FROST.

Okay. Hi Internet. Been awhile. How ya been? Cool.

 

You know what’s not cool? Job insecurity. Job insecurity during a recession (potentially The Recession?). I interned for a whole year after graduating – I scraped and clawed and brown-nosed my way to a steady paycheck, and no one’s taking that away from me. You’ll have to pry it from my white, lifeless fingers, and then you’ll have to sprint away because my zombie body will come to life and chase after you for it, arms outstretched, yelling, “My paycheck…my paycheck…” Maybe I’ll be one of those sexy zombies. They seem to have fun. They make movies n such.

(Do I have a flair for the dramatic? Just a tad. Ask my friends about it sometime.)

Anywho.

I’m not saying I’m in imminent danger of losing my job. *smoothes hair into place and pastes on confident smile* I’m just saying that my department is experiencing some changes in the next few months, and those months do contain the very, very small chance that I might get laid off. Needless to say, I’m dusting off my CV and doing some quiet searching for new opportunities.

But the idea of being thrown back into unemployment terrifies me.

Part of it would be great – sweatpants, mac n cheese, and sleeping in – but really. That’ll get old after, like, a day. Then I’ll be bored, miserable, and discouraged.*

For some reason I always figured that doing the intern/whatever job/60-hr week thing was a one-time thing, a pattern for a stage of life that would not need repeating. But I guess that’s no guarantee. If I lose my job and can’t find a replacement in time, I’m gonna HAVE to pick something else up. Girl’s gotta make rent.

This gives me a lot of compassion for workers in retail, restaurants, etc, even the people on the sidewalk with cardboard signs who we all rush past and avoid eye contact with – it’s so easy to let ourselves judge based on appearances. But really, we don’t know anything. Maybe s/he had a great job and got laid off. Maybe a family member had crazy health problems and s/he went into debt. Maybe s/he just likes working in a restaurant.

Point is, anything can happen to anybody.

You all know that Robert Frost poem? Two roads diverged in a yellow wood… Yeah, my high school had the last few lines of that poem painted on a stairwell wall. I stared at it every day as I trudged to Biology, honors English, and honors government (yeah, we didn’t have AP, podunk small town that we were). Sometimes the words annoyed me, but most days they simultaneously inspired and vindicated me in my nerd-dom: "Yeah! I’m just over here taking the road less traveled!"

I’ve thought about those lines a lot since I’ve moved to DC. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I/I took the one less traveled by/And that has made all the difference.

They still assuage my troubled soul at times, but ya know what? Here, let me put it in words from our dear Kid President: “Two roads diverged in the woods…and I took the road less traveled…and it hurt, man! Really bad! ROCKS! THORNS! And GLASS! Not cool, Robert Frost!”

Available at
http://www.cafepress.com/kidpresident.776411657



Yeeeaaaahhh, dear ole Robbie forgot to mention that part. Rocks n thorns n glass n stuff. That’s what this whole “road less traveled” things is all about, huh?

Awesome. Lemme grab my hiking boots.


*[Editor's note: when I zapped this post over to The Sis for editing, she said, "haha, everytime you talk about job uncertainty, unemployment, being bored, miserable, discouraged, i [want you to] insert 'ie: my sister' *sad, slightly hysterical lawls*" Reprinted w permission, cuz there are no sissy fights here.]

Workin the DC grind

Last week wrapped up what was probably the busiest week of my life at work. I've occasionally worked into the evenings, but last week was the first time where 8 pm saw me still at my desk, tapping tiredly at the keyboard, trying to make deadlines, filing paperwork, etc etc, other Frantic Office Stuff.

I don't know about all of you, but 11 hours in front of a computer leave me drained and sad about my future.  

I've always believed in having a healthy balance between a work life and a personal life. I want to be passionate about what I do, yes, but I also don't want my job to drive me into the ground and destroy whatever fervor I have for my field. (Otherwise I'll just end up a fat dog-lady (the new cat-lady) who yells at the dumb broads on The Bachelor.)

This is pretty tough to manage in DC. (The work-life balance, not the dog-lady thing.) People define themselves by their job. Whenever you meet someone here, the first question is almost always "So what do you do?"

This really frustrates me, but I haven't figured out a classy way around it. "Tell me about who you ARE, as a PERSON" doesn't come off too well. And asking lots of detailed questions about someone's non-work life can veer quite suddenly into stalker-land. I'm still working on this...suggestions welcome.

Now that that segue is over, I want to take some time to address the work culture of DC. Because clearly, I missed out on some club meeting where everyone here decided the new Rules that Everyone Shall Follow. Drat, it's middle school all over again. 

Also, I like lists. Aren't they efficient? 

Rule #1: Thou shalt go into the office early. What job you have will determine how early you go in. Government job, think early. Like, early early. I don't have a government job, not yet anyway, so I can't speak to this entirely, but 7 or 8 seems normal. Even if you don't have a government job, earlier is better.

Rule #2: Thou shalt stay late. Leaving at 6 is leaving on schedule, but 7 or 8 seems more normal for some of my friends. Later gives you a Truly Dedicated Award. (I have one friend who stays until 9 on the reg.)

Rule #3: Thou shalt donate weekends. Notice I say "donate." Oh, you thought you'd get overtime? Hahahaha, excuse me, but bahaha. That's precious.

Last weekend I was up until 1 am trying to meet a deadline. Nope. No overtime. If you have a cool boss you can shuffle those hours around and take time off later, but not everyone has a cool boss.

I can take the above three rules and distill them into a nice graph for you.

*Note: Graph may not be mathematically accurate. As previously mentioned, I'm no math major.

As you can see, people in my age and pay bracket (that would be the "who are you" section) commit ungodly hours to our jobs. This is because we want to prove ourselves and move up the food chain. We want to move up the food chain so that we can eventually put in the same ungodly hours -- but at least we'll have a fancy title! And we'll truly AFFECT policy! And there is nothing unrealistic about this dream whatsoever! Yay!

Until then, the drudgery must continue. And that brings us to Rule #4, my personal favorite.

Rule #4: Thou shalt observe Happy Hours. I did not know this term when I first moved here. Happy hour? Eh?

Ahem. What do overworked professionals need more than anything? A break, you might say. No no, young padowan. Overworked professionals need alcohol. 

"Happy hour" refers to special bar hours (usually 4:30 until 7 or so) that offer discounted drink prices. Cocktails, beer, wine...it's a great marketing scheme actually, because by the time happy hour rolls around, we (and the bar adverts) have convinced us that we DESERVE some libation. And nothing feels more cathartic than to get deservedly tipsy and complain about your job, right?

Right. Now if you'll excuse me, Irish Whiskey Public House is calling my name.

VIP: Very Important Post

Should I write-up an acceptable excuse for six weeks of silence on this blog? Nah. Too lazy. Why do I feel lazy right now? Oh I dunno, could have something to do with one of my first two-day weekends since frickin October.

Why do I have a two-day weekend? I’m not working 60+-hour weeks anymore.

Why do I have a reduced (aka normal) schedule now? Cuz, ya know, I GOT A JOB. A real Big Girl Job. A Job-Job, if you will. I think this is worthy of some underlines and color…

I GOT A JOB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After nine months at an unpaid internship and working nights and weekends, my internship finally coalesced into a real, paying position. Long story short, the Lil Boss decided to leave, and after a long (too long) interview process, I am now the Lil Boss! My official title is Associate Editor, which means I get to take my red pen and mark up manuscripts for a foreign policy journal.

What what? I get paid to be a Grammar Nazi? Cool. Whoa dude, comma OVERUSE…excuuuse me, that is not a real sentence…let’s move this word/sentence/paragraph over *here*…how about we try spelling this word correctly…

I am drunk on Red Pen Authority.

Speaking of authority…my signature means something now! I can manage a budget, call our publisher to check on manuscripts and deadlines and marketing, talk to other departments about Important Stuff, and fill my work life with other Marketable Skills! Knock me over with a feather. I am a young professional. BAM. I even have my own office. And an intern.

Big Boss: So, feel free to move into your new office at any time.

Me: Oh, okay. I’ll do that this week then.

Big Boss: Well, your intern starts day after tomorrow, and he’ll have your current desk, so…

Me/New Lil Boss: Gotcha. I’ll move right now!

Having a job also means:

- I can afford a gym membership.

- I can finally buy that painting I’ve been eyeing at Eastern Market for six months.

- Fresh flowers? What?

- I can finally afford some of the nice booze that I sell to my customers at the liquor store…yes, I’ve kept some of my hours at the liquor store. It’s just too fun to quit. More on that later though.

Look, my first paycheck! I will use it for something special...

...like fostering a newfound love of Irish whiskey.
(This was a combo gift to myself: first paycheck, 23rd
birthday, and 1-Year Anniversary of living in DC.)

Reading through the above list, some of you may be concerned about how I prioritize. Flowers and booze? Wow, this generation really doesn’t know what to do with money. Back in my day, [enter diatribe here]… Ahem, after a year of living literally paycheck-to-paycheck, you’re right. I have no idea what to do with money. But don’t worry, I’m a Grown-Up now. I’ll figure it out—for instance, I opened a retirement account the other week and talked to a specialist about investment options.

So, this blog will continue. Hopefully a little more consistently now that I have some time. And I plan to write quite a few more posts from the point of view of an overworked, underappreciated, frustrated, sleep-deprived, discouraged youngin’ tryin to make it in the big city.  Because, sadly, lots of us are still in that place.

Not to end on a sober note or anything. :P

411 Awesome St, Big City America

I feel that after nearly 8 months of interning, job hunting, interviewing, and generally freaking out about what to do with my life, I've become well-versed enough in this process to offer a bit of unsolicited advice. So here goes.

Location, location, location.
When applying for jobs, think about your address. This might seem like the most basic and simple item to add to a resume – duh, goes right with your email and your phone number – but the address is actually a tricksy little devil. Because if you want a job in a particular city, it helps if your resume shows that you live in that city.

This is true for several reasons.

Firstly, potential employers want accessibility. They want the freedom to think, 'Hey, I like this candidate. I really want to interview her next week.' And then they want to to actually interview her next week. They don't want to think, 'Hey, I like this candidate, I really want to interview her...oh wait she lives in Raleigh, North Carolina, and I'm in Chicago. Phone interviews will only go so far. Next.'

Even worse: a potential employer in, say, Grand Rapids, MI, likes a particular candidate who he knows attends a nearby college, only to discover that the candidate's resume lists her as living in, let's say, Montana, but only because she's currently studying abroad in, oh I dunno, Scotland.

Yeah. If employers aren't too crazy about phone interviews, then I'm sure Skype interviews will just really dazzle them.  All that newfangled technology and stuff.

This brings me to my second point.

Phone interviews will only go so far.
Yes, phone (and occasionally Skype) interviews are often a crucial step along the yay-I-finally-have-something-that-will-get-me-off-the-couch road.  However, rarely will someone hire you based solely on a phone interview. If that happened for you, then congratulations – you must have really blown them away! (Good job, Sis and Laynsy!)

Fact of the matter is, though, most employers prefer in-person interviews in addition to those phone interviews. And some employers are pretty picky about this. Even if you have the qualifications and the zeal and drive and a completely stable Scottish Internet connection, some employers will simply refuse to hire you unless you can meet in person.

Which means, it would help if your resume shows that you live in reasonable proximity to the job you want.

This brings me back to my first point, which bears re-emphasizing:
LOCATION LOCATION LOCATION.

Why should an employer in DC hire someone from Montana when they have reams of other outstanding resumes whose owners all live closer?

Or, as my boss put it, "In this economy, everyone's looking for jobs. I might as well give this one to someone here who needs it. Then I can actually meet the person and make an appropriate determination."

Fair? Maybe not. That's life? Yes, get used to it.

Ah, I see that questioning expression on your face. You've discovered a flaw in my advice – "Aftan," you say, "I want this job in Chicago, but there's the slight problem that I don't actually live in Chicago. I live in Tulsa, OK."

My first response: Why do you live in Tulsa. Why.

My second response: Allow me to introduce you to...THE LOOPHOLE. (Imagine this word with little swirlies and sparkles and glitter around it, and maybe flashing in different rotating colors and stuff.)

Here's the loophole.  Find a friend who lives in that city. (This would be an opportune time to use your network.) With the friend's permission, use his or her address as yours. BAM. Problem solved. I've farmed my DC address (411 Awesome St, in case you were wondering) out to at least half a dozen people so far.

[You must be nice to your address farmer. What if a potential job sends us some mail for you? We like flowers and dark chocolate. Wink wink.]

Now, the potential problem here is what to do once your new (and very fake) address DOES grant you an interview. In that case, you must make a decision. Will you continue the ruse, bite the bullet and fly (or drive a loooong time) to the interview? Live on a couch or a floor with a friend or crash in a hostel for a few days while you wrap up the process? Or will you decline, decide that you just can't make it to the interview?

It's completely your decision. But it's a high-risk-high-reward strategy, and I think it's worth it.

Some might say it's also like your life becomes a giant game of chicken, or Russian roulette. But hey, who said those weren't fun?

Editor's note: Address farmers also like yummy beer. :)

When the doors are shut

The other day, I got stuck in an elevator.

I’m gonna make this relate to my last post, I swear.  Just bear with me.

I had been in a basement conference room of my think-tank, participating in an evening event.  I had left my bag and coat at my desk upstairs, on the 6^th floor, but had forgotten that the building closed at 7. Which means the elevators don’t work normally after 7. It was nearing 7:30.

Not a problem, I thought, I’ll just check in with the security guard in the lobby and he can help me out.

My friends clustered in the lobby, promising to wait while I retrieved my things. The security guard accompanied me back to the elevators and swiped an electronic passcode thingie (I’m sure that’s the technical term) to open the doors.

“Which floor?” he asked, as I stepped inside.

“The sixth.” He pressed the appropriate button and moved away. “Wait, don’t you have to come wi– ??” I started, concerned that my think-tank would let some random girl – who, after all, could be anybody – wander through the building after hours. What if there were state secrets just “lying around”?

Whatever, I shrugged to myself as the elevator started up.  Bing! First floor.

Then, the elevator shuddered to a halt. No happy little Bing – be happy, you reached the second floor! No doors sliding open. No nothing. Not even flickering lights – the elevator just stopped.

Ah, that awkward moment when you realize you are stuck in an elevator.

(Aside: Ok, SRSLY elevator? If you’re gonna trap me, at least make the lights flicker!)

Um, ok, I’m stuck in an elevator, I thought to myself, trying to keep calm. All right, none of the buttons are working…and mashing them over and over again doesn’t seem to change that. I looked for a handy red “EMERGENCY PULL” button. You know, something like this:

"Push to talk." Brilliant.

Did my elevator have one?

Nope.

Did my elevator have any red buttons at all?

Nope.

The closest thing my elevator had was a small yellow button that said “bell.”

(Aside: Um, yellow? Like my emergency doesn’t merit the color red?)

(Further aside: Um, “bell”?! How ‘bout “alarm” – anything that implies a bit more alacrity!)

Breathing heavily (read: angrily), I pressed the bell button. Let’s just say it didn’t have quite the “this is an emergency” tone I was looking for. It sounded like the bells in my high school that were used to signal the end of a class period.

I held that button down for at least several minutes. Did anyone come to my aid? Nope. They must have been too busy getting to third period calculus.

Okay, okay, I thought, pacing the small space (thank God I’m not claustrophobic).  What’s the Morse for SOS…is it long-short-long repeated three times, or short-long-short repeated three times? Dang it, where are all the Military Fellows when you need them!!

I tried both my Morse theories. They didn’t summon anyone.

I was ready to cry at this point, and probably not the most rational creature. Great, I’m gonna have to sleep here ALL NIGHT. Ugh, the floor is so gross! Why won’t this bloody box let me OUT!!

Then I grew calmer. Well, I’ll just pull an Arnold and pry the doors open. They do it on Star Trek all the time.

 I wedged my fingers into the door and heaved.

Fortunately, they sprang open as soon as I got them the first few inches apart. Turns out, the elevator had made it to the second floor and then just had a brain shut-down. Or something. I took the stairs back to the lobby.

The guard, and my friends, turned towards me. Thoroughly disgruntled, I explained what just happened. “Oh,” my friends said, “was that you making the bell sound?”

Yes, you idiots. Didn’t you hear the SOS? Does a bell going off in patterns at 7:30 at night sound AT ALL normal to you?

I still needed my bag, so the guard took me back to the elevator and re-swiped his card. Wait, I have to go back in there? I panicked. Then I mentally slapped myself and reminded myself I’m an adult.

This time the elevators operated without a hitch. I retrieved my bag and re-joined my friends.

As I lay in bed falling asleep that night, I remember thinking, Huh, I should turn this experience into a blog post. It could be a really cool metaphor for feeling stuck in life and not knowing how or where to move next…all the doors seem shut…you can either pry them open, or…or…

Or you can accept that some doors will remain shut.

I was recently turned down for an internship (a paid one! Huzzah!) that I really wanted.  Obviously, I’m disappointed – the experience would have really advanced my career and given me incredible opportunities.  But when God closes one door, he opens a window. Or, he opens another door. Or, he traps you in an elevator to teach you the value of sometimes clawing at closed doors until they open.

Does this mean I’m going to claw at that internship until I get it? Naw, probably not. Will I continue to claw at the job market until I find something? You betcha.

Because sleeping on the dirty floor of an elevator – aka, interning forever/remaining static/giving up and waitressing full-time – is simply not an option. And I know that someday, that door WILL spring open for me.  (Even if it takes a scary ride and an SOS to get there.)

For now, I’ve decided to remain at my current internship. For a variety of reasons, all carefully and prayerfully considered, I believe its benefits outweigh its cons.  And I believe it offers the most opportunity for an eventual job.

So where does that put me within my elevator analogy?

Psh, heck if I know. Sometimes an elevator is just an elevator.

Economy: 1, Me: 0

Stop 1:

The call went through the store like an assembly line: “Where’s Mike? There’s a…young lady here to see him.” “He’s in the back – Joe! Tell Mike there’s a young woman here who needs him!” “Mike, there’s a young woman here who wants you!”


Hmm, maybe some background info? I was out scouring my neighborhood for part-time jobs (or full-time jobs, I’m in no position to be picky) that could fill the hours – and my pocketbook – outside of my internship. Last week I made buds with a liquor store employee, and he hinted that the management might be looking to hire as the holidays approach. At his urging, I was following up with the store’s general manager.

 Which is why this long train of men carrying crates of alcohol were calling through the store for Mike about a “woman who wanted him.”

 Thank you for the awkward set-up, liquor store employees. You’ve managed to make me simultaneously feel like a nine-year-old (Dad only whipped out the “young lady” terms when I was in *deep* trouble) and some floozy propositioning her wares (“Mike, this woman wants you”). Mind if I partake of this here rum?

 Not holding my breath for a call-back on that one.

Stop 2:

Fun-looking pub that I’ve passed several times before. Had a nice chat with the general manager, where I endured some good-natured ribbing about being from Montana.

“Yeah, actually the Montana Senator comes in here a lot,” the GM said.  “He’s a BIG guy…and he can really PUT THEM AWAY. Wow. Actually, yeah, all the guys from that office are pretty big guys, and they can all drink A LOT.” He sounded impressed, not judgmental.

 “Yeah, that’s how we roll in Montana.”

 Yes, I actually said that. I think it actually helped my chances.

 Stop 3:

Uneventful. Other than suffering through yet another rolling of eyes when I mention I have a day-time internship. You and every other moron in this city.

Stops 4 and 5:

Two Irish pubs. Me like Guinness.

 At the first one, the sorority-girl-seating-hostess half-heartedly flipped through a shuffle of papers on her little hostess stand before calling out to the bartender.

 “Sorry,” he told me, “check back later.”

Similar story at the second, sans Sorority Girl. Actually, sans females of any kind – I sidled up to the bar and a whole gaggle of football-watching ex-footballer-esque men turned to stare at me. (This seems to happen to me a lot…)

“What kind of position you lookin for?” asked the barkeep.

“Anything that pays.”

Barkeep smirked. You and every other moron in this city. I clutched my dignity and thanked him anyway, lingering for a moment to get an update on the Michigan game. The screen was across the room, so I squinted to catch the score. Unfortunately this prompted a return from Barkeep, who apparently thought my squinting and lingering signaled some kind of disorder. “You okay…you need something else?” he asked condescendingly, like one of those playground bullies who’s trying to impress the other playground bullies.

“Uhhh no, I just wanted an update on the game.” Like I had told him earlier. Learn to pay attention.  Whatever – my team was losing, and so was I the longer I stood there, so I left.

Call back? Probs not.

Submitting Timesheets, OR "When I realized I desperately needed another job"

Actual email that I receive faithfully every two weeks:

All,

This email serves as a friendly reminder that timesheets are due by noon tomorrow.

Please keep in mind that if you are an intern, you must enter your hours using the drop down box selecting “intern" not "regular.”   

Also, Monday October 10^th was a holiday.  Please adjust timesheets to reflect.

Log into [this site] to complete your time worked.

If you have already submitted a timesheet, please excuse this email.

Regards,

[Management of Aftan’s company]

I have an uncanny ability to cut through the diplomacy (living in DC is teaching me how to translate politically correct language) and this is what the email really says: 

Hey, you!

This email serves as a sharp and hopefully painful reminder that you are an unpaid intern. Tomorrow at noon – when everyone else is submitting their time sheets ON TIME – you will most likely be slumped in your desk chair, chin in hand (drool possibly running onto your fingers), eyes glazed over as you endlessly “conduct research.” 

Please remember, you are a valued member of our team.  However, you did not receive one of our coveted and rare-as-a-diamond-found-in-that-gross-alley paid internships. If you had, you would enter your hours using the drop down box labeled “scum”, “one step above scum” ,“intern.”

Also, Monday was a holiday. Everyone else enjoyed the day with the full realization that they were simultaneously playing touch football on the Mall and getting paid to play it. You were not getting paid, and you were probably not playing touch football because unpaid interns don’t have friends.

We will not let you log into [this site] to catalogue your hours until we’ve eked every last drop of free labor out of your thin, brittle fingers.

Remember, you are a valued member of our team. And you will continue to receive these emails reminding you of that. Until you die.

Never excuse these emails.

Regards,

[The People To Whom Aftan Sold Her Soul]

Dammit, I need a paying job.

Workplace stories

To be honest, I'm not feeling particularly creative right now. Probably has something to do with the fact that I've spent literally the whole day in my pajamas, and now I'm gonna make dinner (read: heat up soup from a can, with grilled cheese if I feel industrious) and watch a movie with my roomie.

I was hoping to have some great material for a blog post after salsa dancing last night (especially considering what happened the last time I went salsa dancing), but unfortunately nothing interesting occurred, other than a mild flirtation with some bartenders. So this blog post will be short and sweet, and largely re-produced from multi-colored sticky notes from my desk at work. Note to self: when blog topics come to me, take the time to write down more than a few garbled sentences on a sticky note.

Background: Part of my job entails answering the phone for my department. Since my department consists of exactly three people, each of whom have their own line, the phone doesn't ring all that often. (Therefore when it does ring, it scares the beejeesus outta me...I think you see where this is going.)

More background: I also do a lot of research. Luckily, I'm allowed to listen to music while conducting said research, otherwise I might fall asleep/shoot myself/run away screaming that I'll never look at another computer screen again. I also tend to eat my lunch at my desk -- a lunch hour skipped is another hour I can leave early.

Situation: I'm listening and/or rocking out to Jason Aldean (one of my country faves, listen to his song Fly Over States...or My Kinda Party, or anything by him really, the guy can't make a bad song). I'm also eating lunch and/or stuffing my face with a delicious lunch of corn chowder and cornbread.

The phone rings.

I jump. I glance at the phone (still ringing). I stare at the cup of soup in one hand, piece of cornbread in the other, and wonder What the heck do I do with this? Hastily I put the food down in front of my keyboard and reach over to the phone. Belatedly I realize I still have my earbuds in and -- tug -- hurriedly pull one side out, swallowing a huge lump of cornbread.

"Hello, this is [Aftan's awesome company], how may I help you?"

Don't worry, I still managed to sound professional. I just got caught off guard. Won't happen again.

Beer is a social lubricant.

Today my fancy think-tank company hosted an internal meet-'n-greet event for our new Military Fellows. For those of you not working (read: not completing indentured servitude, aka interning) at a think tank, a Fellow is like a guest scholar, someone who lends their skills and expertise at a particular subject for a particular period of time. Most of our Military Fellows work with our national security and defense programs.

Anyways, I got the email inviting everyone to the event. It happened to include that magical phrase, "interns invited," and I thought to myself, Why the heck not? I'm helping my boss out with some of his personal research projects, and they happen to focus on global security, so this meet-'n-greet might actually be pertinent. That, and I am always in slight awe of anyone in uniform -- one of our Fellows used to be the second-highest ranking military officer in all of the United States, so I thought it would be pretty cool to meet him. (I also at one point almost joined the military myself, and though I haven't gone far down that path I continue to hold enormous respect for those who serve.)

So at 4:30 I meandered down to the conference room. I stepped in, and this is what I saw: two small clusters of men, all older and very distinguished, all enmeshed in intelligent conversations about the military. Or rather, they were enmeshed in intelligent conversation, because when I walked in they all turned to stare at me. Still standing in the doorway. Very young. Very female. Very intern. 

I swallowed my embarrassment and tried to smoothly sweep in -- "Is this the meet-'n-greet for the new Military Fellows?"

"Yep!" someone answered and I awkwardly-trying-not-to-be-awkward moved toward that voice and joined that cluster. Ohmigosh, I panicked, what do I say? What does someone fresh out of college and fresh to the company talk about with someone who is a total military BOSS?! I was counting on a few buffer-people to gradually introduce me, I was not counting on jumping boldly into a "military memories moment"! I don't think the cluster quite knew what to do with me, either. There were a few awkward silences. I guess that's what happens when you break up the boys' club.

One of them finally moved to the table of hors d'oeuvres and beverages.  "I think it's time for a beer," he said, pulling a cold one from an ice bucket that I had definitely not noticed before.

My company is serving alcohol? Yes. I think it IS time for a beer.

As I made my beeline for the booze, the military guys joked (I think they were joking), "You are over 21, right?"

Yes. I am over 21. Dangit. And watch how fast I drink this.

Turns out, after we cracked the beer it wasn't so hard to chit-chat. (I hear that alcohol does that sometimes...) Turns out, the Military Fellows are new to my company too, so we're all just learnin the ropes and figuring things out. Turns out, after the beer was cracked a bunch more people showed up. (Still mostly guys, but at least they were interns too). And, turns out, I think I made some cool new friends. (A second beer helped. Is it wrong that I contemplated slipping a few spares into my bag?)

Thank you, beer. I knew I loved you.

Oh, PS: The event had a few bottles of wine too, but those remained untouched. 

New Job, New Adventure

As I hinted in my last post, some pretty cool things have been happening in my life related to the job search. But first, let me clarify – by “job search” I mean “another-internship-search-because-one-internship-still-isn’t-enough-to-actually-get-me-a-real-job search.” However, because I’ve graduated from college and passed through the obligatory “summer internship” phase, it is no longer socially acceptable to admit that I am STILL an intern, so I will from now on be referring to my internship as my “job.” 

[Note: when I get a real job, I will refer to it as my “job-job” so as to avoid confusion.]

Let me warn you: searching for internships, ahem, I mean, jobs, requires a lot of research.  I spent countless hours on the Internet, wading through what seemed like endless pages of foreign policy think tanks, non-profit job boards, and various magazines and journals.  I solicited advice and contacts from friends and relatives. I sent out emails. I tweaked my resume about 3,004 times. I wrote cover letters like it was my own personal superpower.  Step back, Superman! CoverLetter Lady is here!

Eh, just doesn’t sound the same.

Anyways.  To my shock, I actually heard back from several organizations within a couple days. And then, BAM WOW, I had interviews set up.  In no time at all, I was going to those interviews.  And I was professional, articulate, and (surprisingly) not a bit nervous. [Harassment from random and determined creepers tends to take your mind off things, as I discovered near Farragut West.] I was actually proud of how I represented myself.

That’s not to say each interview was a total success.  When the interviewer asks a question (while her partner sits in stoic silence just watching you), allows you to answer, and then just says “Interesting” in a very un-interested voice and jots a note down – is that a good thing? She said “interesting” a lot.  I don’t think it’s a good thing.  Monty Python might disagree, as they seem to appreciate unconventional interview habits.

So I went to a total of about five interviews for three different companies.  Of those three, two have offered me positions.  [This is my blog, this is my chance to brag.] I’m still waiting to hear back on the third (the one with the “Interesting” interviewer and her verbally challenged assistant), but I know I won’t take it.  I know I won’t take it because I just accepted a position with the second company.

The best part? The second company is the job I really wanted.  I mean, I really really wanted it. Very badly.  As in, I called everybody and their mom to tell them I wanted it. And then I called everybody and their dad to tell them the good news when I got it…meaning, I posted it on Facebook.

So, new adventures to come! I don’t know about you, but I’m excited.

A Woman Armed with a Plan is a Dangerous Thing

So, *cough cough * , I guess you all may have noticed that I haven’t lived up to my promise of the last post. Sorry. But are you really surprised? It’s summer, I’m at home in the best place in the world with the best people in the world (only lacking a few best friends), and I’m on vacation dangit.

The other reason I haven’t posted is, well…I haven’t really had anything noteworthy to say.  I sent out a bunch of applications for jobs and internships and hadn’t heard anything from anyone.  Not even a simple line saying You’re unqualified, please desist in contacting us.  The world would be a better place if people believed more firmly in open lines of communication (and that can be applied to a variety of situations).  If an employer doesn’t want me, that’s fine, but at least inform me that you don’t want me.  It doesn’t have to be a long, detailed We regret to inform you…but we would welcome your application at another time.  I appreciate the politeness, and the false statement at the end, but I would really appreciate the truth.  We reject you, please move on. 

I digress.  My point is, it’s not really interesting to read, “Well, I’m still waiting,” over and over again.  (It’s even less interesting to live it.  Boredom ensued. Compounded by rain preventing me from escaping into outdoor pursuits.) But you don’t want to hear me complain, right? Bless you for reading thus far.

The real point: after so many weeks of not having a plan, and being jealous of those others with plans, guess what? I HAVE A PLAN.  A company in DC called me, and they want me to intern with them for the summer.  When the HR Manager called me to officially ask if I would accept, I was articulate, professional, and prepared.

HR Manager: "Would you like the position?"
Me: “Yeah….?”
HR Manager: “I’ll take that to mean…you want the job?”
Me: [something clunking into place in my brain] “Yeah! I mean, yes! Ahem, I would be pleased to accept the position.”

So. I have a plan. I’m gonna get my cute Montana self out to DC and live like a city girl for a while. (But I’m still a country girl, always remember that.) And I’m gonna act like I know what I’m doing.

‘Cause I do. Know what I’m doing, that is. Ahem. Totally.

If something like this happens, at least it will make for interesting reading.

B.A. : It stands for...

In about three weeks I will walk across a stage, not trip in front of my entire class and their families, humbly accept my diploma, and officially graduate.

Great. Wonderful.  That’s just bloody phenomenal. 

It actually IS bloody phenomenal, but I don’t really want to talk about graduation.  (And I bet you don’t either. Especially if you’re also a senior.)  I want to talk about the value of my education. 

What does my BA really stand for?  I’ll give you a hint: it doesn’t rhyme with Rad Grass.

Haha, I bet I just made you think a naughty word.

Seriously though.  A B.A. is supposed to stand for Bachelor of Arts (though since I’m a woman, maybe I should have a Bachelorette of Arts? …Nevermind, not important). It shows that I spent four or more years attending to my education, “expanding my cranium and popping some neurons,” in the words of Mrs. Doubtfire.

I feel a little gypped, though.  In the Good Ole Days (notice the respect I accord them with my capitalization), a high school diploma was an advanced education.  It ensured men that they could run a store or a farm, and be financially responsible for both their business and their family.  It ensured women that they could…be teachers. Or get married.  (Ok, let’s change some things about the Good Ole Days.)

Not only was high school as far as you could go up the education ladder, it was free.  Major plus right there. 

Today, a Bachelor of Arts (or even of Science) is not free.  In fact, my college is about  120,000 times the opposite of free.  Furthermore, I’m not convinced that my modern-day college education is worth the price – the job market is telling me that my BA, my four years of intensive study, is not enough anymore.

Somehow, college is beginning to feel a bit like high school.  Like something everyone does because they are supposed to and because it’s the minimum requirement for the job market.

I ran across some statistics.  Let me share them with you.

• 84% say that it is extremely (37%) or very (47%) important to have a college degree in order to get ahead.


• 87% strongly (68%) or somewhat (19%) agree that a college education has become as important as a high school diploma used to be.


• 78% strongly agree (38%) or agree (40%) that college is not doing its job if its graduates are not prepared to enter the job market.


• 96% say that career training is a very (72%) or somewhat (24%) important goal for colleges and universities.


• When asked in another way about the relative importance of a well-rounded education versus job training, the public is divided. Half (51%) of the public say that if they had a child in college, it would be more important for their child to get a well-rounded education; 40% think that training for a well-paying job would be more important.

Statistics compiled by highereducation.org from surveys done by a variety of sponsors, including Time, CNN, and the National Center for Public Policy and Higher Education.

So, according to these statistics a college education is vitally important but it might not be doing its job in preparing me for a job, and 40% of America thinks my time would have been better spent training for a specific job rather than making myself well-rounded.

Well.  Isn't that encouraging.

Can I get my money back?

Before the class of 2011 jumps en masse off the nearest cliff, let's think critically for a bit. (Since that is, after all, what we're trained to do.)  In this reluctant economy, the odds of us being able to survive long-term at ONE particular job and vocation are very slim.  Most of us will bounce around a bit, and will probably switch careers a couple times -- and that is why we WANT to be well-rounded.  It gives us the ability to be adaptable.  Which is attractive to employers.  I know I'm gonna talk up my adaptability during job interviews.  I'm pretty much a chameleon. 

The other reason we should be glad we went to college: other people think it's important. By "other people", I mean parents and employers.  And your friends.  And your average Joe.  And your average Jane (since I am gender-inclusive).  The only ones who don't agree are those who didn't go to college, and yet found success anyway. Buggers.

The most important reason we should be glad we went to college: Uh, it's fun. Duh.

Wanted: Experience

As I’ve waded through the Internet searching for jobs, I’ve been lucky enough to find a few that I really like. As in, I would kill to get that particular job. (Okay, not really…)

The point, though, is that the world DOES indeed have jobs that sound right up my alley.  For example, doing research for the Middle Eastern desk for the Council on Foreign Relations. Or filling the junior editor position at an online publication about politics and world events.  Or working for an Arab media production company.  I DO speak some Arabic; that should help get my foot in the door, right?

Wrong.

Turns out, employers don’t care all that much about my international experience, my extra-curriculars, my ability to adapt, my sociability and work ethic.  I think employers look for one main thing, and if that thing is not stamped boldly on your resume then your application is thrown out before you can shout Wait, I’m a quick learner! 

Here’s a comic to give you a hint, in case you’re not a senior and you have no idea what I’m talking about (and in case you missed the title of this post):

Employers want experience.

That’s fair of them, I guess, but sometimes their expectations seem as ridiculous as the comic above.  For an entry-level position, something as straightforward as research or answering phones, they want 2 – 5 years of relevant experience?

Or a junior editor position, they want 10 years of experience?

Holy Jimminy, how are we supposed to gain experience if no one will hire us because we lack it?  And furthermore, after 10 years of experience why on earth would I apply for your lousy Junior Editor position? I think I’d rather go to my hometown and take over the local paper there.  Be the Editor-in-Chief.  In your face, Junior Editor.

You see, it’s a vicious cycle.  I don’t have experience, you don’t hire me.  But in order to gain experience, someone somewhere someday will simply HAVE to hire me.  Someone will take a chance on the recent grad, right?

I sincerely hope so.  However, I believe that the only escape from this paradox is…the internship.

Ahem, let me re-phrase: the UNPAID internship.

This leads me into another topic and another completely separate cycle of helpless rage, so I’ll leave it here for today.  Quick preview though: My undergraduate education, for which I paid $30,000+ for four years, is no longer sufficient to catapult me into the working world.

End of the Long-Term Plan

As grads, we face the end of the end of the long-term plan.

Before in life we always had a long-term plan, something farther down the road to look forward to. In middle school we looked forward to high school, in high school we looked forward to college.  College was always the ultimate goal: it was the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the student rainbow.

Problem: it was the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the student rainbow.  What happens after that? What’s beyond the pot of gold, other than the rough dirt of hard ground?

This is one reason why so many students freak out at the end of their college careers. We face the end of the long-term plan.  Our lives no longer have a built-in structure, a firm schedule with recognizable expectations.

As students, we knew the schooling system: 2 semesters, with a Christmas and summer vacation. This was a constant, beginning as early as kindergarten.  As we grew older a few things changed – we began having different teachers for different subjects, or if we were really cool we actually went to different classrooms for different subjects.  The cocky among us began throwing around the word “homeroom,” a definite sign of maturity.  

When college hit, we adapted to the changes: doing our own laundry (but only some of us…I know who you are, you students who still made Mom do it), picking and carrying out our own major, only going to class a couple times a week (or not at all, depending on the class and depending on the person…I’m definitely not thinking about you partiers here), or for the really brave, cooking (aka learning to burn things in 301 different ways).

Despite the changes and new realities of life, we college kids still lived around the basic structure.  Semester, Christmas break, semester, summer break. Repeat. Throw in a May term.

After graduation though, the structure breaks down. There is no structure.  Grads face a vague and uncertain future.  Some of you, I know, are thinking, Hey, quit trying to freak me out.  I have a job lined up already.  If that’s the case, my heartfelt congratulations. I hold almost no bitterness toward you.  But my point is still valid for you, and it’s still valid for those of you going on for more schooling, or for those who plan to volunteer.

My point is, what will you be doing in five years?  Or even just two?  Or one?  My point is, life is no longer about the long-term plan.  It’s about the short-term plans. Plural. 

At this stage of life, it’s unlikely that any position I have will offer viable longevity.  I’ll enroll in a journalism-training program in Costa Rica for three months, and then I’ll...   I’ll get a summer job in Montana somewhere, and then I’ll…  I’ll do AmeriCorps/Peace Corps/[insert volunteer program here] for [insert time period here] and then I’ll…[insert plan here].  

Someone affiliated with the DC Hope Alumni network recently told me that she had a list of all the businesses Hope Alum worked for, but that it was three years old and likely very out of date; job turnover is so high that they likely no longer work at the same businesses.

I don’t mind change. Actually that’s a lie; I hate change.  But I can handle it. I’m okay admitting that change will be a constant in my life.  (Huh, what a paradox…change as a constant.)  Actually, if I’m with a really optimistic person and a solid stein of beer, then so much change actually sounds kind-of exciting.  I could go anywhere. I could do anything. I am limitless! (But only as long as I don’t look at my bank account.)

After all these musings, I guess I do have a a decent short-term AND long-term plan.

Short-term plan: Get a series of jobs. Hope I enjoy them. Have them lead to THE JOB. 
Long-term plan: have THE JOB, a job for which I’m trained. Love it.

Procrastination: Our Real Job

I’m no numbers major, but I made this graph and I firmly believe it states pure truth.

On the x-axis we have the semester in school, and on the y-axis we have the scale for the necessity of doing things other than homework. This scale should normally reach an absolute maximum of 20.

Look at the graph again.

I believe that’s what my math and science friends would call a “positive , or direct, relationship.” Yeah. Is there a technical term for that huge jump at the end?

Second-semester seniors make it our job to procrastinate. Some have correctly labeled this a disease: senioritis. Debilitating, and extremely contagious.

Procrastination evolves over a student’s lifetime. It has to. “My dog ate my homework” just won’t cut it in college – neither will “I swear, Professor, someone broke into my dorm and stole all my books!” Students need upper-level excuses to match our upper-level education.

This means that “procrastination” and “excuses” are two words that must morph into something new. They must grow, stretch beyond their original boundaries, discover things about themselves that they never thought were possible. (Maybe that’s what we students are supposed to do too?)

“Procrastination” learns that she will actually become “re-prioritizing.” Yes, that paper needs to be written, but first let’s deal with the huge pile of laundry stinking up the room. Hmm, I should attend that evening guest speaker, but my friends are going bowling – it’s my last semester and I need bonding time with them; who knows when I’ll get it again?

“Excuses” fades into nothingness; by the time we’re all seniors we simply don’t offer them anymore. We are adults, well able to manage our time and arrive punctually if we wish/don’t wish. We also know our professors won’t believe our explanations anyway. (There is a caveat to this, to be explained in another post.)

Since I’ve already used this post to branch from my humanities majors into mathematics (remember my awesome graph?), I think I’ll delve into psychology as well. In future posts I will attempt to analyze student behavioral patterns in order to discern how our brains rationalize certain events, people, or circumstances as more important than homework.

Yeah, right.