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.

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.

Hanging in Suspense

You may have noticed another long hiatus in my writing. This is becoming a habit, so I guess I’ll quit apologizing or making excuses. Seriously, though, I’ve been too busy to write! <<<  Excuse.

The end of the fall marks a serious transition point for us interns. Our commitments slowly come to an end, and we face once again an uncertain future and a viciously competitive job market. (And the scary realization that despite the 3 months we’ve put into our internships, we still don’t have sufficient “experience” to satisfy potential employers. Really makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, doesn’t it?)

My point is, I’ve spent the last several weeks floundering over what to do with my life. Okay, to be honest, I’ve spent the last 12 months floundering over what to do with my life – but transition times condense all that stress into one long, terrible, grey-hair-producing, frozen-pizza-and-beer-eating, somewhat-hysterical-phone-calls-home experience.  You should try it sometime. I’m sure it’s good for the heart.

My head swirled with questions, and each day saw me resolved upon a new path.

I will be a JOURNALIST! Excuse me now, I’m gonna go cover the war in Afghanistan, brb….hmmm, no, I will actually study those TOP SECRET intel reports, because I’m a policy analyst and that’s what we do…scratch that, I’m pretty much a spy, and I’m gonna private.dance it.outta here…fine, screw the job market, I’m joining the military! 

All this uncertainty really made me a productive member of society.

I had a choice. Move on to another internship (possibly on the Hill? Possibly in a different field? Possibly with a different company?) or stay where I’m at. My company offered me a continued internship into the spring, and my boss offered to help me out a bit with the job search.

What to do…what to do…

(I eventually did make a decision, but if you think I’m gonna tell you right now then you clearly don’t understand the phrase “hanging in suspense”…nor have you read any trilogies.)

(Not that this is a trilogy…given my posting regularity, do we honestly think I’m capable of that?)

(The answer is no. I’m 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.

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.