Adventures In Unemployment

Last week I applied for six jobs and internships. That is a personal best for me. As a person in the creative field, I often find myself strutting down Unemployment Boulevard. It's parallel to Alcoholic Avenue and intersects with Hermit Junction. Usually I catch the ForeverAloneTransit Bus on the Rejection Loop. Other times I take the Toyota Prius, or as I like to call it, the Booty Patrol. If you are my father, then you just call it "My Car." I like to call him "My Elderly Chinese Roommate."

Of course, I'm not just squatting with my elderly Chinese roommates forever. While I have yet to score a full-time job like a proper grown-up with salaries and team-building exercises with co-workers named Glen and Susan, I have had some luck as a freelance designer. I scour for gigs on Craigslist like that scene in The Dark Knight where Bruce Wayne uses a sonar device to track every person in Gotham to find the Joker. I even use the Batman voice while I'm job-hunting to get me in the entrepreneurial spirit. "THIS IS NOT THE LOGO THIS COMPANY NEEDS BUT THE ONE IT DESERVES!" I'm kind of a public servant to small businesses. In the meantime, I'm still moonlighting as a waitress at Ocean's Seafood and Grill where my elderly Chinese roommates become my elderly Chinese supervisors. Being physically unable to escape them is good motivation for me to search harder for the Joker.

Job interviews are my new social life. If I went on as many dates as I do job interviews, then I would be George Clooney but with a classier Batsuit. I do have to class it up for interviews. If I'm not lurking Craigslist gigs or charming my way to generous tips from old, middle-aged seafood connoisseurs, I'm wearing yesterday's pajama bottoms and looking more and more like the face of meth. The latter ceases to apply now that my eczema has cleared up so I really just look like your typical starving artist.  In the tradition of superheroes, I must conceal my true identity, and this goes for all potential employees in this rickety job market. We are beautiful, special snowflakes, and nobody is ordering snow cones at the office, honey.

When I land an interview, I am no longer the eyesore who falls asleep on trash cans. I can talk about penal codes without cackling. I do not show up at social gatherings only to be accosted with "Hmm, I didn't know this was a slumber party." I am a capable adult, and my car is not called the Booty Patrol. When I meet a potential employer, I give a firm handshake that says, "Julie Sheah, always a good decision!" They may ask me about my past experience, and I will regale them with bubbly anecdotes that display my capability as an employee and do not at all suggest that I may have just eaten an entire box of Valentine chocolates that I purchased myself. When they tell me that they like my portfolio, I say "Thank you" even though what I really mean is "I love you." My face emotes a friendly, docile expression that says "You can trust me with this job... I'll even shingle your roof to sweeten the deal." I charm and dazzle as if I have nothing to lose. Thus far, my superhero approach to unemployment has proved rather successful for me. It's probably due to my method acting; I really have nothing to lose.