My new job

This week, I started a job at one of the most famous Internet companies in the world. I am absolutely thrilled to be working there (and to be off unemployment!), even though the position is a contract job through a staffing agency--the assignment is supposed to last a year, possibly two. It just so happens that I have submitted resumes to this company directly several times over the past few years, so I am hoping this will be a foot in the door. If not, it will look good on a resume. It all happened somewhat by accident--I answered a blind ad on Craigslist that didn't specify the company that was hiring because the position sounded ideal for me. I was later informed this method of advertising the job was done purposefully so that they were not flooded with resumes from people that were in no way qualified but would nonetheless want to work for the company.

The whole experience has been a total trip. I had to have a background check and agree to (but have not been asked to actually take) a drug test. They checked references, and I had to sign a 12-page NDA (non-disclosure agreement). Security is extremely tight at this company. I have to have a badge not only to get in and out of the building, but to get in and out certain doors of the building during my shifts, even to go to the bathroom and back. When we went in the first day to get badge ID photos taken, we were given very specific rules about choosing a password--it had to have a number, a letter, a symbol, upper and lowercase, it couldn't be a pet's name, it couldn't be this or that...by the time I got to the guy that was putting me in the system, my brain was completely fried. I was having a hard time inputting my password multiple times in the exact same configuration--and he wouldn't let me write it on a Post-It! "I can't do that unless I can shred it or set fire to it afterward," he said. I looked at him and said, "I will EAT it after I write it! That's how I remember things! Give me a break, I'm older than most of these people!" He at least chuckled at that, but still wouldn't budge--and there were more passwords to come. I had to choose another unique password for separate internal usage, and we were each issued a special device that would generate random unique one-time passwords for other special occasions. It's wild!

I am on swing shift for a few weeks, which is messing with me a bit (as I mentioned previously). This first week was spent in training learning their software tools and some policies. I'm not supposed to say much to anyone about where or when or what--it's very "if I told you, I'd have to kill you". I really like the job thus far and am really hoping it turns into something I can stay with. Not working with the public ROCKS!

Working for a living

I need to be doing it. This is the longest stretch of time in my adult life I haven't had a full-time job--four months. I do some freelance writing and photography, but not much of late.

I'm trying to write a book. I've started writing books my whole life, and about 20-40 pages in, I discard them in disgust because they're never good enough for me. Perhaps I was destined for short stories and poetry; I have finished, even published, a couple of each. I wrote my first book about third grade; I would so pay to have a copy of it now, just for the laughs! It was about a dog named Fluffy (for real), and I wrote it on some horrible 1977ish stationery that probably had a mushroom print across the top. I gave it to my third-grade teacher in the box the stationery had come in and never saw it again. (I would have probably ripped it up later, anyway. I've always found ripping up my writing to be incredibly cathartic. Burning it is fun, too, but I have a little phobia about fire. Shredding is also the bomb, but in reality I usually end up ripping it up if I don't like it. It just feels good.)

I've also been doing other things since I've been out of work, like turning 40, cat wrangling, taking pictures, reading books, putting my vinyl LPs on CD, scanning old pictures and putting them on CD, putting up a Flickr site, and researching and pursuing this surgery.

I'm not feeling very motivated or optimistic about the job search. In particular, I am becoming gun-shy about Craigslist job postings. I've had a couple of in-person interviews from resumes submitted to employers that posted positions there, and one actual job that lasted two months because they lied about just about everything and didn't pay what they had promised. The last in-person interview consisted of me sitting in a waiting room all dressed up with copies of my resume for half an hour.
Probably fifteen people walked by while I was sitting there. Several of them made eye contact with me, and I smiled at them. One of the receptionists kept paging the person who was supposed to interview me--or pretending to. After about half an hour of this, she came out and said she was sorry, but they'd have to reschedule my interview.

They never called me, of course. I noticed that the company posted the position again on Craigslist this week.

Of course, my immediate default reaction was to think it was because of my weight. When I related this experience to a couple of friends--neither of whom has a weight problem, but they both happen to be twenty years older than I am--they said they had had the same thing happen to them. One of these friends was a man and one a woman, so apparently this kind of thing isn't always gender-specific, either.

I know there have been many jobs I haven't gotten because of my weight, and there are some I will never even attempt to apply for because of it. When I was younger, I took it much more personally when things like this happened. I was still trying to fit into society's ideal--or I still thought I should be trying to--as if my brain, skills, and personality had nothing to do with my value as an employee. (I also actually show up for work, am not a drama queen, don't steal, and can make people laugh, among other things.) I also knew in my bones, even at that time, that I was never going to fit into society's ideal. I could have had 15 plastic surgeries, thrown up every day, and never even come close.

The difference between then and now, for me, is that I have since learned that many people who fit societal beauty standards often never feel like they are good enough, either. Some of them feel like no one listens to them or values their brains because of the way they look. Even back then, as much as I wanted to be "gorgeous", I would have rather had someone really listen to me than look at me and stop listening. Every.single.time.

I also feel that getting older means the pressure is off. I don't want to be 19 or even 25 or 35 again, so why should I wish I looked as if I were? Outer beauty fades. Gravity happens. And when it does, I should hope that I have developed an above-average amount between the ears and in the heart, or life is going to be very, very empty.