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Wake up, submit the same application to three or four different stores, depending on area and check your email for a message back from your recruiter. My question is, if you submit only once, but the application if for more then one store, is it more then one submission? The tendency is to inflate your numbers slightly when people ask if you've been applying for work, but when you're weighing the numbers for yourself, they become meaningless. After all, only one matters.
My standards are low, but they do exist - I just don't know which way they run. The voice that says, "Can't get a job? Bullshit. You can always work fast food." is always in my head, and I always hate it. "Do you have any standards at all? Time to lose them. Don't you know where you belong?" At 27, I feel, they're wrong. I am entitled to something better then minimum wage service. But will I be able to get it? Oh, I don't know. Time will tell. I put out resumes and hope that a magazine will send me an email back - a magical golden ticket out of help desk tech support and being berated behind a counter because some dolt can't figure out how to hook up his DVD player.
People ask me what I want. I'll settle for a lot. I know what I don't want. At this point, if another adult were to speak to me like I've heard them speak to other service people, I'd be fired on the spot. I accidentally accumulated some human dignity somewhere, much to my detriment.
I've been wanting to post something for days. Probably over a week now, and nothing would come. It's really only now, at my desk with my coffee and only the sounds of passing traffic out my rainy window that I can begin to elucidate on my feelings. It's like being stranded in a part of town that you love. I can sit at the coffee shop and stare out the window for now, but where do I go when it gets dark out and the businesses shutter up and the park closes? But it's still early morning. Maybe my ride will show up.
My standards are low, but they do exist - I just don't know which way they run. The voice that says, "Can't get a job? Bullshit. You can always work fast food." is always in my head, and I always hate it. "Do you have any standards at all? Time to lose them. Don't you know where you belong?" At 27, I feel, they're wrong. I am entitled to something better then minimum wage service. But will I be able to get it? Oh, I don't know. Time will tell. I put out resumes and hope that a magazine will send me an email back - a magical golden ticket out of help desk tech support and being berated behind a counter because some dolt can't figure out how to hook up his DVD player.
People ask me what I want. I'll settle for a lot. I know what I don't want. At this point, if another adult were to speak to me like I've heard them speak to other service people, I'd be fired on the spot. I accidentally accumulated some human dignity somewhere, much to my detriment.
I've been wanting to post something for days. Probably over a week now, and nothing would come. It's really only now, at my desk with my coffee and only the sounds of passing traffic out my rainy window that I can begin to elucidate on my feelings. It's like being stranded in a part of town that you love. I can sit at the coffee shop and stare out the window for now, but where do I go when it gets dark out and the businesses shutter up and the park closes? But it's still early morning. Maybe my ride will show up.
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