The Job Hunt… with a few issues to consider

Above photo: waiting for an interview, Sutton.

Job hunting is ground zero for emotional turmoil.

First, you suffer the job loss. You ask yourself why? What went wrong?

This is often a sad time quickly replaced by anger, thoughts of walking back into your place of work armed with a stapler and a keyboard and slaying everyone inside except Suki in finance because she showed you the occasional smile whereas Nigel in H.R talked to you like he was disgusted by your smell and couldn’t get you out the building fast enough. Which is why you staple his face to his shirt.

Reality comes back and you realise you have a lot to do. You make a C.V and make sure it’s all up-to-date and then you scroll through pages and pages of jobs.

This is when you consider jobs that you have never done before. That you have never even thought about doing.

Sure, I could be a Detective Constable. I guess I could work behind a bar. Could I serve food at a school? I can throw luggage onto an airplane. I could do Forklift driving. I bet I could manage a logistics department. I can drive those kinds of vehicles so I could buy a van and become a self-employed courier driver. Nothing smacks of suspicion there.

You apply for roles and you are suddenly emotionally invested. You imagine yourself in that role which you know you have all the skills for and they pay good money (that will help us with the bills and we can save for that holiday) and a week later you receive the email telling you that “unfortunately you have been unsuccessful.”

So you shake off that image you had of yourself being happy and making a career and you pick yourself up and go again. Scroll. Apply. Scroll. Apply. Each application is different and sometimes the good ones take an hour or more.

And then you do the math.

One hundred applications and a 30% feedback rate. 10% of that is success. An invitation to an interview. The rest is telling you that you have been unsuccessful. They will never tell you how you did at the interview. That feedback is sacrosanct and takes people like Nigel too much keyboard finger power.

The interviews are fun. New places, new people, new prospects.

“Are there any adjustments that need to be made for you if you were to take this job?”

“Yes, I can do any days and any hours under the sun but I need Monday mornings off. I have sessions.”

“Oh. Okay. Well we’re not sure if we can accommodate for that.”

Apparently I need to be more flexible. The other days and nights that I can work don’t seem to be good enough. The other 166 hours don’t need to be counted for.

Two hours on a Monday… is a lot to ask.

So my dreams of working there go up in smoke. I go home. I scroll and I apply. I scroll and I apply.

A glimpse of the abyss

Mental health fucks up a lot of things. For instance, I just dropped the car off for an MOT that I can not afford. I have had to borrow money from my fiance. I feel like a low-life because of it.

Self-sufficiency has done a legger along with my mental health capabilities. There they go, running like old chums playing knock down ginger except the person never comes to the door.

I had to entertain myself during the MOT so I took a book to a nearby coffee shop. I was acutely, almost painfully aware, of the money that I was spending. I admit, as the barista turned to make the coffee, I eyed the tip jar. There was enough in there to pay for ten or more coffees. I wasn’t planning on stealing it or anything, but still.

I should feel lucky. I have more than a lot of people. But I am suddenly and starkly mindful that this is the path that many people have walked: that of people who have had everything, or at least something, and have lost it because of mental health or general health problems.

Because of mental health problems, I have seen myself lose one job only to suffer the loss of another because I was at the whim of an agency.

There are people out there who suffer so much worse. Who go from a partnership or marriage or a high paying job to scraping together what they can. And there I am, with more than most, wondering about the change in that damn tip jar.

And no one is immune.