Plan B: the big yellow box

I had mentioned that I was laid off in the summer of 2010, and that I wasn't very optimistic about prospects in my profession.

Alas, that proved true, and despite a year of searching I wasn't able to find any position within my field. There weren't that many to begin with, and what there were paid far less than what I had been making. The few interview opportunities I was able to obtain seemed to end the moment I walked into the room, with the unmistakable look of "Oh my god, it's a geezer" spreading across the interviewer's face.

The best chance I had was with a small town library in a remote part of the state, working four full days and two half days each week, for less than half my previous salary and with just two weeks of leave annually. I was grateful for the confidence the interviewer had in me and was impressed by the library, but it was a mistake to have even applied. I suppose I'm stuck in my ways, but taking the job would have meant never seeing my college-age daughter or my very elderly father, save by splitting those two weeks, and never taking a trip just for my own sake. It also would have meant scrimping each and every day, but I knew that was to be my future under the best of possibilities.

So I finally opted for Plan B, in earnest. And landed a job driving a school bus for a suburban county on the outskirts of the metropolitan region. The pay is lousy - about half of that library position that was less than half of my "real" job. But the work is oddly satisfying and generally pleasant, and in many ways I'm far happier at the wheel of my bus than I ever was working where I had been. And I get summers off.

But more on that anon. Suffice it for now just to say that I'm a school bus driver, and consider myself fortunate for that fact.

Lemonade

Getting laid off is more than dispiriting. Unemployment is a hemorrhaging slash in the psyche. In this economy especially, it verges on being disastrous.

That said, it can have its benefits.

This morning I was filing some e-mails I had sent during the months before and after being laid off, and I was reminded quite forcefully of how awful it was to work for a petty tyrant. Every morning my stomach would knot up, every day was nerve-wracking, every evening found me exhausted, and every night brought nightmares.

These days I feel isolated; I had never realized how much I had come to depend on my interaction with other people, and how empty a day at home can feel. That laceration in my psyche is still pretty raw. And I'm definitely worried about money.


But it is so nice to be free of that tyrant. The nightmares are gone, my stomach is quiet, my life is calm. I've even forgotten the private nickname I had for her. My life is incredibly more peaceful. And that's worth something.


Update: The name was Odious.

And now I am one

Back when the Obama administration was taking form in the midst of the Bush-era financial debacle, there was considerable discussion of the appropriate scale for a federal stimulus package. The new President opted for a timid approach, perhaps because he didn't want to imperil his chances for bipartisanship, perhaps because he thought he could come back for a second installment if necessary, or perhaps because he thought his timid package would prove adequate. Some political leaders, several prominent economists, and a few progressive pundits thought that Mr. Obama was wrong on all three counts; the Republicans were not interested in bipartisanship, the political consensus needed to pass a stimulus package would soon unravel, and that the package being promoted would prove woefully inadequate.

Sadly, the skeptics were proven right on all counts. The Republicans became the party of "No," much more interested in thwarting President Obama than in helping America. The opportunity proved very short-lived, withering in the face of Republican obstructionism and a sustained rhetorical assault by the right wing -- an opposition unwittingly aided by a curiously detached White House. And the stimulus has proven so inadequate that the county appears to be locked into a long term period of stagnation in which millions upon millions of Americans will suffer as high unemployment numbers remain unchanging and the unemployed slip into long-term unemployment and lives of hopelessness and increasing levels of misery. Meanwhile, America's political leaders seem apathetic to the sufferings of their constituents and astonishingly removed from the realities Americans face.

All along, I've been siding with the progressive skeptics. All along, I've favored a much more aggressive stimulus package (coupled with a rapid drawdown in our pointless and expensive wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, and a roll-back of the lopsided tax cuts given to the nation's affluent by the Bush administration). All along, I've sided with those who saw this terrible recession as an opportunity to embark on economic development strategies which would improve American competitiveness, address the growing problems of climate change and foreign petroleum dependence, and provide unemployed Americans with modern jobs that would help build our collective future.

But I never thought I was arguing in favor of what I personally would need.

Wrong.

Laid off. In a field which is dying. And of an age where the few prospects available to younger unemployed are unavailable to me.

These are dismal times for our nation. And now they're dismal times for me.

Dismal times, and very humbling. I entered the job market during a recessionary period when jobs were hard to find, and job scarcity has characterized most of my career. And here I am, still years from retirement but with no prospects.

One hopes hope will come, but it seems awfully distant now.

A virtue of pacifism

I won't go postal.
I won't go postal.
I won't go postal.
I won't go postal.
I won't go postal.
I won't go postal.
No matter how well justified it would be.
I won't go postal.
Really. I won't go postal.
I won't go postal.

Note: originally posted on ketches, yaks & hawks 30 March 2009

Moving day approaches

Update on the move. Learned on Thursday that we vacate on tax day, which seems appropriate since moving is a very taxing process. Still don't know how much collection space we have, but I'm savaging the reference collection in anticipation. Still don't know if I get an office, or am consigned to an intern's working space. Still don't know if we have movers who know what they're doing. The thought of a refreshing game 15,000 card pick-up almost makes me want to volunteer for the job. (As the day draws closer, I probably will).

One constant remains: Fearless Leader continues to hoard information.

Am desperately hoping the escape route opens on Friday ....

Note: this was originally posted on ketches, yaks & hawks 22 March 2009

Mushroom

Looked up from my desk yesterday as Mr. Anti Social, the facilities manager, led two strangers through, muttering something about replacing the carpet. No surprise, but Mr. Social didn't deign to explain what they were up to, so I quietly reflected on what changing a wall-to-wall carpet means in a library of 15,000 volumes.

This morning Mr. Social and his new friends reappeared. Snippets overheard included mention that the strangers would need carts on which they could hold the books for a couple of days. Sounded ominous. The strangers didn't sound like library people, and there's little librarians dread more than having their collection moved by warehouse men who know nothing of call numbers. (Ever play 52-card pickup? Try it with 15,000 scrambled cards, ur, books.)

Around noon, an officious brown dress suit appeared, photographing and measuring everything in sight -- windows, door frames, office widths, electrical outlets. Asked what she was doing; was told "Measuring everything." Duh. Okay, says I, "Why?" "I was tasked to do it." Illuminating response, thought I, as dread forebodings became more prominent.

Late afternoon, the house carpenter came in. He's a good guy, so I got to talking, and espied the plan he was working on. Clearly our space, but no longer a library; the collection spaces were carved up into what looked like training rooms. Very ominous.

Very late afternoon, one of the Powers That Be came around. Oh yes, we were brightly told, the library is moving to another floor. Did Fearless Leader, renowned for reveling in cluelessness and keeping her staff in ignorance, but who was out of the office today, know? I wondered. So I asked. Oh no, not yet, I was told.

Forget that libraries aren't easily moved. Forget that when they are moved, the movers need to understand how libraries are organized if chaos is to be avoided. (Yes, it DOES matter what order those books are in!) Forget that floor loading needs to be carefully considered. Forget that the public, who are allowed to use the library, aren't allowed on the intended floor. Forget to wonder, even, about how much space we'll have. Just focus on what this suggests about the respect and esteem with which Powers That Be view the library and its drones. Makes one feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Well, actually, makes one wish the job market looked more promising ....

Oh yes, did I mention that the organization is one nominally dedicated to the prevention and peaceful resolution of conflict? How wonderfully ironic!

Note: this was originally posted on ketches, yaks & hawks 5 March 2009

Keeping my fingers crossed

The process was exhausting -- a day and a half of being "on" 100% of the time t'ain't easy for me -- but I like the people, the position, the place and the institution.

Now it's down to hoping they like me. And remembering that there are a couple of other candidates probably thinking and feeling the same thing I am.

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

Funny thing is, even if they don't want me and I end up staying where I am, there's good reason to try to build a cooperative relationship 'cause their place and mine would both benefit.

Update: Didn't get it. Didn't even get a rejection. Much more polite, I guess, to leave people hanging.

Note: this was originally posted on ketches, yaks & hawks 14 May 2008

Crossing my fingers

Tomorrow and Tuesday I've got a job interview I really, really, really, really want to go well. On the short list; only two others hoping the exact same thing. Spent the whole weekend preparing. Wonder how it'll go. Wonder how I'll manage being fatalistic, waiting for the word. It would be a good job I think, but I sure do hate the process ....

Note: this was originally posted on ketches, yaks & hawks 11 May 2008

It went well. Maybe.

You can come away from an interview thinking "I wish I had said ...." or not.

In this case, not is better. Then you can relax; your fate is out of your hands. The people on the other side of the table have a list and as you talked, they were checking off boxes on that list. Maybe their check marks are in your favor, maybe not. But if you said what you wanted to say -- no regrets -- then it's almost immaterial whether they put their checkmarks in the "good" or "bad" boxes; you did what you wanted to do, and it's up to them to decide that's what they wanted too.

Almost immaterial. But you do want to be invited back for the second round.

At least, I do ....

Besides, I actually did like talking with them.

Note: this was originally posted on ketches, yaks & hawks 4 April 2008

Adventure in hope

I'm off for my first job interview in eleven years. Frightening. On paper it's a good fit, combining attractive aspects of my last three career-level positions, and asking for skills in which I showed some proficiency in those three positions. Plus they've got four openings, which may preclude the possibility of a "strong internal candidate," and that should quadruple my chances, right? Of course, one wonders why they have four openings .... but, hey, on the theory that there is better than here, why not?

Note: this was originally posted on ketches, yaks & hawks 18 October 2007