WHAT A DRAG.....

There’s nothing like partial unemployment to give you a massive inferiority complex. In one fell swoop you’re plucked out of a position of relative comfort and personal security within an organization and turned into one of “the great unwashed”, just one more victim of the economic slowdown from which only the perpetrators (read: banks and other lending institutions) will survive, albeit with the generous help of Our Government. Still, as I said in last week’s column having seen this coming, I’m better off than most but no amount of planning could save me from that most dreaded of confidence-destroying experiences, the job interview.

Resume-wise, I read fairly well, with solid executive-level support skills and a good working knowledge of the computer programs currently in demand. I read so well in fact that I’ve already had four interviews in the past two weeks, and I’m told that’s no mean feat in today’s job market. While two of the interviews didn’t work out (one did offer me a future position in another department, which I still take as a “win”), with a glut of applicants, the other two potential employers are taking their time, and as of yesterday they have both indicated a decision would be made by the end of this week.

That may seem like promising news, but to me it’s meant seven days of crippling self-doubt. Sure, I interview well, but did I present myself appropriately? Am I the physical type the employer envisaged for this position? Should I have worn another suit? Was my hair a floppy mess by the time I made it to the meeting? Was my make-up applied correctly? Don’t laugh, Gentlemen, these things really do cross the minds of female applicants, and I know from my own supervisor’s hiring practices, appearance can play an important part in the hiring decision, regardless of the experience of the applicant.

Perhaps fueling my insecurity is the fact that, with spare time a-plenty, I’ve become addicted to the reality program, RuPaul’s Drag Race, (on cable channel LOGO) an honest-to-goodness “must see” program wherein 12 drag queens compete in challenges and beauty and style competitions to discover America’s Next Drag Superstar. In other words, it’s The Apprentice with falsies.

I’m jealous beyond belief because, while I’m not suggesting going to a job interview resembling a drag queen is the key to employment success, I wish I had one-tenth the ability to do my make-up and hair, and was able to afford the fantastically stylish daytime attire I’ve seen some of the “ladies” wear on that program. While I’m in passable physical shape for woman of middle-age, any amount of time spent in front of a mirror with a table covered in foundation and eye shadow would only serve to make my face look like a circus clown, and I’m too lazy to learn how to correctly apply it now.

I suppose if I’m honest, I’ve run out of reasons to speculate why some potential employers haven’t made a hiring decision on me yet. On all of the important fronts, I have the background, the experience and the skills, so it must by process of elimination be my appearance; egads, that even sounds ridiculous as I write it. I should just stop speculating, stay busy and as my Mother is always telling me, “don’t overanalyze everything!” While I'm waiting, I should at least make an attempt to enjoy my enforced down-time, kick-back on the sofa and watch RuPaul’s Drag Race. Who knows? Maybe I can pick up some make-up pointers from my two favorite contestants, “Jujubee” and “Tyra Sanchez”.* Rationally I know it shouldn’t make any difference in the employment interview process, but it would make me feel a lot better.

* If any “girls” care to loan me an outfit or apply my makeup prior to my next interview, please write to me at lightsidenotes@gmail.com.

HOME, SWEET OFFICE

Thanks to the current economic debacle, I'm sorry to say that yours truly has become a statistic, and am now one of the many unemployed and semi-unemployed in these United States. It's not a surprise really; my employer's fortunes have been on the decline for the past 18 months, give or take a month, and the added economic fallout to the building trades has all but sealed the fate for all who are employed at Give-it-up Contracting, Inc. In the short span of two weeks, my hours have decreased, first from 40 to 30, then from 30 to 20, and this week, I expect to see little more than 10 hours on my pay stub.

The good news is that, being the practical person regular readers know me to be, I anticipated this situation and made contingency plans. I've increased the number of shifts I work at that posh Concert Hall on the banks of the Potomac River (my fellow fully-employed workers are a generous lot), I filed for partial-unemployment benefits some time ago (just in case....), and I'm doing some work from the comfort of home for a local performing arts school who is trying to expand their opportunities by obtaining arts grants from various institutions. These efforts, and thrifty habits, should keep the wolf (a.k.a. Citibank Mortgage) at bay until another employment opportunity crops up.

If I'm honest, this decreased-hours, working-from-home situation is a pleasant change of pace from the normal 8-5, but I couldn't take it as a steady diet. Reason? I've uncovered a surprising fact I never knew: I'm completely useless when it comes to working at home. For me work, a proper job where you receive compensation in exchange for a service, should take place in the well-structured environment of a real office complete with photocopier, scanner, desk and free coffee. Work doesn't have the same appeal when I'm sitting on the sofa typing away on the PC that sits on the coffee table; I find myself procrastinating on simple tasks to the point where even cleaning the bathroom is a more appealing prospect. Conversely I find I can't write my column anywhere but home because I'm then working for myself, and so should be working from home. Imagine how much money I could have made working instead of spending time coming to these conclusions...

Perhaps if I had a proper home office, something distinct and completely separate from "home" it would be different, but I don't, and after years of making my home a place I go specifically to close the door on work and the rest of the world, I'm finding it a bit difficult to divide my attention now. Hopefully, I won't have to try much longer. I've had some very promising interviews with proper companies who have pleasant, professional office environments where I can work to my heart's content. Then my living room can return to being a place of relaxation and my home computer can revert to its correct function; solitaire and on-line shopping. In the meantime however this weeks column will have to end because the distant cry of the wolf approaching my door means I need to get back to work.

A (TINY) CASE OF CAR FEVER

This past Wednesday marked one of the happiest days I've had in recent years. I'm fairly easy to please, so it wasn't winning the lottery, finding true love or even dropping a dress size that made me so happy; it was going to my on-line banking site, hitting "enter" and making the final car payment on my slightly banged-up, late model Limited Edition Subaru Outback.

I should explain that I never really wanted this car. It was a legacy from my deceased partner who paid way too much money for it, financed it poorly (due to a dodgy credit history), then left me to pay off the balance of the loan after his passing because I was sweet-talked into signing my name on the loan documents. Nevertheless, I fulfilled my obligations and after many years of an unwanted $170-plus car note, the Subaru is mine. All mine. The problem is that, despite it being a good, safe automobile, complete with all the optional extras, I still don't really want it. I believe, when it comes to cars, less is definitely more, so my ideal car is the micro-mini SmartForTwo. It follows that, having ditched the ball and chain of the Subaru car payment, my mind is consumed with the idea of instantly trading in the oversized clunker and buying a brand spanking new Smart.

When the champagne-like rush of freedom wears off though, it's just not a wise thing to do. If the adage stick to what you know is sage advice, I should stick with the Subaru. I've had it long enough to know what it's little foibles are; I know that the right front tire is going to run low on air after 8-10 days of driving; I know when, and in what conditions to shift manually, and I know that the occasional groan from the left rear wheel is brake dust and not a malfunction. I know it lives up to it's much advertised reputation and runs like a top in poor weather conditions; rain, ice, rough roads and heavy snow simply will not stop this car, provided it's driven correctly and according to my trusted mechanic, with proper maintenance it has many years of life left in it . On the other hand, what exactly do I know about the Smart? I know it's tiny and being 6 feet in height, I'll look like a circus performer getting in and out of it. I know that it doesn't have a proper manual transmission; their "automatic manual" gear box doesn't use a clutch pedal and is therefore, useless. I know the gas mileage is good, but not great and I know that if I buy one, I'll be re-shackled to another $170 car note for several years to come, with a corresponding increase in auto insurance premiums.

The sad fact is not only can't I have what I want (SmartForTwo), but what I do have I don't want (Subaru). At the end of the day, I suppose I'll do the intelligent thing and stick with the car I have. It's comfy, roomy, safe and most importantly, completely paid off. In some ways the Subaru is a lot like me - practical, economical and a bit of an old clunker. I'll make a mental note to remind myself of that every time a SmartForTwo whizzes by.

PROFESSOR SOLUDO IS AT IT AGAIN

Professor Charles C. Soludo is a very busy man. Not only is he Chairman of the Board of Directors for the Central Bank of Nigeria, he is also a member of the British Department for International Business Development and a distinguished professor of economics. He is also, I'm proud to say, a very good friend of mine, judging from the number of emails I receive from him.

While he may be a good friend, he's a rather tedious email writer because his emails to me are always about the same thing. He always writes to tell me that I have a gazillion dollars/pounds/euros/rubles or yen on hold at his bank simply waiting to be deposited to my bank account. Then he proceeds to ask me for all manner of personal information about myself which, I suppose, shows his genuine concern for me. Then he gives me his email address and phone number to call him directly but strangely, the email address and phone number is always different on each email he sends. Perhaps he doesn't want his wife to know. After corresponding with me for such a long while, I decided good manners dictated I needed to contact the Professor, but since I'm not prepared to spring the bucks for a call to Nigeria, I created a special email account just for him and sent him the information he requested. He wrote back straight away and after exchanging some passionately heated correspondence over a period of four days it turns out that, just like so many men out there these days, all he wanted was some of my hard earned money payable in the form of an untraceable Western Union wire transfer. I was heartbroken.

Of course, I'm being intentionally sarcastic; I know that this email was yet another "419" advance fee fraud scam and only one of fifty or so I receive in the course of a month. I know these scams include check cashing, money laundering, fake charities, puppy adoptions, romance-angle, fake lotteries, fraud recovery and employment offers and I know the average scam victim loses many thousands of dollars after falling prey.

What I didn't know was how much fun it was to actually bait one of these criminals (using a complete alias, naturally). I've had a fun-filled four days convincing this man that, yes, I was absolutely going to the Western Union office immediately to send him the money. A pity it was that I never made it because over that time period, the car broke down, I got the flu and my paycheck hadn't cleared the bank. Alright, so it's a bit childish, this scam-baiting thing, but times are tough, money is tight, and he is a thief. No harm, no foul.

He is still sending me an email or two a day; I think he's well and truly hooked because he now calls me "sweetheart" and "honey". Too bad he doesn't realize what a complete waste of his time I am, because, while a fool and his money are soon parted, even though its April 1st, I'm no fool.