How is it possible that I haven’t written anything on here since February? Is that right?

I regret making this blog under my name. It’s just too damn easy to find. I don’t want to say anything too personal or too specific on here because I don’t know who will be reading it.

I’m not sure who I’m worried about, except some abstract idea of “possible employers.” I imagine possible employers looking up all of my online accounts, every time I apply for a job. It’s my impression that most employers prefer their employees to lack sexualities, non-work interests, and feelings, so pretty much anything I say on this blog about myself is going to cost me with regards to my job hunt. The result of my blogging anxiety regarding possible employers is that I really don’t say much at all.  So…boring!

So, due to my lack of attention to this blog and my feeling that I can’t say too much on here anyway, I think it might be time to formally say goodbye and focus on a new one.

Bye for now.

I started working part-time at a fast-food restaurant. My last post was on rejection (I assume from the title, I haven’t read it since I wrote it, and of course, have forgotten what exactly I wrote about) and rejection is still a playing theme in my present life. Mostly job-wise rejection. I have a job, sure, but it’s not the job I want. I’ve continued applying for what I hope to be more mentally stimulating jobs, but no interviews yet.

Working in a fast-food restaurant is not at all related to my college degree in international studies. Surprise!  Occasionally one of my fellow employees will ask me about college, and they’ll be surprised to learn that I have my degree. They’ll ask me what my degree is in, and they’ll inevitably ask me, “What can you do with that?” By this point I should have a stock answer that I just rattle off, but every single time, it just feels so incredibly awkward to explain my career path to people. Maybe it’s because I am not completely sure myself what I will do with my degree, what I want to do with my degree. I have some general ideas, of course, but there isn’t a particular job that I know that I want. Actually, except for those occasional awkward moments (where I kind of feel like I’m on trial), I like not knowing exactly what I’m going to be doing. Right now, the options seem limitless. I want to work abroad. I want to go on missions, assignments. I want to have some responsibility and an interesting job title. People sitting next to me on airplanes will make conversation with me and every single time I’ll have to explain my job title to them, but I’ll love it, because I’ll be proud of what I do. That’s all I want. Well, and a decent paycheck would be nice.

Working at the restaurant (I’m going to try not to give any revealing details, in case I get carried away with my complaining) is tiring. Most of the people I work with are nice, but there are a couple of people who easily ruin my day. You know the type I’m sure – they watch you, wait for you to make a mistake, and even if you did it right a hundred times, they’ll be on you in a second to scold you and lecture you. It’s so ridiculous, the situations, and the things that you get yelled at for.

Manager A will tell you to go clean something, then Manager B will yell at you for not being where they want you to be, and then Manager A will come back and ask you why you aren’t cleaning. or

Manager A will tell you to take a customer’s order, then Manager B (immediately after finishing the customer’s order) will demand to know why you aren’t preparing other orders.

It’s madness. They want you to be fast, but they want you to be accurate. One minute they want you to make the customer comfortable, and the next they’re telling you to herd the customers around like animals. Really! They tell me that the customer needs to be guided. The managers tell us to not give customers their drink cups until after they receive their food (another example of treating them like animals/children). This is because they want to keep the customer near the counter, as if the drink dispenser is so far away from the counter that the time it would take for them to get their drink and return to the counter is unacceptable. Customers frequently (almost always) demand their cups anyway, usually in a tone of voice that seems to say, “Give me my cup retard,” as if I forgot their cup. Sigh. Sometimes I try to explain the situation, why I cannot give them the cup until after they ask for it, but their attention spans are usually too short. Sometimes I wish my name badge had my degree on it. Nicholas Lemen, B.A. Ha. What a laugh. They’d ask me what my degree is in, and then probably make fun of it.

I’ve wanted to write about my job for over a week now. There’s lots to complain about. I went to college for 4 years. My parents paid thousands and thousands of dollars. And hell, I’m smarter than 99% of the population! Aren’t I? I used to be. Anyway, 4 years and thousands of dollars, just so I could work fast-food for $7.25/hour, so I could be scolded and lectured on standing still for 30 seconds or not boxing fries quickly enough.

Earlier this week,  a manager yelled at me for having my arms folded. And I’m certain that I didn’t have arms folded! I was so mad. I hadn’t eaten anything before work that day, had gone in at 7 am, and this guy was scolding at me for something as mundane as positioning my body in a way that he found unacceptable. In almost any other scenario, folding your arms is of no consequence. Perhaps you’re cold, perhaps you’re thinking, perhaps you’re just folding your arms. I don’t know. But I’m certain that I wasn’t folding my arms at all! I went to the bathroom immediately and just put my hands over my face. It felt unbelievably good just putting my hands over my eyes, and taking deep breaths. It was such a lonely feeling though. I’ve felt that feeling before. It’s impossible to get there unless I’m busy, unless I’m escaping from something. I remember doing it in high school a lot, and when I did it this week, that’s where my mind went back to. Thinking of high school didn’t quell my frustration, just complicated it. I have to be careful to avoid thinking too much about high school, uncovering all of those unpleasant feelings of powerlessness that spidered their way into my subconscious.

I try not to think when I’m there. It’s easier not to think. It’s easier just to say “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry that you wanted extra pickles and onions. I’m sorry you didn’t want pickles and onions. I’m sorry my drawer is out of ones. I’m sorry we’re out of medium cups. I’m sorry it’ll take two minutes to make a new pot of coffee. I’m sorry that I gave you regular fries when you wanted unsalted. I’m sorry you wanted fudge instead of caramel. I’m sorry I gave you a medium meal when you wanted a large (usually, when this happens, I do think, perhaps you should just stick with the medium). I’m sorry I didn’t hear half your meal because you were whispering while looking away from me and there’s two dozen different loud sounds blaring behind me. I’m sorry I don’t read lips. I’m sorry that I’m young. I’m sorry I’ve worked here for two weeks and don’t have the menu memorized. I’m sorry I’ve never eaten that particular item off the menu and so cannot tell you about it beyond what I can figure out from looking at the picture. I’m sorry that I cannot make change faster. I’m sorry that I have crappy arithmetic skills (another fabulous opportunity for fat old people to condescend) and therefore cannot immediately figure out the new change sum when you remember that you have 56 cents in coins that you want to get rid of. I’m sorry that that is in fact the price of [food item]. I’m sorry that the local tax now requires you to pay 1 cent more for a large soda. I’m sorry that our restaurant does not have the same promotions as a location in Texas. I’m sorry that you read the menu incorrectly and that the menu is confusing to you (always my fault, I should try harder to make the menu less confusing). My favorite is when they complain to me about things which obviously I have absolutely no control over, like prices or promotions. People are silly.

Oh! I almost forgot. Last week, I think, there was this hilarious scene with a lady who went through the drive-thru. She got mad, angry, because she had ordered a large breakfast meal and her hash brown was not large.  The girl working in the drive-thru, a very sweet black girl, tried to explain to her that hash browns only came in one size. I’m not sure if race was an issue in this instance, but I would bet that it was, given this lady’s attitude. Anyway, the girl working in drive-thru quickly called for back-up. One of the shift managers tried to explain the “one size fits all” hash brown situation, and the woman got even more angry. SO, they called in the big kahuna, the restaurant manager, the guy who hired me (the guy who told me a college degree was irrelevant in his business) and he told her that hash browns came in one size. She was absolutely enraged! I really don’t remember what how the story concluded. I realized I was standing there with my mouth open, just watching, so I made myself look busy, probably by wiping down the shake machine, so I missed the ending. Either she just sped off or he gave her a refund. I hope the former.

People go into the restaurant angry, thinking it’s their prerogative to take out their emotions on people they surely perceive as underlings. Many times a day, I smile and say thank you to people who bark and scowl at me, as if they find me unacceptable. I suppose I am learning lessons, or at least reviewing lessons on human behavior. Also, on being hungry and tired.

Today I worked for 8 hours without a break. What fun.

I wonder what they say when they put my applications in the reject pile. Do they laugh a little when they look at my resume? Do they feel sorry for me when they read my cover letter? Does my cover letter leave them uninterested? Is it too repetitive? Is there something off-putting about the words I choose?

I fear I’m getting rejected because I’ve never had a real job, like a job at a company that lasted more than 6 months. I can’t get hired at some places because I don’t have enough experience and I can’t get hired at other places because I have a college degree. I applied at McDonald’s and even they didn’t call me back.

I worked at McDonald’s one summer as a cashier. I had a scholarship job at Truman for a semester. I dug in Israel for a couple weeks (which was actually pretty demanding work). And I had a seasonal (3 month) job at the University Bookstore, after I transferred to Mizzou. And that’s it! I have no honors to speak of, no organizations… though I was in a “service fraternity” at Truman for a semester. I didn’t like it, and so didn’t bother maintaining my membership at Mizzou. In looking at my resume, I am reminded that I really did not enjoy college. I hated college. But the people who are reading my resume, who knows what they see? Maybe they think I was too busy partying or that I’m simply not the working type. What do they want to see? That I maintained a 3.5 GPA and worked all through college? Even then would they consider me?

I guess I haven’t put in *that* many applications. Perhaps a little over 20. Last time I counted, it was 15, and I’ve put in several more since then. It feels like a lot. Perhaps because of the rejection. People always remember when they get it wrong, not so much when they get it right. A hundred people might praise you, but the one person who mocked you, they’re the one whose words will linger in the back of your mind.

Today was a lovely Monday. I managed to get myself out of bed before 10 o’clock, which is quite the achievement when your days have all the structure of a half-eaten bag of marshmallows. Having a dog makes it easier to get out of bed. You have to get out bed, or the dog might pee on the floor or rip something apart. I adopted a dog earlier this month. Or was it last month? It seems like more than a month. His name is Yadi and he is a border collie mixed with… something bigger than a border collie. We’ve heard several guesses on what the other half of his DNA is: setter, retriever, labrador, newfoundland. Newfoundland! He isn’t a big fan of water, unless it’s the kind leaking out of his mouth (often onto my pants, as he’s quite fond of plopping his head down into people’s laps) after he laps down a few ounces, so I doubt he’s the kind of dog who would leap into the ocean to pull me to safety. I searched a good bit for pictures of various mixes, but nothing firm came up. You’d think with so many dog-obsessed people out there, and the fact that border collies are the sexy (slutty) librarians of the dog world, that there’d be loads of documentation of border collie hybrids available. Maybe the powerful border collie kabal is keeping such information to a minimum in an effort to preserve the honor of their much-honored breed. Tricky little devils, border collies. They do learn quite quickly. Yadi, learned “up” (standing on his hind-legs, on command) after only one day of training, though he’s quite fond of doing that “trick” anyway. He’s also learned all of my different expressions of disapproval, including yelling AGHHH when’s doing something bad. If you don’t give him something to do, he will find something to do. My backyard has at least 6 freshly-dug holes, thanks to Yadi’s massive paws. I have small-average hands for a guy, but Yadi’s paws are as big as my hands… that’s pretty big. When I take him over to my parents’ house, he looks gigantic sitting next to Trixie, our shi-tzu.

I have never had a dog as big as Yadi before. We always had toy-size dogs while growing up: a pomeranian, shi-tzus. Yadi weighed 47 pounds when we got him from the St. Louis Humane Society, and they said he was only 7 months old. He is almost capable of walking up to my kitchen table and comfortably setting his head next to my plate. He likes to nose my plate when I walk around the table, despite my scoldings.

My mom is not happy with Yadi. She doesn’t have to spend much time with him, but she still thinks it’s a mistake. I see where she’s coming from: the vet bills, the medicine costs, the food, the treats, the inconvenience. But I didn’t get Yadi simply because I wanted a dog; I got him because I was lonely. I hated sleeping in this little house by myself every night. I slept alone in my apartment in Columbia for two years, but it was a different environment. I’ve been sleeping much better since I got him. He sleeps in his cage with the door open, a few feet away from my bed. He lies on his back a lot of the time, and makes sounds like an old man when he’s shifting his body around, trying to get comfortable. The cage we have is a bit too small, but buying him a larger cage seems like a ridiculous expense at the moment, especially when some of my mom’s concerns about affording Yadi seem quit valid. Pet supplies are so damn expensive! I bought him a bag of 8 rawhide chews today: $12.00. I actually had to look a bit before I found that bag, which was on the more reasonable side of PetSmart’s selection. Imagine, 4 dog chewies for twenty bucks! It’s disconcerting. I have to buy those dog chewies. Yadi either needs to be exercised, or he needs an activity that he can be focused on. If I don’t give him chewies or some other dog-approved item, he will find paper, plastic, clothes, and he will pulverize them. And sometimes eat them. Last week I misplaced my retainer, and I was absolutely convinced that he had eaten it. He wakes up promptly at 7 am every day and sits up and stares at me until I get out bed. I let him out into the backyard, he takes a minute to pee and then hurriedly comes back to the door, usually thumping his body against it, or if he’s particularly excited, he’ll stand up and slam his paws against the window of the storm door (the first few times he did this, I thought someone was trying to break in). During the minute that he takes to find a spot and pee, I measure a little over a cup of Purina One Puppy Smart Blend (the main ingredient is lamb!) and pour into his standard stainless steel dog bowl. I let him inside after I pour the food, and while he’s eating (usually a minute or less) I refill his water bowl. As I mentioned earlier, usually after getting his fill of water, he will drool it all over the kitchen floor, so I leave a towel handy for cleaning it up. Then I go back to bed for a couple hours. Before going back to sleep it is absolutely necessary that I give him a chewy. His favorite past-time is taking paper towels out of the kitchen trashcan and tearing them into tiny pieces, and occasionally he’ll experiment with other trash items. One day it was a single-serve coffee bag. There were coffee grounds all over the living room rug. I didn’t feel like cleaning it when I first noticed, but when I came back all the mess was gone… Yadi ate the ripped-up bag and the coffee grounds. The obvious solution to this morning Yadi supervision issue is that I wake-up and stay up like a normal person… and I’m working on that.

Two days ago I took Yadi down to the riverfront where the city was having its Oktoberfest celebrations. I can’t remember ever having gone to Oktoberfest, so it was new to me. It was new to Yadi too, and he was very excited. Excited meaning that he wanted to smell and taste as much as possible. I did my best to keep his leash to less than 2 feet, which is easy to do because he’s tall. He got so many compliments. It’s hard when your dog is prettier than you. Old people and kids coming up, asking if they could pet him. Yadi was happy to be petted by anyone. There were tons of dogs and Yadi went bonkers whenever we came close to one. He jumps up on his hind legs a lot when he gets excited, which of course freaks-out any dog that’s smaller than him. I had to be focused on him almost constantly. Several times when I looked up, he stopped to eat something he had found. Two different times I had to swoop down and pry open his jaw to remove objects from his mouth: once a chicken bone, and the other a rock. One couple came up to ask if they could pet him  and mentioned that they had seen me take the rock out of his mouth. Was he honestly going to eat that rock or did he just want attention? Hard to say.

I was hoping to go down there and get some fair food, but it was way too much work keeping control of Yadi with so many people around, so I headed back to the house. I saw my friend Caitlin on the way back! It was curious seeing her there because I had seen her a month before at another St. Charles festival close to the same spot. At the first, she was with her dad, and at Oktoberfest, she was with her mom. They had bikes, and they didn’t seem too impressed by the festivities: beer, sausage, and people in traditional German costumes.

It’s nearly a quarter after 11 at night right now and Yadi is sleeping in his cage. I’m in my office. It’s past his bedtime, obviously. I meant to say something about my ridiculous desire to buy a condo and my unemployment. Hopefully I’ll make time to write something on those subjects tomorrow.  Really, the title of this post is a sufficient summary of my (frustratingly) continuing job hunt.