Rejections and road trips

Today was a two-rejection day. Not only did I have a job rejection letter in the mail tonight, but an email from my former boss confirmed that our organization did not receive the huge grant that would have funded me as a full-time employee. We worked so hard on that grant, and it was really solid - or so I thought. In any event, that pretty much closes the door on my return to the Bay Area Holocaust Oral History Project. Sigh.

But, I'm road-tripping this weekend, and am putting this week's defeats on the back burner. At 9:30 tomorrow morning, I will embark on an adventure. I'll load up a van with the pastor of St. Dominic's and a few others, and we will head to the Religious Education Congress in Los Angeles, where we'll meet some people I actually know, but who have taken the easier (though more costly) route and booked flights, while I travel with a motley crew of people I don't really know. For six or more hours. In a pretty confined space. I hope I can listen to my ipod without seeming rude.

But it should be a blast. It's the largest meeting of Catholic liturgical ministers in the U.S., with some really amazing seminars on liturgical music.

And we're going to Disneyland. And Dan Schutte will be singing.

I'd post photos upon my return, but Blogger and Safari still aren't getting along. So you'll have to wait with baited breath for stories. I'm sure I'll have some good ones.

My first lockdown

My new assignment started off well enough - the office was celebrating birthdays, so we had cake at about 9 am. It was great! Everyone's really nice, and a bunch of my new co-workers joined me for lunch, and kept me laughing at funny tales of office lunch and dinner outings. They all really like to eat.

My trainer (the girl I'm replacing) and I were sitting at her desk, discussing the finer points of her job, when this loud siren went off. The speaker was right above our heads, so we were able to hear every rendition of security's announcement. There was a police action at the Federal Reserve Building across the street from ours, and we were locked down until further notice.

How exciting! I've never been locked down before. I just wish I knew why. Nobody was forthcoming with that information.

The lockdown lasted about 10 minutes. The sirens came back on, and the voice announced that the police had deemed the action over, and we could resume our normal day.

Now I need to figure out what was going on. Was it the hunger strikers? Other immigration protesters? A bomb, perhaps? Time to read the Chronicle.

Hay is for horses

Earlier this week, while walking down my block, I noticed a large bale of hay. It was sitting at the curb, in front of the truck that belongs to my neighbor. At least, I assume he's a neighbor, though I don't actually know him. But he's often coming in and out of the garage, much too frequently to be a gardener or a thief.

But back to the hay. It's fully bundled and quite neat looking, almost as though it could be a movie prop, or a snack for somebody's horse. But there is no horse. I may not know the neighbor, but if he had a horse I'd know. I'd smell it. And I'd sneeze. And since backyards here are pretty small, and very close together, chances are I'd hear it and see it too. Especially when he took it for a walk, as I'd assume you'd have to do with a large horse in a small backyard.

But I don't even think this guy has a rabbit. And the hay is still outside, sitting at the curb, and it's been raining, so it's probably wet and getting a little moldy now, making it unfit for animal food. So what's he going to do with it? I suppose I could ask, but how strange would that be: "Excuse me, sir, but I live up the street and have been pondering your bale of hay for a few days now."

Maybe he's going to offer hay rides to the neighborhood. In the back of his truck. Along the beach.

Anything is possible here.

And some days things just really suck

Three weeks ago I applied for my dream job: program associate at a nonprofit that uses the moral lessons of history to educate against racism and antisemitism. They're an awesome organization and I've been trying to get a job there for over a year. I struck out the first time, and thought I had a great chance this time.

I had a 45-minute phone interview today, and the guy I inerviewed with said I was great, had super qualifications, and would absolutely be an asset to their organization. Just not for this position, which requires classroom teaching experience. I almost wish they'd rejected me outright.

Interview insanity across the nation

In response to a recent dialogue on interview craziness started here, I fell compelled to clarify: I have had crazy interviews on both coasts, and even in the middle of the country. And I'm not alone. My sister, friends, acquaintances, and even strangers have shared tales of horror and woe. Allow me to elaborate.

One of my first interview experiences, the summer after I graduated from college, involved meeting with the publisher of a small publication, in the shack that served as the office. It was cluttered and dirty, and the whole interview consisted of him showing me examples of their publications and asking "Can you do this? Do you think you could do this?" referring to the layout of the publication. Um, I was there for a writing job.

My sister had a recent interview in a town 250 miles from her home. They asked her to come in person, and the interview lasted 20 minutes and consisted of 5 questions. Couldn't they have done that over the phone?

Another post-college interview, in downtown D.C., involved meeting with a journalist who took one look at my resume and said "you're absolutely not what we're looking for. We want somebody with at least 10 years experience." So you couldn't have read my resume first, and the NOT invited me in for an interview?

The tragic point of this tale is two-fold. Most people don't know how to interview, which makes the process miserable for the job seeker; also, there are a lot of nut cases in this world, and unfortunately, a lot of them are in positions of hiring authority. Really, we're all screwed. Some of us just have more opportunities to figure that out than others.

Shout out to my sister!

Because she's really great, even if life does suck hard sometimes. And because tomorrow she will be too sore from her upper-body workout to get out of bed.

Interview Day, Part III (I can't believe I left this out)

Not only was the interview a huge fiasco (see below) but in the course of my discussion with Lynn, she mentioned that after my first interview (for the temp position) they ended up hiring a friend of the boss. Now, there's all sorts of ethical and legal implications there, but mostly it's really stupid to tell me that. And it makes me mad. Grrrrr.

Interview Day, Part II (or, disaster strikes again)

I mentioned earlier that I had some reservations about this company, but even they didn't come close to what actually transpired today. My interview was set for 2 pm. I showed up a few minutes early and the reception area was empty. I waited a few minutes (afterall, everyone's entitled to a bathroom break) then rang the little service bell on the reception desk.

And nothing happened. Now, I could hear three or four people having a rude and nasty conversation with one another about 15 feet behind the desk, but nobody showed up. Five minutes elapsed before somebody came out, asked who I was, and told me to have a seat.

10 minutes and two magazine articles later, another woman came out, didn't introduce herself, and led me into an office for a writing test. What writing test? Apparently, the one I should have been told about in the email confirming my interview time. The test was scheduled to take two hours. TWO HOURS!

I have a cold, I didn't have time to really eat lunch, My cold medicine was wearing off, I had no water bottle. And I was supposed to write two essays and do some editing. FOR TWO HOURS! I almost walked out.

But the essay topic looked like fun, so I stayed. And finished the test in an hour and 15 minutes.

I returned to the reception desk, and was told somebody would be with me shortly. Then another girl in interview attire sat down next to me. Her interview - for a different position - was at 1 pm and she was still there at 3:30 pm.

10 minutes later the receptionist came out and asked, with a giggle and a smirk "So, are you getting antsy yet?" Like this was a game or something. At this point, I asked for directions to the restroom.

I returned a few minutes later and was greeted by Lynn, one of the women I interviewed with for the temp position last month. She escorted me into the same conference room as last time - the one with questionable paintings on the wall depicting the crucifixion of Christ and likening it to the discrimination of African Americans in the U.S.

The actual interview lasted about 15 minutes, during which time she made clear she wouldn't hire me if the temp agency who sent me to the last interview expected a cut - though she didn't return the two calls from the agency that would have clarified this. During this time she also asked if I had a law degree (um, way to read my resume) and told me the girl who left this position did so because she wanted a job with more writing and research responsibilities. Then she asked if I had to keep my commitment to the assignment I start next week - in case the company wanted to hire me quickly. Then she told me the writing test would be scored by people around the country who used to work for the company. Now that's just bullshit.

I'd had enough. I stopped asking questions, nodded my head in agreement to the lousy benefits package she outlined, and left the building. Quickly. Never to return.

Interview Day, Part I

I didn't sleep much last night, I have a nagging cold that's made me pretty hoarse, and I have an interview at 2 pm. In Oakland. For a job that's really interesting at a place I'm not too sure about. I interviewed with the company last month for a temp job, and while one woman was ready to hire me, the other told me I wasn't at all what they were looking for. And this was after calling me to push back the interview time, and still making me wait almost half an hour.

But this job would be very interesting - researching public policy and social marketing for local governments to help them better use their resources locally. I'm just not sure about the company. Do they treat everyone the way they treated me last month?

Stay tuned for answers to this and other pressing questions.....

I shoulda stayed in Philly, or Topeka, or Cleveland

If I ever write a book, I think I'm going to call it "I Shoulda Stayed in Philly," thanks to the girl having a very loud phone conversation on the bus. I shouldn't have heard her conversation, as the bus was crowded and loud, and I had my headphones in. But I could hear her nonetheless.

In fact, when I got on the bus, the guy I stood next to commented that he'd heard her whole conversation - at least 10 minutes - and that he really didn't care about her winter vacation.

Apparently, from what I could hear (despite turning up the volume on my Ipod) her vacation couldn't have been that great. For starters, she was in Philly. in March. And the weather was miserable. But then, after returning to San Francisco, she was bitching about the weather here and how she should have stayed in Philadelphia because the weather here was lousy.

Yeah, it got cold. And rained. And the snow was unusual, but come on. We get a few months of rain, and yes, this year has been colder than the norm, but in Philly there were blizzards. Big ones. Car-burying, transit-closing blizzards.

If you don't like the rain, please return to Philly, or wherever you're from. Then there'll be more room for me to sit on the bus. And enjoy my music. Without having to listen to you whine.

Bad temp agency, bad, bad, bad!!

So I've returned to Sephora, the land of corporate dress codes and well-dressed girls in silly high-heeled sandals. I got up at the crack of dawn to get here by 8 am, only to find out that I wasn't expected until 9 am. And the agency that sent me didn't know what I was doing, or who to check in with, or where to go when I got here.

But I've been here before, so I checked in with a girl I remember from last time, and discover that not only am I not needed until 9 am, but the girl I'm relieving isn't leaving until 2 pm. Now, it's not a busy reception desk, so what are two of us supposed to do all morning?

I spent the first half hour of my day lounging in the reception area reading magazines. And for this I got out of bed at 6 am.

So now not only am I without anything to do, but the receptionist I'm replacing didn't know that I was coming, or that she was being moved for the day to the much busier desk. So here we are. Bored. With nothing to do. And it's only 9 am.

On the Dole

So I've given in and applied for unemployment. I filled out all the paperwork, submitted my claim online, and have been receiving mail from the state unemployment office all week. I got a letter about the claims process. I got a letter about registering for the state jobs database. I got a letter explaining the forms. I got a letter with a breakdown of my wages and how much they'll pay me each week I'm not working. And I got a letter telling me to report for a phone interview on Tuesday morning.

I've been inundated with information, and some of it is very confusing. Some of it is also pretty funny. Like the earnings statement that details how much they'll pay me for the duration of my unemployment. Now, I'm not accustomed to a very glamorous lifestyle, but what is $107 a week supposed to pay for? That's right. I'll receive about $400 a month in unemployment benefits, but they'll withhold checks for the weeks I work. Thankfully, in those weeks I'll almost make a living wage, to offset my paltry benefits.

The bright side to all this is that things seem to be looking up. I start a month-long placement on March 27, and I have an interview on Wednesday for a permanent job. The downside is that in my desperation to have something to do, I accepted a one day assignment as a Sephora receptionist. I really hoped a long-term assignment would come up and I'd have to decline the day at Sephora, but my luck really isn't that good. So tomorrow morning I'll bust out my corporate colors, a few good books, and some snacks, and be on my way.

Thankfully, it's only for one day. That's not nearly long enough to become brainwashed.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

However you choose to celebrate - or if you reject the stereotype and stay out of the bars - have a great and safe day!

Aren't prayers for excommunication a little harsh?

Last week, after officially determining that my job search has become a hopeless cause, I decided a productive use of my time would be to go to an occasional St. Jude Mass at my parish. I actually kind of like them - they're in the small chapel to the side of the church, and kind of intimate while being a little detached - not too many people go, so there's lots of breathing room.

Tonight, Father Francis said Mass. He has to be one of my all-time favorite priests. All his sermons have a theatrical aspect. And he's really funny. Silent shaking, tears down the face funny sometimes. On one or two occasions he's been so hilarious that it's been difficult to recover before we have to sing. But I digress.

After reading the petitions, Fr. Francis opened the floor to anyone who wanted to add a prayer. We used to do this at my college Mass, and I really like it. In theory, anyway. In practice, tonight, it sort of exploded.

No sooner had Fr. Francis gone silent then a man yelled from the pews far behind me "I pray for the excommunication of all politicians...." and continued on for a few sentences about heretical politicians and how he wanted us all to pray for their excommunication.

Yeah. The congregation was a little surprised. Not too many people responded with the traditional "Lord, hear our prayer," though many did turn around to try to find the speaker. I briefly wondered if he'd be escorted from the church. While everyone was turned around, I had a clear view of Fr. Francis' shocked face. His facial expressions are amusing most of the time, but this was a true look of shock. I really was concerned his eyes would bulge out of his face and into the chalice.

But he recovered pretty quickly, and abruptly ended the audience participation part of the Mass before anything else could go wrong. Audience participation is pretty risky in San Francisco, a city where everybody has at least two or three opinions to share with anyone who asks - or doesn't. And I guess tonight proves that even church isn't safe. But at least the guy wasn't struck down or anything. We'd have had to end before the Consecration for sure.

My 100th Post

If this were a television show, today's episode would include a reel of the best moments in our 100 episodes, interviews with the cast and crew, and cake.

I tried for cake, but it's difficult to mail to everyone in the nation. But you should all go out and buy yourselves a cupcake to celebrate. Or a donut, perhaps. Enjoy!

Oh, and for celebration planning purposes, today also marks two months until my birthday. I'm happily accepting party suggestions.

What if I run out of material??

I haven't worked a lot lately, and while my last job gave me enough stories for awhile, what if I run out of things to write about? What if nothing funny or absurd happens, or if I get a job with really normal, almost boring co-workers. Where are the drunk lawyers? Or the people having insane personal phone conversations while riding MUNI?

Maybe leaving the house a little more would help. Perhaps tomorrow I should venture further than the grocery store.

The Butcher of the Balkans

Slobodan Milosevic, the former Serb leader whose genocidal in an attempt to create an ethnically pure Serbia, died over the weekend. Or maybe he was poisoned by The Hague. Or was it a communist plot? Or were the Russians behind it? Or pissed off Serbians? Or President Bush?

In any event, his death (though not unfortunate) prevents his war crimes trial from continuing. It really isn't fair. His policies were responsible for the deaths of at least 250,000, and the injury - both physical and mental - of two or three generations of Serbians, Croats, Bosnians, and others living in that region. They deserved to witness his day in court. They also deserved to maintain some faith that the legal system would have dealt justly with Milosevic, and the knowledge that after they made their case against him, Milosevic would have rotted in a jail cell.

Now questions swirling around the nature of his death - though poisoning seems unlikely, and I think he was just an out-of-shape former dictator who finally succumbed to a bad heart and the stress of knowing that his defense was failing miserably - detract from the real issue at hand. However he died, he short circuited the proceedings against him. He won't be punished for his actions. Even though no sentence from the Hague could have remotely compared in intensity to the suffering he caused, he got out of any punishment at all. And he'll probably get a hero's burial. And the people of the Balkans deserve better than that.

Snow! In San Francisco!

Really, it was there, on the cars and in the middle of the sidewalk in my neighbborhood and the ones to the east. It got very cold yesterday, and must have snowed while I was eating dinner with some friends. We left the restaurant to damp remnants of a cold rain, but as we ventured through the city we saw it, and it was beautiful. And there wasn't enough to have to shovel it. And it's all melted now. But it was great!

Barry Bonds did drugs. Lots of them

There. It's out in the open now, in case you were living under a big rock this week. Though for anyone who's been reading the San Francisco Chronicle lately, you'd think it was all the nation had to talk about. Um, civil war in Iraq or genocide in parts of Africa, anyone? It's great that two Chronicle sports reporters did some super investigative reporting and wrote a book on the topic, but can we please move on.

The changes in his body made his steroid use obvious. The fact that he started using because he was jealous of all the attention surrounding Mark McGwire is reprehensible. The fact that steroids played a role in his injury-plagued season is unsurprising. Hopefully, his steroid use will keep him out of the Hall of Fame. Unfortunately, despite the Chronicle's report this morning that Baseball Commissioner Bug Selig is looking into the book, his drug use will probably not keep him off the field.

Steroids have infested the sport, and it's almost criminal that players, coaches, and even the Commissioner have been willing to look the other way for all these years. But it also makes me mad that the impetus to investigate came from a book, because I guess bad publicity is worse for baseball than drugs that ravage the players bodies and morph them into nasty, testosterone-laden, injury-prone athletes.

The San Francisco Giants have much more personable players than Bonds, guys who don't mouth off at reporters and ignore their fan base. My favorite was J.T. Snow, and I'm sorry he won't be returning this season. The Giants are a team, not a group based around foul-mouthed Barry. I'd almost prefer he retired now, to keep the tarnish off the rest of his team, and let them get back to the matter at hand. Opening day is just around the corner, and the Giants have a lot of work to do.

Happy Belated Birthday, Brian!!

How did I miss it? Oh, wait, because I didn't know. It's good I read his blog. Brian and Meg share a birthday, so he should have gotten a shout out on Monday too. Better late than never.

The passsing of a legend

Gordon Parks, Life Magazine's first black photographer, whose powerful photos documented a generation of segregation and oppression in the south, died yesterday. He was 93. Interestingly, in addition to his photos, he was also a filmmaker. One of his most famous movies was Shaft.

I was most familiar with his photos. I went, repeatedly, to a retrospective at the National Gallery of Art about 10 years ago as part of a history course assignment. His photos were at times painful, but they so beautifully chronicled the country on the cusp of huge societal changes.

But see for yourself.

The day I drank the corporate kool aid.

I was innocently working on a job application this morning when my cell phone rang. What was I doing today? Could I work a day job at Sephora? Did I know how to be a receptionist? Did I have a red wardrobe?

Seriously, the conversation with my recruiter was Laurel and Hardy-esque, except that he was mean. “Do you know how to work phones? Do you think you can handle it, because I can call somebody else?” Finally, I got angry.

“I have a master’s degree in U.S. history. I think I can figure out how to work the phone.”

“Fine,” he replied in his prim British accent. “They’re very corporate. You have to follow their dress code. You can only wear black, white, grey, and red. No other colors.”

He stayed on the phone with me until he was assured I wouldn’t show up in green and yellow. I rushed through a shower, tried to look like I’d had more than 40 minutes to get ready, and, attired in black and red, boarded MUNI.

My recruiter claimed the building was at Market and Main, or was it Beale? Actually, it’s on the corner of Battery, so it’s good that one of us knows the city. I arrived and was quite nicely greeted by the other receptionist. The one who actually answers the phones. My job, on the 32nd floor, is really just to sit at a desk in case people have questions or an appointment. But I got an hour for lunch. And a 15-minute break. Not bad. The whole corporate dress code is a little scary, but all I have to do is smile. And I can read my book. But this job is going to require an emergency trip to the library tonight, as I’m almost finished with one, and I’m going to need another one if I have to be here tomorrow. All day. Starting at 8 am. I feel my smile muscles spasming.

Happy Birthday, Meg!!

We're all singing. It's probably good you can't hear us, but this is the whole blogosphere (or at least the members of my nation) wishing you a very happy day.

Hail Hurts

In case anybody was wondering, getting caught in a hail storm can be painful. I can quite personally attest to this, as can the bump on my already tender-from-a-cold nose. I went for a little walk this morning under somewhat foreboding cloud formations. However, where the clouds weren't black and menacing, the sun was shining, making me think I had at least half an hour before the rain started.

Nope, I was out for less than 10 minutes when the hail started. It wasn't big, but it was falling from the sky with such force that it really hurt. Especially since it was not falling straight down but horizontally (a really great Northern California rain phenomena), so it was pelting my face and legs as I walked. And since I was walking along the beach, there was no place to duck and cover.

Oh, look, it's hailing and sleeting now. At least it's not snowing at sea level (though it snowed last night in the hills). I feel bad for the runner jogging outside my windows. Perhaps I should offer her a cup of tea.

Happy birthday, Angel!

Thursday is Angel's birthday. Angel was my sister's college roommate, but she hung out with me a lot when she lived in the Santa Cruz Mountains. She's awesome. You can check out her blog in the links on the left (her name is cleverly hidden within the blog address). I think everyone should blog her a happy birthday.

Perhaps my forehead is just unnaturally large

I went to get ashes this evening, and the cross on my forehead is really large enough that Christ himself could have hung from it. Now, I looked at all the people in the pews around me, and their ashes all looked normally sized - in fact most were grey splotches that could have been any number of abstract art installations. But not me. My whole trip home (on two buses) people were staring at the huge patch of dust on my forehead. My ashes were an advertisement for more than one person to go to Mass, which is great. And I spurred a conversation by two people sitting in front of me on the bus about the apparent lack of Catholics in San Francisco - based on the small number of people they'd seen with ashes today. I guess they don't know about all those other Christian sects, but whatever.

Come to think of it, I only saw two other people with ashes today - before I went to Mass, that is. But nobody else could have fit Christ on their forehead.