You’ve the right to remain silent

Previously ………

The starting point: The Unemployment Chronicles, Vol. 1

—  Vol. 3  —

Two days later …

Got all dolled up. Went to the interview. Nicole, a 20-something entered the 5′ x 5′ room. No pictures, tan walls — an interrogation room you’d see on a cop show. Claustrophobic.

She started with the customary: Can we do a background check? Have you read the job description? Why did you apply? etc., then said, “this supervisor position pays $12 an hour. Are you okay with that?” … (pause) … In my mind I’m thinking, okay, do I just say “no” and walk out or do I hear her out? Had I known it was $12 an hour, I would have never applied. Did I miss this? That’s not even $500 a week, barely $24,000 a year. After taxes, it’s $20,000 or less than $400 a week. This is a 5-star hotel. Am I out of my mind to think the position would probably pay $600-$700 a week or approximately $35,000 a year? Apparently, I’m delusional.

Anyway, she says, “I’d like you to meet the manager tomorrow.” Again, my inner monologue is, “what the hell is a supervisor then? If I knew there was a manager, I wouldn’t have even applied.” I agreed, knowing full well I’ll call tomorrow morning and cancel. Bottom line is, from what I deduce rereading the job description, the supervisor is a swinging assistant manager. A hell of a lot of work for little money. If you’re a 22-year old kid working your way up in the hotel business, this is perfect. If you’re a 41-year old man, it’s insanity or purely desperate. I’m not quite THAT desperate.

I was making $6 an hour in 1986 as an ice cream maker. I was 16. Twenty-five years later, a $6 raise. Nice. At 25, I was making $50 an hour training. Bartending was at least $25-50 an hour, sometimes more. I’m not saying I’m too good to make $12 … oh, wait a minute. Damn right I am. I walked out of there like a zombie. Holy fuck, that was depressing. I’m going backwards.

CJ would be making more than me collecting unemployment — and she deserves it, she’s worked her ass off — but wow.

Not sure what they’re thinking, for their sake, especially when you consider that minimum wage is $7.36. You can walk in with a head injury and man the dishwasher, or face responsibility and scrutiny for $4.64 more. You could drive a sandwich truck and make $12 an hour not even staying on your route.

That’s tough to jump on. Tell them to make it $16 an hour with a drug test or $12 without. Come in for the 2nd interview reeking of pot.

We’re all going backwards. I went to a restaurant today, sort of a test but a place I’d take the gig if available. One of the best in the area, turns out they’re hiring. On the application they want to know your education down to grammar school.

I skipped it.

I’m forty-fucking-six, barely remember my way home and having trouble reading the application because I didn’t bring my glasses so, no, I’m not delving that deep into it. I graduated college, let’s assume I got past 4th grade.

Waited for a manager while watching everyone who works there stroll by and nobody’s over 25. The entire experience wiped me out. I drove to the second place I had my eye on and just sat in the car while it idled. Couldn’t get out. Kept telling myself I was already here, I got this far and am looking at the damn place but all I wanted to do was get home. Next few days I plan to get more ambitious. Had hoped to just grin and bear it and plow through but all it did was make me want to come home and work on the website.

I’m going to use that as a monologue. Don’t worry, I have nothing to audition for except “life” and apparently mine’s only worth $12 an hour, $9.50 after taxes.

Did I mention the girl who interviewed me — and I do mean, girl — couldn’t have been over 22? In restaurant years, I’m 82.

“In a land where EBT cards dispel the notion of food lines and soup kitchens … an actor seeks employment to support his family but finds the reality of a changed market to be daunting; a penniless writer and his website, both hoping to be read, falling smack dab into the certainty of a dreaded restaurant job.”

[cue theme from “The Odd Couple”] “Can two unemployed men find an occupation without driving each other crazy?”

We are most definitely too old for this. That’s what I saw today and so did you.

The following day …

I called the hotel to cancel my second interview. I told like it is, thanked her for her time. The reality of the situation, it just doesn’t fit with the needs of our spreadsheet.

I figured I’d apply at a restaurant nearby, nice place. They wouldn’t let me talk to anybody. They had me sit at a computer and take a series of tests, I swear it was like the SATs all over again. It took 35 minutes, I’m not kidding.

“Read the numbers and decide what the next number should be,” type of thing. I’m looking to bartend or wait tables, not train for Interpol. They’re probably running tissue samples of my DNA, as I type this.

CJ and I went to Costco and bought all bulk stuff like we were in college again. Bought more tequila. It wasn’t on the list, but fuck it. She didn’t argue.

Holy crap! I took the same test last night, also a restaurant. Made my head hurt.

“Erika worked 14 hours last week and 20 hours this week. If she earns $9 per hour, how much did she earn during these two weeks?”

“There is nothing wrong with challenging supervisors about workplace policies. Strongly agree, agree, neither agree or disagree, disagree or strongly disagree?”– A few pages later, the same question with a slightly different wording. I could feel them working inside my brain and I didn’t appreciate it.

I had a second interview today, that’s a good sign. He called and asked if I could come in to talk in more detail. I agreed but immediately my mind starts concocting ways to screw up the interview, like shaving a Hitler mustache out of what’s left of my weekend beard. If there’s a drug test, I’ll tell him I’m currently wasted, I was cooking heroin in the parking lot. Or I give a great interview but when I get up to leave, he notices a pool of urine on the chair.

All in all, it went well so I took the momentum to The Palm and asked if they were hiring. Apparently my caricature is drawn next to the host stand with specific instructions forbidding me from stepping closer than 50 yards from customers. Just my being there triggered some kind of hospitality industry AMBER Alert and the entire place went dark, only emergency lighting. I heard helicopters up above and decided to leave as the SWAT team began setting up across the street.

I have no idea how the interview went from the manager’s perspective. I’m sensing he could smell the burnout. I’ve got my best face on but when you tell the story of what leads you back to a restaurant, it’s hard not to come off on a downbeat. I’m not nearly as aggressive as I’m going to need to be about this. I’ve got to create a better story … I spent over 20 years repairing the Zamboni so that the kids at Make-A-Wish hockey camp would have fresh ice. Or maybe I was a fireman.

To be continued (link below) …

  • The number of college-educated men unemployed for at least a year is five times higher today than after the dotcom bubble. In New York City, men age 35 to 54 have lost jobs faster than any other group, including teenage girls — Fiscal Policy Institute.

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Next chapter: Vol. 4 — Back on the Chain Gang

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Humbling makes time for tequila

Previously ……… The starting point: The Unemployment Chronicles, Vol. 1

—  Vol. 2  —

A few days later …

I went to a staffing agency, mainly to find out where it was, stake it out. I’m already expecting to learn that every restaurant I have my eye on isn’t even considering hiring. I picked some of the best ones — if I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it — but why would anyone leave that job? Even if you’re not totally into it, you ride it as far as you have to. They must have waiting lists, plus I don’t have my restaurant gameface yet.

So I figured a staffing agency could find alternatives while I gather the ambition to enter one of these establishments and see if they’re hiring, when all I really want to ask is the direction to the bar.

On the way, I hear a guy on the radio, our age. Says he’s always worked 60 hours a week since he was 15. Several jobs, whatever it took. Now he’s unemployed, unable to find work. Willing to do anything, can’t find it. He’s thinking of starting a business but I’m already ahead of him on that end and know the potential isn’t what it used to be. I was so inspired, I decided to go straight home, check out the agency online. Turns out that’s how they want you to apply anyway.

I’ve learned the “apply online” thing is so they can more easily tell you “no” by not even bothering to respond. I’ve been applying for the last 10 days, probably 25 jobs. No reply — I might as well be texting Gandhi.

I gave it some thought and figured the only people who aren’t concerned about bottom line and are hiring employees they don’t need are in government. I checked state and local, found some nice salaries but nothing in my repetoire. Which brings me back to my restaurant list. Going to a few this week.

Can’t immediately say I could do the the job anymore. I forget little things all the time now and I always have dreams where I’m back in it, taking a table’s order but then neglecting to do anything about it. Maybe 20 minutes go by, the customer gets angry, tracks me down and I greet them like it’s the first time I’ve seen the table. Then I wake up.

It would take time to consolidate steps properly and re-program my brain for that type of efficiency. Everyone should have to, by law, wait on tables for at least one month in their lifetime. It would drastically improve the way people think and interact with one another.

CJ was let go today — no severance, fuckers. I’ll be back in the trenches. Definitely will have no qualms now.

Not sure if we can survive here long term. All of CJs work connections are in SoCal, ugh.

Scary, but we’ll be okay for awhile. Insurance for the girls is the biggest thing.

Oh shit. Does she at least get unemployment?
They “let her go” on good terms, nothing personal. But that’s still a euphemism for “fired.” They were looking for cap room. We saw it coming.

I’m going to have to get crafty, none of the restaurants here are hiring. Actually asked to see the GM or manager at one place and the hostess said they only do applications online, like you said. Was hoping to talk my way in. Online they’re not hiring.

So we went to Costco and bought tequila. She’s really upset. Four+ years and they make up shit to cut her salary. BUT … gotta stay focused. Problem is our house is worth more during the summer due to the foliage. We’ve got a few weeks left. I’ve got some retirement stock — so does she (401k) — but we’re screwed if we can’t find something to cover insurance and the mortgage in a couple months.

Sucks that the only opportunity is in Cali and then it’s not even the opportunity you two would truthfully be looking for. Normally I’d say tequila isn’t the answer but we’re getting to a point where it’s one of the only things that makes sense. Liquor, gold, canned goods and ammo — all anyone will ever need.
About to escort CJ to the office to box up her stuff.  She deserved better. She was doing her job and doing it well. Fuckers. They won’t contest the unemployment, so that’s good. A little is better than nothing. I see this as a blessing actually, there was no future there. They pulled the same thing last year and we hung on until now. I’ve gotta do something anyway. With the kids back in school, I’d rot. I hope I can find something to get us through the winter.  She deserves a break and an opportunity to collect unemployment. I’d gladly get anything for her to enjoy that — so far, I’m 0-for-3.

Filling out an application for a 5-star hotel. Ten years of employment history, drug tests. Christ, if they vetted the president this closely. Drinking my last shot before driving her over. I’ll start cashing out shit tomorrow.

The next morning …

I didn’t see your name in the news so I you assume you didn’t go postal.

Nothing for me today, have to polish my resume and keep an eye on Carlisle (day after the neuter. Poor little guy, he loved those balls). Out tomorrow with my tail between my legs, seeking a job I don’t wish for and probably isn’t offered — as opposed to positions I’m overqualified for, but I never hear back from anyone because I applied for them online.

Yeah, rough night. We’ll be okay for awhile, but long term we’re screwed. I’m terrified that I won’t be able to find something, but I’m trying to be stoic and positive around CJ. Mostly she’s devasted at how they turned on her. I’m beyond stressed. Trying to hold it together.

Got called in for a “supervisor” position at the hotel. Stage one interview. My heart sank when I saw the number register on the phone. Damn! Look, I need a job to feed the kids and keep the house, but I certainly never imagined coming back to my hometown and working as a glorified bar manager. It’s very, very corporate. So I’ve got to clean up a bit.

Ummm, which dew rag should I wear? Silk?

Repeatedly drop the N-word in the interview, but say that it’s okay because that’s what the other rappers do. Then do that beat-box sound and drop some rhymes while you do the robot dance. Do you have a fake gold tooth?

Both girls in school, my job, as it were, is finished. I look in the mirror upon my return from dropping them off and realize we all have grown-up. They begin their quest for “careers,” I begin my quest for a “job,” most likely  restaurant work that may not even be available — something I could have accomplished sans six figures worth of education.

CJ is so organized that she pulled out an Excel spreadsheet with all bills and money going in and out, down to the penny. Four years worth, unbelievable. She has it down to a science, the Treasury Dept. could use her. Anyway, she predicted when we’d be out of money.

Freaked me out.

To be continued (link below) …
  • 6.2 million or 44.6 percent of the unemployed have been looking for work for 27 weeks or more. The average length of unemployment was 40.5 weeks in September 2011. It is the longest average period of unemployment since the statistic was first recorded in 1948 — U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics

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Next chapter: Vol. 3 — You’ve the right to remain silent

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The Unemployment Chronicles, Vol. 1

It’s 2011. Two men in their 40’s seek to re-enter the workforce after years as househusbands, only to discover a lifetime has passed since their last employment and the pursuit is more difficult than originally imagined. Each chained to a wealth of debt and armed with a surprisingly narrow skill set, the lack of spark in the economy further reduces their options while intensifying pressure at home.

It’s true, bills will not pay themselves.

These are increasingly dreary times for many, more and more each week. While not quite the image of Hooverville, families across America are fiscally tested and strained like never before. There’s a genuine fear in the uncertainty of how to provide in the event of a loss of income. These are only two stories, there are millions more …

CJ was let go today — no severance. I’ll be back in the trenches. Definitely will have no qualms now. Not sure if we can survive here long term.

A few days earlier …

Trying to find a job and you would not believe how unqualified I am for most anything.

Ten years off the market and everything’s changed. Haven’t updated my resume since February 1999. I feel like Morgan Freeman in Shawshank, finally out but no clue how to start over or what my options are. Looking for a letter from Andy, telling me he’s in Mexico and he’s hiring.

For some reason, they brought us the paper on Saturday. A lot smaller than I remember, I haven’t felt a newspaper in months. Flipped through it, went straight to the classifieds. For jobs, it’s not even a third of a page. A city this size, maybe 20 jobs listed and most are the scam types you avoid, “MAKE MONEY FROM HOME!” sort of thing. Absolutely ridiculous how little there is.

Spent a lot of time online. Jobs I assume I’m qualified for — trades I once used as my primary source of business income — lose me in the description. It’ll list the qualifications and experience requirements and I’m good for the first 10 or 12, then they add something like “must be proficient with CCL documentation processing and generating RRp7 reports.” Shit has changed.

I looked into some mindless but active warehouse stuff but I’m competing with high school graduates and GEDs. Teach me to drive a fork lift or use one of those pallet-lifter thingies and I’ll have it down in no time. Why risk the insurance and take the time to train when it’s a buyer’s market, loaded with people who’ve driven a forklift and processed a CCL? A lot of jobs I’m 80-85% qualified for, the cost of being out the game for so damn long.

Went to UPS and asked about packing jobs. The woman inhaled and said, “that is, if we were hiring.” The wide, bulging eyes told me I was about 100 weeks too late getting there. She seemed a bit surprised that someone might still be asking that. There was an ad for a truck loading gig at Coca-Cola and they pulled it after three hours because, it said, they already had 550 applicants. This was a part-time job.

Another ad said “get paid to write” and I laughed, as if that actually happens. Hilarious!

I can’t go back to waiting on tables. I don’t see that working well for anyone involved. Short-term, maybe. Not sure what else there is, just need some cash flow. I’m afraid to go to the mailbox, just more bills. I used to love getting the mail. But this is even if they’re hiring! Say it’s a good restaurant and they are hiring, it’s 2-3 weeks training before you see tips, which is a nice way of rationalizing never stepping foot inside the building to inquire.

So no move? Any update with CJ?

Women are the future. We only cook for them and upkeep their homes.

Yeah, crazy. I’m the ’50’s housewife that does all the maintenance, plus. CJ is still there. They offered her a manager position (she’s now a director) with a smaller salary. They need to create cap room to hire three new people for the job CJ was doing by herself. There’s no way, given the amount of work that she has done for them that they could let her go immediately. I also know you can never go backwards and still retain respect from your co-workers and advised her to ask for a lateral move at least, even if we had to take a hit money-wise. They said they couldn’t do it. What they were subtextually saying is: we can’t pay a director what we now want to pay you, therefore it’s manager or hit the road.

If I have to cash out all my stock and work at Walmart, I’ll do it. They are totally taking advantage of her. She told them she’d accept the severance (which was pathetic) and turned in her letter of resignation. She was relieved. They were shocked, absolutely dumbfounded.

This happened six weeks ago. She’s maintained her title, has less work with the new hires, and is still making what she was making before. She’s won the battle in an ongoing war. Could be done at any time, but I’m proud of her stance.

I seriously don’t know what the hell to do. She could get a job in SoCal, but we’d be living “down” for a while, and God knows that state is about to fall off into the Pacific. I just drink to quell the mid-life crisis that I’m having. Maybe I should stop drinking, seeing as I only have 2 kidneys and may need to sell one.

Fuck.

We’re too old for this shit. I made six grand teaching that acting class in May and I’m down to my last $1500 — and my debt is out of control. I have a life insurance policy I’m going to cash out. After that, I really have no idea. I’m beyond stressed at this point. To make matters worse, I had a root canal last week. Damn crown cost me $600 and that was with insurance. Teeth are still necessary, right?

I withdrew $100 today and can’t remember the last time I saw a bill larger than a $20, seems like a dream. Earlier this year, I’m wrestling with a credit card bill for days and finally have to ask Jules for help. Tell her I need $170 and we both roll our eyes at how small the number was. It’s pathetic. Everything’s dried up.

Self-employed means not qualifying for unemployment. My last $10,000 of business inventory, I made $100. What’s the point in risking that type of money again? I’m lucky to get out on the plus. I wouldn’t expect to, if I did it again. I considered different angles and there just aren’t a lot of products you can sell anymore without a shitload of pain or nonsense somewhere on the back-end. Money needs to come from somewhere and it’s not like they’re delivering it to my door.

Then there’s the ongoing situation with the cats (long story).

So I made a list of restaurants and, yeah, we are too old for this. I had to create a separate resume, I’d never used one. Putting together references, I realize I’ve known one of them for 23 years. My experience is most likely older than most of the people I’d be working with. I’ll be older than my managers. I’ll be “that guy” — I never wanted to be “that guy” — the flunkey outcast in his 40’s doing the job of a 20 year old.

It made sense back then. Money was good; flexible schedule; met some great people, always did. Fell back into it in my 30’s, not much of a choice: California; could rely on the money; met more great people, all you guys.

To say I lost my mojo for it is to undersell the process of mojo loss. This will end badly. This will end Bret Favre badly — crazy mistakes that cost the team a playoff spot and always one text message away from doing something really stupid. I wouldn’t want to be sitting in my section. I have no idea what might happen.

It’s like we’re living in parallel universes. Qualifications elude me. I’m in a similar boat with an even more “illusory” skill set. I drop the kids off tomorrow at 8 am and for the first time in 7 1/2 years I’ll have more than a three-hour stretch. Stage two of parenting begins.

You’d think I’d be thrilled, excited, relieved even, but between the two of us, I’m a little freaked out. I’ve always strung things together over the years — bartending, coaching, directing, teaching the college course — but my first priority was keeping the buggers in line and on point, and not paying someone else to raise them. But now, the birds have taken their first flight and both are way ahead and well adjusted (yeah, I’m sure all parents think that). Anyway, now I’ve got to get a job (a career is long gone). Any job — and in this economy, that is proving difficult — otherwise, I’ll have way too much time to think.

At least you accomplished the journey of getting them to school. That’s a big deal.

I’ve been doing webcam shows on Skype — male or female, I don’t judge. They want to see it, so I show it to them. Now I just need to figure out how to get them to pay me. Ba-dum-chhh.

Seriously, if I was a woman, I’d be on my back for cash in a heartbeat. Then again, I’d be one seriously ugly dame and may find the money’s better unloading trucks. At least I could ride the casting couch with someone in human resources to get me through the door and possibly into some better shifts.

You still could, if it gets to that. Let me know if it works.

To be continued (link below) …

  • In September 2011, there were 14 million unemployed in the U.S. and the unemployment rate was 9.1 percent. If part-time workers who could not find full-time jobs, and workers who did not actively look for work due to discouragement or other reasons, were factored in, then the unemployment rate would have been 16.5 percent — U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics

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Next chapter: Vol. 2 — Humbling makes time for tequila

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