This past week I attempted to acquire, what some call, a "real job". This term confuses me really. If you don't have a "real job" then what do you have? What's the opposite of a "real job"? Is it a "make believe job"? Well, if what I went through this past week is what qualifies as a real job, I would happily live forever in the land of make believe.
I stumbled across the job posting on one of my many visits to monster.com and thought to myself, "Why not!". It was worth a try, even though there really wasn't a full job description listed. So I sent my resume and got a call the next day wanting to set up an interview. It's always a confidence booster when someone is interested in the qualities you have to offer, so I scheduled the preliminary interview for Monday afteroon.
This is where my first crisis occurred. My sisters were quick to inform me that it was an absolute necessity to wear a business suit to the interview. This wouldn't have posed a problem at all if I actually owned a business suit, but my life is not that easy. So I had no choice but to go out and drop some serious coin on a business suit that I was confident would never be my favorite article of clothing. I then had to buy new shoes to accesorize said business suit. The cost of this interview is quickly rising. After I've purchased my new suit and shoes, I show up Monday morning for my preliminary interview which ends up lasting a mere ten minutes. Couple the speedy interview with the fact that none of the other applicants were wearing business suits and needless to say, I was a little annoyed and frustrated. However, I was called later that night to set up a secondary interview for the next day and began to feel a little bit better about the situation.
Now I must preface this next paragraph by saying that the only thing I was told about my secondary interview was to be there at nine-thirty, bring a notebook, and wear business professional attire. And that's exactly what I did. I showed up fifteen minutes early, with my notebook in tow, wearing my business suit and the cutest/most uncomfortable shoes in the world! After arriving at the office, I am then introduced to my "trainer" for the day who I will be shadowing for the next eight hours. Now this is where the first red flag flies up in my mind. See by this time I've discovered that this is a sales position and involves face-to-face advertising, which is a fancy way of saying door-to-door sales. So as I'm told I will be shadowing a door-to-door salesman for eight hours, it's as if I can hear my cute/uncomfortable shoes begin to laugh in that evil, menacing movie villain tone. The next red flag flies up when my trainer says as we walk to the car, "I hope you're wearing comfortable shoes because we're going to do a lot of walking today."
"Are heels ever comfortable?", I reply. No response.
So now we're in the car and I find myself tuning out everything he's saying about market strategies and focusing on my feet, that are already begin to throb at the thought of what's in store for the rest of the day. As he shuts off the engine I look out the window and my stomach turns as I realize where we are and what's about to happen. We are at a shopping center. A strip mall, if you will. A very LARGE strip mall with an even LARGER parking lot. There's another red flag!
One hour into the shadowing process I hesitantly look down at my feet and realize exactly what has begun to happen: these cute/uncomfortable shoes have literally begun to rub my feet raw! Now I don't get queasy at the site of blood, but as I saw the blood beginning to trickle down my heel, I did begin to panic a little since we've only been out here for an hour. Luckily I have a couple of band-aids in my purse that temporarily help the situation, but three hours later they too have been rubbed off, just like the skin on the back of my heels. So here I am, bloody heeled, with three hours left of what can only be classified as self-inflicted torture. It was at this point that my trainer offers to let me wear a pair of his tennis shoes for the rest of the day. Does he realize how uncute that would look? If I didn't care about looking cute I would have worn a more comfortable pair of shoes to begin with. I decline his offer and continue limping from store to store, thankful for my extremely high pain tolerance level, but beginning to wonder just how high it actually is. Unwilling to admit that I'm hurting, I continue to hike across the asphalt, counting the seconds until I can throw these cute/uncomfortable shoes in the garbage and be done with this nightmare. Three hours later - it's over!
What made the nightmare even more excruciating was the fact that I knew an hour into the day that I wouldn't take the job even if they offered it to me. And they did! And I declined the position. I limped out of that office, one painful step at a time, thankful for my "make believe job" that pays my bills the same way a "real job" would and that I actually enjoy!
