Winter Wonderland

nineteen: job hunt

*

The tables are turning. Things are looking up. For the past week, while Storie’s at work, I’ve been applying to every single job I’m remotely qualified for, and several I’m not. Some of the applications are so infuriatingly long that I don’t want the job by the end; some are as simple as uploading my resume – which is much better now, thanks to Kris’s expert eye – and hoping someone likes what they see. Not that there’s much to see.

I went straight from high school to college and never worked until I graduated, and every job since then has been some short term or part time gig, whatever I can get my hands on. I have a long list of experience, but I’m not very experienced, and even the most basic jobs I’ve been applying to expect me to have knowledge of programs and systems I’ve never heard of, jobs that claim to be entry level but tell me I need to have worked in the industry before. It’s a frustrating cycle, and the only way to get out of it is with a lucky break.

So I keep trying. I must have applied to fifty jobs this week alone. Some rejected me within a day or two. Most haven’t got back to me. Two offered me an interview; both rejected me the following day. I know the job market is saturated and it’s hard to find work, and I only wish I hadn’t bought into the stupid myth that high school pushed on me, the naïve idea that getting a degree equals a guaranteed good job at the end. It’s a lie, folks. Getting the degree was the easy part, and I was in therapy the first two years.

When I’m not trawling every site possible to scour the internet for job listings or checking every notice board in every coffee shop within a five-mile radius, I’m learning easy pescetarian recipes so I can have dinner prepped by the time Storie gets home, sometimes starving when she drags herself through the door after six. I think I’ve got a handle on a good coconut shrimp curry, and I make a mean butternut squash risotto. This morning I prepped everything for a vegetable stir fry, ready to throw together when she gets back, and after another mammoth session of applications, I’m heading out this afternoon.

It’s a bit of a novelty, having a friend. I’m not used to it anymore, way out of practice, but when Kaylani texted me earlier asking if I wanted to grab a coffee, I leapt at the chance to get out of the apartment and away from my laptop. Now I’m bundled up in several layers to battle the sub-zero temperatures for the ten-minute walk from the University Circle Healthline stop to the café she suggested we meet at. I should’ve taken the 38; it would’ve got me way closer, but I make it to the welcoming heat of a student-stuffed coffee shop and I spot Kaylani at the other side.

In the couple weeks since I last saw her, she’s switched out her Afro for braids and she’s wearing glasses, wire-rimmed circle lenses that give off a distinct John Lennon vibe, and I hardly recognize her. No wonder Clark Kent fooled everyone with a pair of specs.

“Hey, Liam!” She waves me over and I unwind my scarf as I sit down. “I got you a hot chocolate ‘cause I’m pretty sure I remember you saying you don’t like coffee, but don’t worry if you don’t want it ‘cause I’ll just have a second.”

“Hey, Kaylani,” I say with a laugh, pulling over the very full mug. “Thank you. You didn’t have to, though.”

“You can get the next one. That’s what friends do, right?”

“I think so.”

She gives me a funny look.

“Been a while since I had a friend,” I say, lifting the mug to my lips. “Thanks for this. I’ll definitely get the next one.”