A Needle In A Needlestack

I am back on the job search wagon, and goddamn if it isn’t discouraging.  AGAIN.  

It’s very easy to have a positive outlook at the beginning of this tunnel.  To believe that each move is an opportunity to find THAT JOB.  The one that pays handsomely for the skills I’ve grown and nurtured and even tortured into place while at the same time fostering growth with a team that I adore spending the day with.  The one that will finally fulfill that empty space in both my soul and my Beach Cottage Fund.  Easy until the fifth online application that requires me to input ALL my past work history EVEN THOUGH I’VE UPLOADED A RESUME AND COVER LETTER THOROUGHLY OUTLINING THOSE THINGS.  After that fifth one, the true nature of the market has emerged, and I’ve been dumped SPLAT! back in the realm of REALITY.  

After only two days of searching and universe knows how many applications, it’s time to admit the harsh truth; I’ve been dreaming.  Delusional to think that somehow my experience stands out and that I’ll be able to find anything more than a fucking administrative job. Four years in operations and five more before that in various managerial roles, and somehow, my qualifications only ready me to answer a multi-line phone system, file papers alphabetically and create entry-level spreadsheets for $12 an hour.  

What in the holy fuck is this about??  Am I really to believe that these companies are going to find the person they’re searching for with such specialized experience?  The one who not only has MY skill set, but has also spent the past 10 years investigating the density of a certain brand of plumber’s caulk while simultaneously running a 272 person Human Resources department with an exact 14:1 ratio of Haitian basket weavers and unicycle enthusiasts?  Who on this earth has an advanced degree in the psychology of moderately sized anthills with a minor in women’s studies and at least 4 years experience in the related field?  

We moved here because the Old Man is the principle bread winner, so I expected a certain amount of settling to be done on my part in the employment arena, but I’ll have it known, I’m no fucking slouch, and certainly not some kind of trophy wife.  I have a deep need to contribute and to a very large extent, my self-worth is connected to the job that I do.  I need to feel pride when meeting new people, not some vague embarrassment that I’m 34-almost-35 and a receptionist/customer service agent/cashier.  I went to school.  I worked hard.  I advanced and learned and put myself forth for evaluation.  

So how in the fuck did I end up on this path to gender stereotype???


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