It’s A World Of Hurt Out There

As far as I can tell the experience of job interviewing  is exactly the same experience as dating.

For both you don some type of event specific outfit.


Attractive but not slutty/professional but not dull. You want to look your best and convey a very clear message: not desperate. Nobody, but nobody likes desperate. With dating that would seem easier to do. After all, your rent is not dependant on your nocturnal activities unless of course it’s nocturnal activities that actually pay your rent. But then that wouldn’t actually be dating, that’d be escorting. And that’s out of my field of expertise.

I digress.

When enough time has passed and your horizontal aerobic workouts are a but a distant memory even the worst of prospects suddenly seem positively divine and much to your embarrassment your desperate flag starts flapping in the wind. Hence the appropriate outfit (and/or hit of Xanax).

At this first meeting, be it date or job, we all put our best selves up for reviewing.  The happy, easy, outgoing positive you.

Not the chemically assisted, jaded, swear word spewing cynic you actually are.

And finally if you find yourself interested in the man or the job, what do you do? You wait for the damn phone to ring and click ‘refresh’ over and over again in your inbox.

And during this period of waiting,  your sixteen year old insecure self, the one you thought you’d therapized out of your system  comes roaring back in style. “ring” you hear yourself say “ring ring ring ring ring ring.” You try Jedi mind tricks. You open three different browsers at once. You can’t call the telephone company to see if your phone is working because you have a cell phone and you know damn well it’s fine. Hell you even have it fully juiced and all your bars are up. And just like it was when you were sixteen, because they don’t seem to be calling you, you want them twice as much.

Yeah, I’m still single and jobless. Could you tell?

Unemployment. Dating. Job Hunting. It’s all the same family of pain. I wish I had been born to Italian cobblers. I’d join the family business, marry the neighbour’s son, (he’s the local tailor), never be out of work and always have good footwear.

3 thoughts on “It’s A World Of Hurt Out There

  1. Laura Lee says:

    Perfect comparison. Keep your chin up, lady, you’ll find the right one for you yet!


  2. You mean it’s NOT normal to have three browsers open?
    I hate normal.


  3. Zora says:

    Great writing as always, but the photos are excellent! It’s always nice to see classy ladies reclining on couches. And princess phones.


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