Fair Jobs

March 28, 2013

The outdoor cat is spying on the red squirrel racing around the yard, seeking seeds from the bird feeder. I want that job. Only I can’t have it, it belongs to the cat, I have to find my own way, my own role on the path on my journey. So I am off to a Job Fair to pan for the Golden Parachute.

The Eagan Civic Arena parking lot is jammed with cars so I am forced to circle ‘round and ‘round three large lots before I find a spot to stop my embarrassingly gas-guzzling vehicle and park. Didn’t have to pull a Kathy Bates move and smash the car that stole my space, fortunately. I am not in the mood to head to the police station in handcuffs today. I feel very desperate since the swarms that are entering the doorway ahead of me are getting all of the highest paying, best work environment, greatest benefits and emotionally satisfying jobs! I should have left the house earlier. Besides the fact that I am in heels and have to limp farther to the front entrance, I am surprisingly hopeful.

Black suits and blonde hair fill the Arena, manila folders, briefcases, smart leather bags and empty applications gripped in their hands. Each organized booth had bite-sized candy, engraved pens, plastic water bottles, wrench sets, sleek garden tools, sky diving jump suits, enough complimentary bricks to lay a welcoming path to the front door, hotel room giveaways, flights to China, vacation homes in the Caribbean…yes, you missed it all!

The more popular corporate vendors have a line of patient though gut-wrenching anxiety-filled job seekers. As I stand behind folks, I can hear the murmur of troubles. One startlingly pretty brunette worries about her 19 year old sassy daughter that is moving back into the house. Where will she sleep, how will she cope with the adjustment, will she be able to keep her job and perhaps step up and go to college, obtain proper healthcare and overcome mental health challenges that seem to stand in the way of a rich future?

A man in a brown suit jacket and a bit on the tattered side black pants complained about losing his job at the worst possible time. Taxes are due, summer vacation plans to visit his ailing grandmother are on the calendar and expensive car repairs are splayed out on his lengthy to do list. His wife works nights, six days a week and is not around much to discuss the distressing options.

At the REM booth a woman about my age in a black dress with an exaggerated colorful scarf is fretting about her oldest son who has never left home, is having a difficult time adjusting to the changes in the household since she lost her nursing job. She nearly tears up when sharing her fears of his acting out with aggressive behavior again and struggles with drug and alcohol abuse.

Just when I suspected I had heard it all the man behind me in a silk shirt and linen pants blurted out he has to get home since he is taking a new medication that gives him diarrhea! Oh boy, I have to bolt out of there with my bagful of goodies and a few meager leads to the job of my dreams.