Funny story

I got a call from the agency this morning.  An opportunity arose, and they thought of me immediately, because of where it was, and the impeccable timing that I would be available again right as they were looking.  The moment I heard the words “convenient location,” and “Are you familiar with . . . ” I literally cringed, because I feared the name of the company that they were about to say.

Y’see, I applied at this company, and it’s currently #1 on my list of places I’d want to work, primarily for the location, but also because the job listing, and my job duties at this place would fit me like OJ Simpson’s glove (perfectly, damn it).  One of the good things applying for this company was the fact that I had never freelanced there before, so a finder’s fee would not be come into play if I were to make it through.  But anyway.

Are you familiar with [name of my #1 choice company]?

Yeah, big shocker.

Long story short, I told them that I was indeed familiar with company X, and that I would love to get my foot in the door with them and do some work for them, but if doing a freelance gig is going to jeopardize my chances at getting the full-time position with them, I would regrettably, have to decline on this freelance opportunity.

I didn’t really think my very first opportunity was going to result in this, but looking back, I can’t really say I’m surprised.  In a perfect world, the agency peeps will find a way to convince company X to agree to a contract-to-perm situation, bring me in as a freelancer to give me a test drive, find out they fucking love my awesomeness, and transition me into full time with little concern to the correlating finders fees.

But the world ain’t perfect, so this is probably not going to happen.  So it’s hoping for the best on my own accord, with clenched anoos and fingers crossed.

Oh goody

Just as I’ve really been able to settle into a nice routine of working out, sleeping sensibly, doing boring work while affording myself a lot of time for brogging or other personal writing endeavors, all while getting paid well, slightly seeing a little bit of financial breathing room, and dealing with a 30-mile commute that believe it or not, doesn’t suck . . . I find out today that tomorrow’s my last day, barring an apocalypse of work that would warrant needing me to stay longer.

Since I can’t really email this back to them

Hey Danny,
I was actually going to let you know we had someone start this week. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you. We would certainly love to have you temp with us again. We are very busy these day so hopefully I will see you soon!

I was actually going to let you know.

Bullshit you were. This was in response to me sending a follow-up email.

I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.

No you’re not. I hope the cheaper alternative to hiring me sucks a fat fucking cock. You had a lot more leverage than you thought you did, and I am fairly certain you could have gotten me hired.

We would certainly love to have you temp with us again. We are very busy these day so hopefully I will see you soon!

This makes one of us.

If taking a temp job for 1-5 business days puts me in a situation where I’ll never get to be hired by a company because I’ve got a finder’s fee attached to me for a day’s worth of work, I may have to start refusing short jobs.

Rejection, I can handle. But not getting a job I was more than qualified for, because of a finder’s fee, and the people that could have gotten me hired too fucking lazy to vouch for me does infuriate me. Not to mention being a scenario where I couldn’t even speak to deciding parties to try and figure something out on my own is bullshit too.

Do odd jobs even exist anymore?

I actually like this commercial.  Guy sees something he really likes and wants, and does what more people should do in order to attain their desires – work for it.  He busts his ass doing all the things nobody else wants to do, and in the end, surpasses his goal and is ultimately capable of buying two Jettas.  Feel good story of a year.

But it got me thinking – given my own financial woes, and the fact that I have a tendency to get mind-numbingly bored from time to time, that I would be more than capable of doing some of the things this guy does in the commercial, in order to supplement some additional income on the side for my own needs.  If it paid somewhat reasonable to off-set the cost of transportation, I’d gladly take ass-kickings from people while in pads, or walk dogs, or other odd jobs that don’t involve me having to deal directly with “customers,” are short periods at a time, and pay in cash under the table.  I don’t think I’d want to be the guy at the corner of Ponce and Monroe dressed as Uncle Sam, schilling for tax prep businesses, be the hot dog guy, or do nude modeling, but there are other random odd jobs I’d be willing to do for some side cash.

Here’s the thing though; upon looking for odd jobs in the Metro Atlanta area, they simply don’t exist.  Not to the under-the-table criteria that I’d prefer, at least.  Going to Craigslist results in nothing but modeling, veiled modeling ads that sound like porn screening, and veiled modeling ads that are for shitty no-name rappers that eventually turn into porn screenings.  That, or stuff that really does require existing skill, references, and experience.  So I googled “odd jobs,” and found a promising site of potential odd job listings, but it literally provided nothing but a list of Craigslist ads for the same shit.  And then, there was nothing else.

Maybe it’s because I’m not in San Francisco, or any other hippie/white/liberal community that would have random sheets of paper with tear-strips advertising one-off jobs on the fly, but at least in the Atlanta area, any tear sheets involve people trying to sell services so that they can make money, or support groups of some sort.  Dog walking is now done through official agencies, or “professional” walkers, and it seems like the ability to get odd jobs is now dependent on the cliched “who you know” kind of mentality.

Much like the mom ‘n pop industries were more or less decimated by the evolution of Wal-Marts and other superstores, the odd job culture seems to have been destroyed by society, and the incorporation of small businesses turning common, small labor into work hoarding and essentially, pimping.

PSA: If you’re hacking like you have the aids stay the fuck home

Seriously.  I work out and take other measures to ensure that I can be as healthy as can be, but I’d rather my efforts not be derailed by some asshole in the cube over who is coughing openly, repeatedly, and far too frequently, who is obviously working while still not truly remotely close to 80%.

I swear to god if I get sick because of this carrier, I’m going to rub my balls all over all of his stupid Godzilla toys in his stupid cube when he’s not around.

Too good for my own good, apparently

For the third time in the last fifteen months, I have been told that I “am overqualified” for a potential position.  If this is a valid excuse, it means that the companies telling me this simply don’t want to pay for my amount of money they think I’m seeking.  But I also suspect that this is also a nice way that they think they’re letting me down, so that I feel all good and nice that I’m too good for them.  Perhaps I might be overqualified for the positions that I’m ultimately being rejected for, but honestly, I’m aware of what I’m applying for when I do it, and I know I’m not going to be making giant money with some of these jobs.  But if I’m not qualified for a position, and they’re telling me I am, I’d rather hear the fucking truth.

Not working as a result of SNOWPOCALYPSE: Day 5

Officially, with today nixed as well, Mother Nature has taken a net of $1,200 out of my pocket this week.  It’s ironic how as children, we love the snow, and want nothing more than snow days to cancel school, and give us days off, but are completely oblivious to the grownups, whom like me, need it to not snow, so that they can work, in order to make a living and keep a roof over their heads.  As one with grownup responsibilities and concerns, I can sufficiently say, fuck snow days.

At least over the weekend, it is expected to surpass the 40F degree mark, meaning all this bloody ice all across Atlanta has a chance to actually melt now, and I’ve been informed that work is back on, as of Monday; it’s good/bad news, in that regard because bad, that this place doesn’t have off for Moloch, Jr. Day, but good, because I’m sick of not fucking working, and I can springboard that into a nice, full 40-hour work week.  The whole situation was kind of what I predicted; the roadways might have been mostly cleaned up, but the side streets to get to the office, and most importantly the mostly-covered, shaded, wooded parking lot of this place that is on several natural layers of hills, stairs, and asphalt had to have been turned into a parking lot of death through much of this week.  It’s slightly different than having to park on the curb when the driveway is too icy to traverse, because at this place of work, there is no metaphoric curb, or remotely close location to park and walk to the building – just hills.  And death.

In a twist of irony, I found another job lead that I think I could possibly get my foot in the door with – because I’ve been there before, as a freelancer.  Meaning, if I were to apply with this company, there’s about a 100% chance that the agency that initially placed me there for a paltry seven cumulative working days is going to c-block the whole thing by demanding a finder’s fee.  But I have to try anyway.