It’s like trying to milk a cat

A rejection email from Government Agency Y really bummed me out the other week and I have been thinking about it ever since. Herein, an abbreviated transcript of my email interaction with the HR lady today:

Me: What can I do to make my resume more attractive to Government Agency Y?
HR: Thank you for applying. You were not referred to the selection committee because a requirement exists that states preference be given to qualified veterans.
Me: Oh. I must have missed that in the job requirements.
HR: It wasn’t on there. It’s an agency requirement that only applies when veterans apply for a particular job.
Me: Are there positions within Government Agency X that do not require veteran status, or should I focus my attention elsewhere?
HR: You should keep applying. You might end up applying for a position that no veterans apply for.
Me: So it’s not that the job requires a veteran to do it, it’s that if a qualified veteran applies, that person gets preference no matter what.
HR: You are correct.
Me: Military service is a little like going to med school–after a while, that ship sails.
HR: You are correct.
Me: And there’s no way to know that this is the situation until I apply and get a rejection letter four weeks later.
HR: You are correct.
Me: Your application process is a year long and a pain in the butt.
HR: You are correct.

Oh SIGH. I was really excited about that job, too. And so the search goes on.

At work this afternoon we had a meeting in another building. It’s chilly and rainy today, and by the time a group of us arrived a few blocks over, it was standing room only, my feet were soaked and my over-active nerve mohawk was throbbing from being cold. A very nice gentleman who knows my balance and vertical stability are questionable right now gave me his seat, for which I was exceptionally grateful.

Walking between buildings yesterday, a blustery fall day, I decided it was in my best interest to stop walking when the wind picked up, so as to avoid being blown over and landing on my back in the wet grass, only to flail about, dizzy and helpless, like a turtle on its shell. I was tempting fate by wearing heels in the first place–truly a mistake. And so as the wind gusted about me and flipped my collar and flapped my pant legs like flags, I stood stock still in the middle of the sidewalk with my head down and arms crossed, like a girl who has no friends and no balance. It would have been sad if I wasn’t picturing the alternative.

The response of friends and family to yesterday’s good news was overwhelming in all the best ways. The husband and I were flooded with support when we were waiting and working with surgery and possibilities, but have been absolutely smothered with rejoicing since the biopsy results came back. Tears of relief come twice as fast as any other kind.

Jobs, jobs, wherefore art thou jobs?


Shout at me.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s