Job (Un)Fairs

If anyone knows of a good job fair, clue me in. They’re like window shopping at a science fair. You want to take a gander in case it’s worthwhile, but you don’t want to get to close, sucked into a prepared presentation. If you can find a map, by all means plan your attack. Instead of a joyous carnival, all I ever get at these confusing events is a bunch of literature from companies I’ll never work for just because I felt bad as they thrust the leaflets desperately at me. It’s like that guy with the religious pamphlets: what would Jesus do? Not waste so much goddamn paper! Now when I’m bombarded by mission statements, crappy pens and stress balls I fire my own useless duds. Here, business suit woman with short hair, have my generic resume printed on paper so thin it doubles as tracing paper. Enjoy it. Use your imagination.

So I walk around like a dope asking if my services are needed. Nope. When you say write or writer employers assume you mean novelist. If I were a novelist, I wouldn’t be wasting my time at a career fair would I? I’d be writing my masterpiece!

Face it: the best part of these excuses for executives to escape the office is candy. Everybody like candy. It’s too bad they don’t put a symbol on the map. No, I’m not interested in a job with Boeing, but yes, I’ll listen to your spiel for a Snickers. You can keep the fanny pack, thanks. If I were an employer I’d advertise “CANDY! Apply with Allstate."

By the time I’m loosening my tie, nipping from my flask and flying paper airplane resumes to every table in range (how appropriate for Boeing) I realize I’d better get out of here before the traffic gets bad and have a good excuse not to fill out the exit survey. “I’m late for my dog’s enema”, usually shuts ‘em up.