Now... About that Job.

It’s New Year’s Day. A downpour has the streets awash in streams and it’s dark as hell out. I need a desk lamp turned on to see my black keyboard and it’s still afternoon with the blinds drawn.

It matches my mood. I’m bitter and sullen with the occasional bright spot and/or teasing lull. I’m in mourning. My 2006 is dead. Long live the queen.

I remember who I was on the first morning of 2006. Boy, it’s been a strange trip this past year. One hell of a high followed by low after low. Rinse and repeat. Battle fatigue’s done set in now. One weary girl sits before you.

And 2006 went out with a bang, too. I’ve been fighting something for a couple weeks now. My energy’s been in the pits for about three weeks. I never handle this “darkest days of winter” thing well, and just about every year I get sick around this time. Not yet, but I wouldn’t say I’ve been anywhere near “right in the head”. Definitely not succumbing, though!

The day before my second interview (first with the owner, though we had met in the hall two weeks before), I broke out in zits, thanks to it being my time of the month. I went into the interview all femme-y, and felt like shit, looked as good as I was able, and sat down for the interview.

Well, it was going great. She had me sign a non-disclosure agreement, we haggled about salary, we discussed hours, what my responsibilities were. She divulged her top-secret business plan, told me she loved what I had to offer, was looking forwards to working with me, would figure out a time to begin training, et al. The interview was two fucking hours long. She even gave me a free sample of her cranial sacral therapy thingie she does. Two hours!

But I told my friends “She’s done everything but tell me I had the job.” Oh, but you have it, they said. You signed papers, they said.

Still, I awoke on Friday to a message from her. She could not offer me the job, she said. In the same breath she went on to say, “You have a skill set I would kill for, but you look too unhealthy.”

That was it. Everything else about me was outstanding. Smart, witty, brilliant, sharp gameplan. But throw a combination of a bad few weeks with my weight, and suddenly I supposedly look like the walking dead. Surely you jest. All right, fine, discriminate against me. At least make mind up long before you take two weeks to give me a second interview after having seen me in person once already. Let alone keeping me in the interview for two hours on a work day. See, that’s just teasing and there’s no call for it. Ditch the ambivalence. It’s only sexy on starlets, and you’re doing it wrong anyhow. Yeah, that’s what I’m pissed about.

I sent her off an email. I said, "You don't have to kill for my skill set. You just have to hire me." I doubt I'd work there now anyhow. Talk about a lack of vision.

Some have suggested I could consider taking action against it. Why? She’s right, right now I don’t look healthy. It is what it is. Is it as harsh as she thinks? Not by a long shot. It's a blip. But, in her mind, she told the truth. She told me that, yeah, I really am all that. A skill set to die for, indeed. But maybe I should make sure I’m getting my vitamins.

So I don’t know. I don’t know what to think about all this, to be honest. Is it a slap in the face? Yeah. Then again, if the only thing someone can say is a shortcoming about me is that I need to get a better night’s sleep or something, well, it could be worse, right? What’s that old bumper sticker? “I may be fat, but you’re ugly, and I can diet.” Something like that, then.

I was already headed in the "Goin' Healthy" direction a couple weeks ago, though, before Little Miss Mary Fucking Sunshine decided to rain on my parade. Now I just have clearer motivation. How could I not, eh?

So, she up and admitted it was discrimination. I may hate what she did, and think she coulda fucking handled it a whole lot better, but I’m glad she was honest. If I didn’t get the job and that was the reason, but I didn’t know it, I’d be really self-judgmental about it. I’d wonder if it was one of the too spontaneous things I say a dozen times a day or some other little personal quirk that sometimes makes me a liability.

This way, the “in your face” way, I have that delightful mix of humiliation, bitterness, and anger all tempered nicely with a dose of understanding. After all, I’m a big girl. Discrimination happens. I’ve probably done it, too. We all do, in one way or another. Look how they’re dressed; I know all I need to know already. We’re all shallow. We just find ways to justify it. And every now and then, our worst fears are realized when other people do apparently see us in the worst possible lighting at the worst possible time. Shit happens, and when it does, that’s exactly how it feels. Shit. But we get over it.

At least I know. Most of the time, you get discriminated against and you never really understand what the problem was. You think you know how good you are, but how objective are you being in your assessment? Self-doubt kicks in, and then the kicking of one’s own ass. Not good times.

That’s the evil of veiled discrimination. It breaks us down when the shortcoming never really was ours. Our only problem was who we are, apparently. One way or the other, our very identity was the crux of the issue. Like that's something we can solve.

In-your-face discrimination is an altogether different beast. It’s a blameful act. We have evidence. We have their words and actions with which to point fingers. For once we get to be a victim. They're the dick. They might as well have written "BAD DUDE #1" on their forehead with a Sharpie. Thanks for the b-plot, buddy. And the thing about being a victim is, it kinda opens the door to becoming a victor. Get over it, use it to fuel the fire, and see where it gets you, right?

With that: Happy New Year. May better times find us all. Reminds me of that double-edged Chinese proverb/curse: “May you life in interesting times.” Well, whatever my days are, interesting is a fitting adjective.

(I’ve already had another "interesting" job potential find its way into my mailbox yesterday, so I’m going to keep doing my balls-all-out Craigslist job-finding strategy and see what happens. I highly doubt Little Miss Mary Sunshine’s a bellwether for the job market as far as I’m concerned. And my skill set’s apparently worth killing for, I hear. So. Onward, etc.)