Ever since I was 12 years old I have had a job of some sort. Actually, I got my first job when I was four, but as it turned out, I wasn't destined to be a model or a child actress (although, I'm proud to admit that my episode of 21 Jumpstreet is now on Netflix). Until last August, I had gone 14 years without ever having been unemployed — sure, the first two years I only worked summers, and the next three I only worked evenings and weekends, but I always had gainful employment, and like so many before me, I believed that a post-secondary educations would only help my odds of finding work. How wrong I was.
I gave up my job editing the student newspaper partly because I made the foolish mistake of dating a coworker based solely on the fact that he was into me and I was lonely. It turned out, what was an enjoyable friendship translated into a disastrous relationship, and after we broke up, being around this guy made me even more enraged than when we were dating. You'd think I wouldn't be compelled to give up a sweet (paying) job that fit my class schedule so perfectly, but every time some new contributor brought up the fact that the aforementioned editor and I dated (conveniently, none of them new that our "relationship" last less than three weeks, and who was telling them anyway?), it made me want to get that much further from the whole incestuous office. The fact that he shared an apartment with two other editors in the building complex where I and another editor lived didn't help much either.
I was sad to leave that job and i missed the camaraderie of production night every week, but between my student loans and a couple of shifts at the honey farm where I worked for the past three summers, I managed to stay afloat. Having met someone amazing on a trip in the spring, and having no great reasons to remain in Vancouver, I moved to Montreal at the end of August where I planned to finish up the last two classes of my undergraduate career over the internet while I got a feel for the city and maybe scouted out a few potential jobs.
I don't regret my decision to move to Montreal before my degree was finished, it was good to see the city when it was still warm and walkable. And I even got hired as an assistant/paralegal at a small law firm downtown — unfortunately, I might have accepted the position a little too hastily, overlooking the fact that the two lawyers who hired me neglected to even look over my resume before meeting with me, and then attempted to throw me into a job I had very little qualification for, without training me properly. The girl I was meant to replace didn't even bother to show up on my first day (she was supposed to train me that week) because she had an interview. The fact that she was leaving without even having found a new job (and that she didn't care enough to wait out one more week at this one) made me realize that this was probably going to be an extremely thankless job. I quit after one day and they never even paid me.
If I had stuck it out at that law office (and i might have been able to, had that chick showed up to train me) I wouldn't have been able to fly home to write my last two final exams, spend Christmas with my family and friends, and attend my brother's wedding in early January. This was all well and good since I don't know when I'll be back in Vancouver again, but as soon as my exams were done, I started wondering how I was going to make a living. Without a lot of connections in Montreal, I was going to have to work harder than ever before to find a job — and for the first time in my life, I wanted to find something permanent, possibly even related to my field.
Unfortunately, it turns out none of my experience or my degree actually qualify me to do more than sell stuff. And my level of bilingualism is a hard sell as I doubt anyone believes that a girl from B.C. can speak decent French. I know that if I were actually immersed in a French-speaking environment my skills would improve ten fold, but so many of the entry-level jobs I've been looking at involve phone conversations and I'm terrified of trying to understand quick-talking French Canadians without the aid of their hand gestures!
So now I am on week number three of sitting around surfing job sites with a lap full of cat, and noting how palpable my level of desperation is becoming. At first I was only applying for interesting communications-related positions. Now I'm crossing my fingers that one of the 10 Starbucks I applied at might give me a call back. I'm trying not to get too discouraged yet, after all, my cousin still owes me another $2000 towards the car I sold her back in December and my cost of living is so low I can actually make that last for a few more months. Of course, that doesn't count my massive student loan debt, or the credit card bill I racked up over funemployent Christmas. But at least I won't be homeless just yet!
The worst part of all this is I know if I moved to an English province I would improve my chances of finding employment significantly — after all, I'm pretty sure I can answer the phone in my first language — but I don't want to leave Montreal just yet. I like that I get to speak the language I spent so many years learning, and there is so much more culture here: better bars, better shows, better shopping, and it's so much closer to some of the greatest cities in the world (including ones I have yet to visit). Still, I don't know how much more of this I can take. I guess I'll just have to start working on my novel, who knows when I'll be able to get away with spending this much time sitting at my computer wearing pajamas ever again?
(From February 7, 2011)
No comments:
Post a Comment