Not Notable But Maybe You’d Like To Hire Me Anyway

It’s been a real shitty couple of weeks, I’m not going to lie. I went off to my Dutch language fully immersive residency program with high hopes and a pep in my step, but right away it was trouble. The house I was assigned to was lovely, but the women in it were like what I learned about European boarding schools from reading VC Andrews novels when I was 11 years old. I tell you the drama, backstabbing, gossiping and drinking was not like anything I’ve ever experienced (and I spent my 20’s and 30’s living in NYC working in fashion mags). It was a very international affair. The first night, a Russian burst into my bedroom at 11pm and scared me so badly I screamed. She was having an argument with someone in a different house and had apparently made arrangements to move to ours but there was a mix up with the rooms and now she was standing in mine, yelling at me in a Russian accent, that I was in her bed. I suggested perhaps she should take the empty room and we could sort it out in the morning but she was in my room now standing over my bed and showing no signs of leaving and I was in my nightgown wearing my night guard which put me at a considerable disadvantage. But then she abruptly turned and left and I leapt out of bed and locked the door, then there was a great deal of yelling in the hallway and I was frightened. Because I’d paid more I got to keep the good room, but she was not pleased about it and one morning she shoved me out of the way while I was getting my yogurt out of the fridge and I took my yogurt and got the mermaid outta there because I knew better than to mess with her.

Another woman, the ring leader as I referred to her on my nightly sanity check calls with James, was my age and I learned she’d been a high powered executive in marketing at a major company, but something had gone wrong and now she was starting a new chapter in her life. She excelled at getting everyone to tell her their secrets, which she would then blab to everyone as soon as that person left the room, and she managed to instigate multiple fights without ever implicating herself. It was impressive, really. She stocked the tiny fridge the five of us were meant to be sharing with rosé even though it’s October and we were in Drenthe and every night the empty bottles were stacked by the trashcan and the fridge was restocked with rosé the next day, but she still managed to get all her studying done and kick everyone’s ass at Kahoot. She arrived with Covid symptoms and repeatedly yelled “Covid is over, I don’t care about Covid, don’t test! Don’t test, we can’t live our lives this way,” and proceeded to come to class every day sick. She studied virology at Oxford, she shouted in her posh British accent, the virus has to spread! You may think only Americans or Dutch people are failing at the pandemic, but I’m here to tell you it’s a global failure and it’s a grim statement about humanity. My other classmates also came to class with symptoms, and one guy from Portugal even brought his own roll of toilet paper to blow his nose, which prompted the teacher to send him to test and he CAME BACK with his positive test. The next day a woman from Japan arrived in class with such visible symptoms she was also sent to test but returned claiming it was negative yet proffered no proof and no one demanded to see it. My classmates kept closing the windows that were supposed to remain open for ventilation. When I woke up with a sore throat one morning (and tested negative) I was so fed up with it all I called James to come collect me and I left the program early but the next morning I tested positive for covid and spent the next six days in bed fighting a fever, pretty damn sick and so grateful for my contraband stash of American over the counter cold and flu meds. I’m telling you there’s a fortune to be made selling NyQuil on the Amsterdam black market. And I may need to as it seems, yet again, I have failed to secure employment.

I’ve been applying to various jobs over the last few months. When we first got here I busied myself getting us settled in, making sure the kid was acclimating to the big move, and planning lots of travel for us. I spent the first two years doing volunteer work for the parent organization for the kid’s school. Then the pandemic hit and I spent it in and out of lockdowns, focusing on keeping myself and my family alive and helping the kid with their isolation blues and home learning. So when I was really ready to start applying for jobs this year I was excited. But then the rejections started. The first one was a Big Job at a prestigious, high profile organization. I think it would have been a good match for me, but there were many red flags during the interview process and suffice it to say, I dodged a bullet. I’ve had a long career working with challenging personalities and this one would have taken the cake. I was a little bummed, on paper it was a pretty ideal position, but the reality of it would have been more stress and narcissism than I’m capable of dealing with any more. When you spend a lot of time dealing with those kinds of personalities I think you reach a point where your wick is burned to the bottom of the glass and there’s nothing left. I’ve smoothed too many big ego feathers for one lifetime. And regardless, they didn’t offer me the job.

So I started applying for smaller jobs. I don’t need to be the boss or the manager, I want to be a member of a small, dedicated team who treat each other with respect and value each other’s work and if possible, I’d like to still have time and creative energy to write. The problem is when you have a CV like mine, people don’t really know what to do with you. I’m not qualified for some of the big jobs, even if I wanted one, as I have a pretty significant gap in my resumé, and I missed out on some important skills when magazines got their final nail in their coffin and everything switched to digital. But when I’ve applied for smaller jobs, I’ve been told I’m overqualified — one employer told me she was worried I’d take the job and find it not challenging enough and quit so she’d have to go through the process of re-hiring, and apparently I didn’t make an effective enough case to assuage her fears as I did not get the job.

I applied for a job at an expat website and had a great interview and turned in some writing samples and the guy interviewing me basically offered me the job on the spot, but he never got back to me with the details and then he emailed me that he’d gone to Canada and I haven’t heard another word out of him. I think that’s what the kids call ghosting, but I’m not sure.

Feeling bruised, I decided to go for the low-hanging fruit. I saw an ad for a shop worker in a fancy shop on a fancy shopping street and applied there thinking it would be a lovely way to spend some hours, make some money and have time to write but the recruiter told me I wasn’t qualified. What are the qualifications, I asked, the posting specifically said it was seeking English speaking candidates with a background in fashion (and I worked at Elle and Teen Vogue). It’s very demanding, she said, you have to greet customers all day. I assure you, that is not demanding, I said. It is, she insisted, you must have a great deal of experience and you do not qualify.

Having hit bottom, I applied at a coffeeshop (yes, the kind they have in Amsterdam) because I still have dreams of owning a coffeeshop catering to middle aged ladies where I will invite all my writer friends to do readings, but they went with someone more qualified. I guess I don’t have what it takes to sell legal weed to tourists.

I applied for a copy writing position at a brand I really like and identify with. I was really excited about this one. This is it, I thought, this is the ideal match for my skills and interests. But alas, this time I was the perfect combination of both over and under-qualified. This one stung, I really wanted it.

I also run into agism.

Maybe I should get a wig, I told my friend Meredith. Why, she asked. To look younger, I don’t want to dye my hair, I love it, I said. I don’t think that’s the solution, she said.

I decided I needed to start presenting myself more seriously so I applied to be verified on Twitter. When I worked at the Atlantic verification wasn’t a thing and after I left I thought meh, why bother, I’ll probably evade trolls better without the blue check, but since I am applying for jobs it was perhaps best to go ahead and fill out the application. I sent if off thinking well, at least this will be a small victory, I worked as the managing editor at Elle, Redbook, Teen Vogue and the Atlantic. Four hours after submitting the application Twitter responded that I was denied verification as I do not meet the criteria for notability.

If all that wasn’t enough to have me feeling sufficiently defeated, yesterday delivered what was to be the icing on the garbage cake. My former boss, the one who ran me out of the career that I loved and was very good at, and is the reason I am looking for a job, is back on the scene. He was reintroduced to society by his buddies over at Semafor. I have said all there is to say about that, but sometimes I still find myself saying more.

My friend Gaby told me I need to network more, and she’s probably right. I guess if no one knows you’re looking for a job there’s not much chance someone will offer you one. I bet if you networked, a job would turn up. Like, just letting people know you’re looking — because if I just knew you from Twitter, I’d be like this lady’s life is perfect! She rides around in a boat with her dog all day & goes to witch houses! I’d never bother her with this dumb stupid job, Gaby said. You’re right, I said.

So friends, I’m looking for a job.

My ideal job is to sit on a fancy sofa drinking tea and making wise cracks like Delta Burke in Designing Women (but without the racism). I think I’d be very good at that. My friend Julie claims I’m very charismatic and would make a good cult leader, but I don’t think anything good would come of that. I like writing, talking on the phone, giving presentations, asking people questions about themselves, organizing things, making schedules, negotiating contracts, hosting events, giving tours — especially if there are witches or hauntings involved — and introducing people who I think would like each other. That’s a skill I learned from Anna Wintour herself. I have lovely manners, I’d make an excellent Ambassador.

One time when I lived in Falls Church, my neighbor, who was married to Kenneth Starr’s daughter, casually told me a story about how David Bradley, a close family friend, invited him to lunch and listened to him talk about his interests and wrote out a career path for him on a napkin that led to him getting a job at a place that most people would never have a shot at even getting an interview. He then proceeded to tell me about how he can’t abide anyone being late or not dressing up for work as being late and not dressing up for work were clear signs of disrespect and he couldn’t work with anyone who showed that kind of disrespect. He said all this from the comfort of his two million dollar home where all his childcare and household needs were taken care of by someone other than him, and he didn’t have to worry about the commute as he set his own hours. For some reason I have not had the same experience in my job search. Meritocracy, am I right?

So, if you hear of anything you think I’d be suited for perhaps you’d be kind enough to let me know? I was the managing editor of several very fine and prestigious publications. I’m a Capricorn, we know how to get the job done, and we’re a lot of fun once we trust you enough to show you our weird side. I don’t have any references as I set all my bridges on fire and salted the ground underneath and according to Twitter I’m not notable but I am probably someone you’d enjoy working with. My dog certainly seems to like me, and he has very discerning taste.

xoxo