by Angela Terry
AS I WALK down State Street, the Barnes & Noble comes into view. With my mind still spinning from the call with my mother, perhaps I can quiet it by getting lost in a good book.
Unfortunately, once I’m standing in the fiction section, I’m not so sure. The typical beach reads that I enjoy all seem to center around a love interest, and I don’t have the mental or emotional energy for romance in my current state. Since I’m here and need to feel that I’ve succeeded in doing something, I head over to the books on resumes and job interviews. Considering that my last interview was for an entry-level position twelve years ago, it couldn’t hurt to brush up on my interview skills. I sigh as I flip through some books on how to get a job in PR, marketing, and advertising, and finally decide on one book specifically on interviews for marketing professionals. As I walk out of the aisle, I find myself next to the Self-Help section.
I harbor both a fear and a morbid curiosity about self-help books, and I take a surreptitious glance at the two women looking at titles in that aisle. I expect them to be sad specimens who are probably going to go home and knit sweaters out of collected cat hair; instead, they look totally normal with their cute ankle boots, manicured nails, and artful lowlighted/highlighted hair … and somewhat like me. While I’ve read the odd book on time management or the latest diet craze, that’s been the extent of my self-help book experience. Right now I could use a book titled What to Do When Your Fiancé Cheats on You with Your Maid of Honor, You Get Fired, and Your Mother Thinks You’re to Blame for Ruining Her Big Day and Her Only Hope of Grandchildren. Since I highly doubt there’s a book on that, I turn back to the business section. Now that I have the “luxury” of unlimited free time, it couldn’t hurt to brush up on the latest trends in my industry, and I select a book on branding and social media.
Though the women in the self-help aisle might look like me, I can’t help but feel that those books are a last-ditch effort for hope, full of psychobabble, and one step away from consulting a psychic. And, anyway, I can’t afford to explore my inner child when there’s the practical matter of my outer adult needing a new job to pay off her mortgage.
THE FRESH AIR and trip to Barnes & Noble give me the boost and cleared head needed to finish up my resume. Since I worked twelve years for the same company and kept my LinkedIn profile up to date, it’s not that difficult to remember everything I’ve done as I fill in my experience under the PR Worldwide section. The difficult part will be explaining during interviews why I was fired and am seeking the same exact position at a similar type of firm.
I was a senior account manager with Fortune 500 clients, as well as some start-ups, and had assumed that I would continue my upward trajectory at the firm. None of it makes sense. Sure, some clients were tightening the belt and there had been less spending on traditional outlets in favor of new media campaigns. But, as for the excuse PR Worldwide gave me—“We need to look at our teams and decide where we can consolidate”—as far as I know, I was the only one fired on Friday. Also, their generous severance package doesn’t reflect a firm that is financially struggling. If anything, it feels more like “keep quiet money.” I shake my head and try to push it out of my mind. Dwelling on the “why?” isn’t going to get my resume done.
Resume drafted, I send it off to Jordan for proofreading and then begin making a list of samples that I might want for my portfolio. Even though I’ve been pretty religious about saving a file for each of my projects, I don’t have copies for some of the more recent campaigns. Though Darren offered to get me anything I might have missed, I worry that this might create a conflict for him and instead email Kate.
Hi Kate -
Hope you’re feeling better! If you’re back in the office, then I’m sure you’ve heard the news. I’m working on my portfolio and forgot to get some samples before I left. Can you please give me a call tonight?
XO
Allison
With the call to my mother made and my resume drafted today, I feel I deserve a break. I turn on the TV and figure maybe I’ll catch up on some movies to reward myself. But just like the fiction section at the bookstore, every movie that would normally interest me seems to be some sort of rom-com or has some love element that only depresses me further. I instead opt for channel surfing between the news, Bravo, and HGTV.
By eight o’clock, I can’t keep my eyes open and head to bed. Lying in bed alone, I try not to let the sadness overwhelm me and, thankfully, within minutes, I fall into a dreamless sleep. Even my subconscious doesn’t want to deal with my problems.
As I walk into The Cauldron, some retirees casually look up from reading their newspapers. In my heightened emotional state, their curious gaze feels more like a giant spotlight has been turned on me. While there are a few others tap-tapping on their laptops, they mostly look like students studying. There’s a guy around my age by the window with his computer and some papers around him. Perhaps he’s a consultant or freelancer. Even so, I feel like the fact that I’m here at eleven on a Tuesday morning makes it clear to everyone that I’m unemployed. They know I don’t have anywhere to be and see through my ruse. I avoided Starbucks for this reason because I didn’t want to get into a conversation of why I was “off work” today. I’m starting to realize how much my identity is, or was, tied up in my job.
I’m being ridiculous. Nobody cares or is making judgments about why I’m here. But still, I have a hard time shaking off these defeating thoughts as I make my way to the counter.
“Hi, again. Thanks for coming back,” says the guy behind the register. The same guy from Saturday. Eric, I think it was?
“Hi! Of course.”
I’m about to comment that it looks like a great place to work, but I stop myself in time. I don’t want to get into a small talk discussion of what I do, and I hurriedly order an almond milk latte.
He rings me up and then starts writing on the cup while saying my name, “Allison. Now is that two l’s or one?”
“Two. And you remembered my name. I’m impressed,” I say, smiling at him. Granted, I remembered his, but that’s easy—one cash register guy, hundreds of customers.
“I always remember our regulars,” Eric says.
“Didn’t this place just open?”
“Yep. So it hasn’t been too hard remembering names.” He winks.
I laugh and then turn to find a seat.
Even though all the tables are taken, there are some empty armchairs in the back, where I sit down and turn on my laptop. While waiting for my drink to be called, I open up my resume.
As I’m staring at my screen, I hear, “Allison? Your latte,” only it’s not at the counter, it’s next to me.
“Oh!” I almost drop my laptop while trying to turn the screen away from him. Recovering, I say, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome and sorry to scare you.” Eric smiles and sets down an oversized latte mug on the side table next to me. When he straightens up, he seems to hesitate for a second; but then he simply smiles again and heads back to the counter.
Perhaps he had planned to say something but my abrupt movements scared him off. Great. I’ve been unemployed less than a week and I’m already freaking people out. I try to bury this horrible thought by throwing myself into the task of job hunting.
After checking out some of the larger job search sites, the only openings advertised seem to be entry-level or assistant positions, which is frustrating since the last time I looked for work was when I really wanted one of those entry-level roles. I also check out the websites for the top PR agencies in Chicago, but their “jobs” pages don’t have anything listed. From being in the industry so long, I have contacts at all of the big agencies, and perhaps that’s the route I should be taking. But since the ones I know best are also wedding guests and know Stacey, contacting them would likely entail a full and embarrassing disclosure of my situation—fired by PR Worldwide and Neil (unless they’ve already heard this last part through Stacey). I take a deep, shuddering breath at the thought of naviga
ting that minefield and double down in my online hunt.
While I’m immersed in my search, Jordan emails me her edits on my resume. I email her back my thanks and my concern about the lack of job opportunities posted for my level. She emails me back, “Did you contact any recruiters?”
Recruiters, of course! They would have the connections on jobs, and I wouldn’t have to make that uncomfortable contact with my agency acquaintances—a recruiter could handle that for me!
I first target the larger national staffing agencies. Most of them have positions posted on their websites, but they all sound vague and generic—“Chicago firm seeks PR Pro” or “Top PR agency seeks Account Manager.” (I push away a paranoid thought that this one is PR Worldwide looking to replace me—that their reason for firing me had less to do with their downsizing and more to do with my inferiority.) I try not to panic and simply email my resume with a cover letter of what type of position I’m looking for. There are some smaller agencies too, but I want to leave something on my to-do list for tomorrow. Then remembering that I have nothing else to do today, I email all the smaller agencies as well.
Still not too keen to return to an empty home, I order another latte and decide to crack open my new book on public relations in a social media world.
“Your latte.”
Again, I jump and look up to see Eric setting my drink on the table next to me since my hands are full.
“Thank you.” I’m still not used to the table service here, but appreciate the personal touch.
“That’s a good book,” he says nodding toward the title in my hands.
“Public Relations in a Social Media World?” I hold it up and am not sure if he’s joking.
“Yes. I read it for figuring out ways to promote this place.”
“Oh?”
He nods. “Yeah. Lots of good tips in there. With social media, you don’t need to hire PR, marketing, or advertising people like you used to.”
“I guess.” I look down at my book and flip through the pages slowly, wondering if it’s worth finishing considering that this stranger just told me my job was obsolete. “But what about long-term strategic branding, connections …” I trail off when I see someone walk through the door and up to the counter.
Following my gaze, he says, “Oh, I better go. Nice chatting with you. Enjoy your book.”
“Same here. Thanks.”
I watch him return to behind the counter and greet the new customer while I try to shake off his comment. True, social media is changing the game for the average person, such as a thirty-something guy who works in a coffeehouse, but there’s a lot more to my industry than some “tweets.” If anything, social media enhances what I already do, and I spend the next couple hours with my head buried in this book.
BACK AT HOME, before I can sink into an all-evening depression, an email appears in my inbox from one of the smaller recruiting agencies asking if I can come in tomorrow morning. Not bad for Day One of the job hunt! I think, and I instantly reply that I’ll be there.
This means I also need those samples for my portfolio.
Kate never called me last night. No email either. I consider texting her, but decide not to. Perhaps she worked late, or was out last night, and will call me later today when she’s free.
I wait until seven o’clock, when I’m sure Kate must be home from work. I dial her number and it rings until her voicemail picks up—“This is Kate. Leave a message.”
Gah! Why isn’t she answering? Or worse, why is she ignoring me?
“Hi, Kate. It’s Allison. I’ve started my job search and have an interview with a recruiter tomorrow. I’d love to include those press releases for the Newberry and the Carmen’s campaign in my portfolio. Call me.”
Unable to keep my eyes open, I go to bed at eight.
SITTING IN THE small, windowless office at the Pivot Agency with its dingy industrial carpet and scuffed gray walls, I’m not sure what to think. (Though looking at the brown tips of the hanging plant in the corner, I am wondering whose idea it was to place a plant in a room with no sunlight.) The woman recruiter behind the desk is wearing her blouse half-tucked in, half-out, and it’s not clear which one was the original intent. Her brown hair is a bit of a mess, but her kind eyes beam eagerly at me through her oversized glasses, dispelling my anxieties that the career opportunities she presents will be just as haphazard.
“Such an impressive resume,” she says. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice.”
“Of course! Thank you for responding to my email so quickly.”
Be cool, be cool, don’t be desperate, I warn myself, though feeling poised to leap at the first opportunity she mentions.
“So, listen, you’re in luck because we have a bunch of positions in marketing and public relations right now. For example, RG Communications is looking for an assistant in their media department, as is the Pavilion Group.”
O-kay. Or maybe I’m not so ready to leap, after all.
“That’s great,” I reply, cautiously, since I’m not sure why she’s telling me about assistant jobs. “So I’m looking for something at the managerial level.”
She clicks through her computer files. “Okay. Well, here we go. Talcott is looking for an Account Executive with at least one-year experience. You have over ten!”
“Yes, well, that sounds like it might be pretty entry-level. …” My pride aches at the very real possibility of having to take a lower-paying position. “Is there anything that mentions management? Or someone with several years of experience?” I ask carefully. I don’t want to appear ungrateful; after all, she is the first recruiter to contact me.
She flips through some printouts on her desk. “Other than the account executive position, there’s nothing else managerial, except for an office manager. …” She looks up at me. Her eyes shine hopefully, magnified through her glasses. “Would that be something you’re interested in?”
“Unfortunately, no.” I shake my head. I hate to disappoint her. “But I’m not strictly interested in agencies. What about in-house positions?”
“Hmmm … We don’t tend to get a lot of those in, but I could make some calls,” she says, still enthusiastic, despite my growing gloom.
“Thanks, that would be great. And though I’d prefer to work in the city, if there’s something interesting in the suburbs, I’m open.” The idea of commuting doesn’t thrill me, but beggars can’t be choosers. Though I can’t completely start over at the bottom of the ladder; I have bills to pay and self-esteem to raise.
“Okay. Good. Great.” She nods vigorously. “Let me do some more research, make some calls today, and I’ll be in touch with you soon.”
I thank her, but I walk out of our meeting with my hopes low. Despite her enthusiasm and promises, I suspect she simply had a quota to fill and was desperate to place me anywhere to fill it. Luckily, when I leave I have a couple missed calls and emails from the other agencies. So this meeting may have been a miss, but I’m not completely defeated. Yet.
Thursday and Friday, I meet with the other agencies, and I succinctly summarize those meetings over dinner with Jordan on Friday night.
“‘We don’t have much at your level at the moment.’” I parrot back their dismal words. “And no one seems to have any in-house jobs. But, they all said that I have an impressive resume and promised that they would make some calls.” I cross my fingers. “So hopefully next week something will happen.”
“What about my law firm? Want me to ask if they’re looking for anyone in the marketing department?”
Though it’s a kind offer, considering that Jordan constantly complains about everyone she works with, wariness trumps my desperation.
“Thanks, but for now I’d rather try for an agency position since I like the variety of clients and projects. But, depending on what happens with these recruiters, I might ask you to look into that.”
“Sure thing.” She nods and changes the subject. “So what was Kate’s response to this whole deb
acle?”
“Good question. I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her yet, and her lack of response is completely stressing me out.” This is an understatement. I’ve been sweating over Kate’s silence all week.
“She hasn’t called you yet?” Jordan says in disbelief.
I shake my head. “Nope. And I’ve both called and emailed her. I’m getting a little worried. She was sick on Saturday, and so maybe it’s something serious? Or she’s just swamped catching up?”
Given the circumstances, these excuses seem feeble even to my ears. Yet one never knows—something bad could have happened. Maybe she got fired, too. Although her Facebook status shows that she’s clearly been at work (Boo, it’s Monday again. #nomotivationmonday) and out and about this week (Almost got run over by a biker on the lakefront. #ihatebikers). It also seems that Kate’s Facebook page could use some better personal branding, and maybe I should recommend my new book to her.
Jordan props her elbows on the table. “If something serious happened to me, I would call you because we’re friends.” She raises an eyebrow at me.
“Same here,” I say dejectedly, as I play with the stem of my wine glass to avoid Jordan’s eyes.
Kate’s silence is totally weird, and though I’m trying to resist thinking about its implications, it’s raising my paranoia levels. Did she know I was going to be fired? Did she know about Neil and Stacey? And if she did know anything about any of it, then why didn’t she warn me? At this point, the question is whether I want to hear the real reasons for Kate’s lack of communication, and I’m not sure that I am.
“Yeah. I wouldn’t count on getting those portfolio samples from her.” Jordan takes a long sip from her drink while giving me a pointed look.
“But I need to talk to her about the wedding too and let her know it’s off. She’s my bridesmaid—”
