The holiday season job I didn't want and didn't get, part 1

The holiday season job I didn't want and didn't get, part 1 is a post from: Jobless and Less: The Blog for the Employmentally Challenged

Ever feel like the blue robot to the world's red robot? (courtesy of http://coolrain44.wordpress.com/)

What better time to find a job than the holidays? The whole retail industry staffs up to meet the demands of the year's busiest shopping season. More eager shoppers require more overworked sales people to serve them while wishing they could just go home. It's a holiday maxim, as accepted as Black Friday and mall Santas and spending money you don't have. These jobs aren't perfect, or even desired. And they pay significantly less than my unemployment insurance. But a job is a job, if you get one. I didn't.

My unemployment insurance will run out soon. At least I thought it would until Congress passed that extension; now I don't know what the hell is going on. But my plan at the time was to delay the inevitable with a seasonal job at one of New York City's many fine department stores. They're all hiring. And seeing the throngs of shoppers up and down Fifth Ave. the other day, I can see why. Working during the holiday season - when work is available - would push back my day of unemployment reckoning. It would save me from having to find work in the dead of January.

I applied for a few seasonal positions - sales and back office - at a department store you've definitely heard of. They have locations all over the country, including the flagship store in Manhattan where tourists line up to look at display windows and relive scenes from movies. The smaller stores in Queens are the same as those in suburban Maryland or, presumably, anywhere. The pay would suck, but the employee discount would save me a few dollars on Christmas presents. And I'd get to experience the Christmas Season madness from the front lines. It could make for an interesting experience, provided I don't get trampled by some present-hungry horde in search of a half-off sale. Maybe I'd even meet the real Santa Claus. I definitely have some questions for that fat hairy bastard... like why he never brought me those Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots. I mean really, Santa, WTF?

I applied for three different positions - HR coordinator and salesperson at the main Manhattan store and salesperson at a Queens store. The online application took about 40 minutes to complete and included a lengthy multiple-choice personality test. The questions attempted to gauge my suitability for dealing with the public. And here I thought one only needed a pulse. The appropriate answers were obvious and, conveniently enough, the answers I would've chosen anyway. Apparently I have the right stuff for retail and am not a threat to steal things or shoot up the place (file those under "good to know"). A few days later, the store invited me to interview. I was actually a little excited.

Like any good job candidate, I arrived early at the Manhattan location for my 10:30 appointment. It was unseasonably warm that day. My wool suit, which had magically shrunk since my last interview, was a little toasty. The main floor wasn't yet decorated for the season; customers were few and far between. Having only ever visited as a shopper, and then only evenings and weekends, I was surprised to see the store so calm.

The staff elevator whisked me away to the upper reaches of the store, where the human resources email had instructed me to go. Standing among various employees, I became keenly aware of my reason for being there. With 15 years of work experience and an undergraduate and graduate degree, I was about to interview for a seasonal job in a department store that probably paid less than some of my summer jobs. My stomach dropped, and a lump formed in my throat. My career had come to this.

I exited into the bridal registry section and wandered among the plates and salad tongs and wine buckets not finding anything HR-related. A couple of salespeople chatted by register; nobody shopped. After about ten minutes, I felt sufficiently stupid and asked for directions. Any trace of superiority or entitlement I arrived with were now officially gone. I started to wonder if I were even qualified to work in retail.