Message clipped before the message

I just got a very long short message from The College of Law.

That is, it was an auto-forward from my College account, and instead of creating a group to email to, they decided to put our names in separately. The email message was so long, my Gmail account clipped it before it got to the end of the 'N's. I had to press "View Entire Message" just to read the rest of the recipients ... let alone the message itself!

Was the message worth the wait?

No pardner, not really. The suspense was really just building up to a letdown, sorry to say.

Lots of output and no input

And no, this has nothing to do with computer programs.

Recently I tried to make employment a priority. That is, specifically, me trying to become an employed persona, and recently meaning ever since I became an unemployed persona, that is, since mid-June of this year. I will admit that immediately after I lost my last job, I was a bit lax about finding employment, enjoying a week or so off, and a few weeks here and there have been a bit too crammed with other things to do concentrated job hunting. What's more, jobs have been terribly scarce so if you're like me and you try to get your jobs online, even if you try searching the web fairly often sometimes nothing turns up.

NOW maybe someone much smarter, someone more EXPERIENCED, someone more SUCCESSFUL, someone more EFFECTIVE, or someone just who's just got a NUTTIER or WACKIER idea that doesn't involve lifelong damage to the human body (mine or others) or great expense may give me some practical tips on what I could do to possibly land a job, because so far it hasn't been that good. In fact it has been disheartening that I put more time into writing an application than some companies do into reviewing it - the rejection comes back so fast it makes me really annoyed and I feel like sending it back along with their formulaic rejection notice about 'carefully considering' all applications with a sneer and saying 'REVIEW AGAIN YOU COWS!'. Others take so long and never get back to you that you feel like going after them with a cattle prod.

And I'm not sure why all the cow and cattle terminology is coming into play here.

1. Yes I have a resume
2. I have been going for a fair number of different types of jobs. Office jobs, which I am most used to doing, except for that time when I was in High School, where I have some experience in selling hot chips.

I tried calling a recruitment agency, but the lady on the other end of the phone told me politely that recruitment agencies only handled people with quite a deal of experience who also matched the job requirements and I wasn't suitable. I looked miserably at my scatty resume which is a patchwork of a couple of months or weeks or days here and there and it didn't look like any recruitment agent would be jumping for joy to see me. The agent said nicely it would be a very good idea to approach the employer directly.

It seems a lot of emphasis is point on experience in terms of time instead of quality. Really! I mean, I might have only had two days of work at this particular firm, but they were a VERY GOOD two days, I thought, as I tucked in my resume. How shallow can a person be? It's like buying a painting because of its dimensions instead of its artistry or a book because of its length!

Then I remembered how I thought I was getting ripped off in a store recently because a very interesting-looking but slim book was a buck more expensive than a book-I-knew-nothing-about, but the latter had 150 more pages, so maybe hold that thought.

Anyhow, I keep sending enthusiastic-sounding letters to people, telling them that I will type, juggle coffee for them, write reports, file, whatever.

I also assure them that I am excellent at communicating in writing and in speech, that I love working teams and I love working alone too, that I am a workaholic who also will fit into their culture of work-life balance, and I'm a person with great leadership qualities who can take orders and I follow strict processes with lots of flexibility and I have great attention to finer details while obviously focussing on the big picture. All the usual stuff you have to say.

What the heck else do they WANT?

Flexible on the Job

Now I'm all for multiskilled lawyers. And being a paralegal comes with more than just legal research and court work and legal admin, sure.

I've been there and done that sort of thing. Made plenty of coffees, ordered food, written ads for wineries, even babysat for grandchildren. Flexibility on the job. All for it.

But now, out of work as I am, I searched MyCareer for a law job and limited my search to Legal - Law Clerks/Paralegals NSW, and here's one job ad that came up:


Junior
JUNIOR Lawnmowing. Must be fit, reliable & willing to work. 0417 249 309

Hmmm.

That's a new one. I didn't take up Lawnmowing Law as my elective, but it's a possibility.

Something they didn't teach at law school ...

Languages.

I'm looking for a new job, in this job market and also while I'm studying part-time a paralegal or admin or research assistant role would be quite nice, something with set hours.

I look up so many start-up jobs and it is all about being able to speak a second language, often specified as Korean or Malaysian or Chinese or Italian, but sometimes just being able to speak another language.

I wish they'd offered some of these as electives at Law School, it seems they would have served me better in my career than my course on Post-Communist Law and Legal Theory, fun though that subject was.

Employment Theory

I'm on the job prowl yet again, and I sent off a job application to a law firm. It actually seemed like a pretty interesting jobs and one that I would really have liked to have, not just one of those filler jobs or "better than nothing" kind of jobs.

After a while I received an email telling me that they were "inundated with applications "and sorry, I didn't get the job.

Who DOES get these jobs? You know, the jobs that people actually think are interesting and wouldn't mind actually doing that are posted on the web?

I think it's a bit like winning the Lotto. These people are phantoms. I can't imagine they really exist. to be certain, I'm not one of 'em.

I have this feeling they don't really exist, it's just one of those ploys that's meant to keep us going and working in silly jobs and using these websites, the lure that there are actually cool jobs out there and they are searchable on the web. You know, they'll stick up a crock job on the web and people will "inundate" them with applications and then they will reject everyone saying "sorry the standard of applications was very high and unfortunately yours was not chosen" and then there is someone high up rolling about the floor laughing, ready to make up another amusing ad and go through the process again.

In fact, their job sounds pretty cool!

Named for the Job

In my job, I have to write down the names of the lawyers who come to appear in court each day. Last name and first initial is lal that's necessary.

Recently, a lawyer came in and gave his name as D. Seet.

I guess it was either law or marketing for this guy, he was pretty much marked from the time of naming.

Court Snoozing

OK, I've got a problem, and a bit of an embarrassing secret, which is of course why i'm publishing it on the Net.

I'm working in court, see, and my job partially requires me to sit for periods in court, some longer than others. On a chair. Sometimes I hand up court documents and do things but for a long while sometimes I'm just observing/listening. Depends on the day.

And sometimes I get tiiiiiiiiiired. Not sure why. Not enough sleep, muscles feeling lethargic, diet, boring lawyers, not sure.

But my job requires me to stay awake.

Sometimes I feel myself nodding, I jerk my head up and then I end up hitting the back of my head against the wall. Not only does this make a soundbut it's not good for my head.

I've tried doing a few things like surreptitious neck stretches, I can't start dancing or doing star jumps in court. I feel better when I have to be on my feet running errands, so I know that moving around definitely helps (and boring lawyers and long sessions definitley don't help!).

Anyone got any tips for staying awake or less sleepiness on a court morning that don't involve karaoke or cartwheels?

In Case of Fire

Recently I got a memo at work saying on Thursday 7 May there would be evacuation drill at 8.45am, probably take until at least 9.15am or 9.30am. It was designed so that it would clash least with people's work and court commitments.

I thought, "Hey cool! I can come into work late!"

I bet others were thinking similarly.

Then I got told that I happened to be a Floor Warden.

"huh?"

I'm new at this job, and while I was cleaning up the mess left by the last guy I found a large yellow hard hat on my desk. I thought it some weird fetishist object, until now. Apparently I've been 'handed the hat' which means I'm our level's Floor Warden.

And that meant turning up extra early on Thursday for Warden Training in Case of Fire.

And wearing my Bright Yellow Hat.

(By the way if you're Stair Warden your Hat is Red. I'm not sure whether I can swap.)

So I ended up waking up bright and early, tumbling out of bed to learn all about being a warden and how to wear my hat with pride and how to check for people in case of fire.

Then we did a Drill.

I checked for people, truly I did, but I couldn't find anyone. I wasn't sure if that would mean I'd get a Fail. I even checked the men's bathrooms in desperation, seeing if I could catch a stray.

Later the wardens went to a debriefing and discussed the situation. Most of us hadn't found anyone to evacuate in the drill. Someone had managed to rouse up a cleaner to boss around, but that was about it.

We figured out that the main reason was we set the drill early in the morning BEFORE WORK and we told everyone before hand there would be a drill. Most people don't like being evacuated especially when there isn't a real fire (because then there isn't any thrill of danger) so they stayed at home or went to a brekkie (I noted that I didn't find any people but I did find notes on desks saying 'gone out for coffee, back by 9.30' on desks.

Some buildings use a sound system that says "Evacuate immediately, this is not a drill" to get people out of the building; I say if you want people out of there fast, tell them it IS a drill. A really boring one. They disappear like magic.

Out again - for the Record!

Well I'm another "casualty" of the Recession - I've been told not to come in to work next week boo hoo.

My work was officially as a casual worker since end September/beginning October last year anyhow, but I had been working so regularly, well I felt pretty permanent (don't get so comfortable Maria, that's the motto!).

And now I've been swept out in the Court cleansing, little frock coat and all. Though it's possible they may ask me back for a week here and there if they need a casual to fill in a gap or if "someone blows off their head suddenly" as someone nicely put it.

Apparently I'm supposed to be praying for combustion of craniums in order to get work around here.

It's a pity because I liked coming in to work here, I actually liked this job. The frock coat could be cumbersome at times but wasn't bad for pretending you were a wizard in. I often wondered whether instead of carrying all those Law Books around I should just consult a Harry Potter book and say a spell instead.

Anyhow, that means next week is a very good week for concentrated navel-gazing and procrastinating. I've noted it in my diary.

P.S. I think this might be the longest stint of paid employment I've done at the one place - it's a record and it's not even six months' worth yet!

I'm Bummed

As of Friday the Thirteenth, I'm officially Bummed.

That's right, my boss picked Friday the Thirteenth to officially announce that I was out the door, out on my bum, de-employed. The light at the end of the tunnel was I had a few minutes to clean out my desk and I "could give myself an early mark if I wanted to".

Oh, and he assured me it was nothing personal, and he thought I made terrific coffee.

Well, it's always nice to get a reference and ego boost like that on your way out.

How to sell yourself, when there's nothing much to sell

I've been idling away at job applications recently. I really don't know what to write, so many attempts go something like this:

Dear Employer-Hopefully-To-Be,

I am writing to apply for the position of Personal Injury Lawyer. My interests are in paper craft and my responsibilities at the moment include making coffee. Consequently I can relate to paper cuts and burns.

Yours,

Maria

This attempt sounded really lame, so I decided to try to big myself up a little for the big law firms. Unfortunately they all seem to want copies of academic transcripts, something I hate being scrutinised. Who needs to know how I did in that elective, or that I took Post-Communist Law for an elective, or that I tried Time-Travel as an Arts subject?

Dear Very Big Impressive Law Firm,

I feel that I am most suited to your firm as my favourite colour is blue and your logo is also in blue. This could not be just a coincidence.

You have requested my academic transcript. Unfortunately a small terrier of my next door neighbour gobbled it up recently. I am sending a photograph of the terrier in lieu of the transcript.

Yours Sincerely,

Maria

I have tried to vary this a bit by changing the breed of dog, and sometimes going for a wallaby or hamster instead.

I got bored recently and threw off this attempt, but haven't sent it yet:

Dear Big Bone-crushing Law Firm,

I feel I would fit into your corporate culture as I am also an over confident paper-pusher and pathological liar.

Here is a copy of my academic transcript, doctored especially to impress you.

Yours Sincerely,

Maria

Two (Short) Weeks on the Job

It's amazing, I've actually managed to stay for two weeks on the job. It's unfortunately a no-blogging workplace - a bit of the I-can-read-occasionally-but-not-touch, but other than that, it's a very amenable environament.

I started two weeks ago, which was a very good time to start, not least of all because it meant my first two weeks were both four day weeks, owing to the Easter weekend. I've never thought I had instinctively good timing, but this disproves me, once and for all.

I've done some very useful things at work, for instance, I've changed my on-screen computer account icon to a yellow duck - much deliberation taken over which was most suitable - and rearranged my desk so the stamps sit nicely next to the pens. I've also located where the "Peter Rabbit" coffee mug sits in the kitchen, for maximum amusement during drink breaks.

I've also timed how long it takes to walk to the library from work and back, so I can coordinate book borrowing and reading times, and sneak in a bit of sandwich chomping outside the library while I'm at it.

On top of that, there's been a bit of work to do, but that's by the by.

Must say, work is a commitment, but I think I'm getting the hang of the essentials.

I'm off me bum (soon)

I ought to put in a note here: I'm no longer a bum. Well, soon to no longer be a bum. I've got about a month of bumming left, and I intend to use them wisely.

Around last week I got myself an offer to do some alien thing called work at a home cum law office. It's quite a nice suburban place; the elderly male there uses his house as an office, and a grand place it is too, thick rugs, ornaments and chandeliers abound. I felt rather inferior just to the alrm clock so I'm hoping I'll cope and not spend time in therapy wondering whether a penholder is peering snobbily down at me the whole time.

However, must say, the staff group, small group it is and friendly it seems which is always a bonus. And it's only in the next suburb, which is another bonus, and third bonus is it's nearby a library, which means if I get a lunch break I could always pop over and probably indulge in several of my favourite childhood picture books. Like 'Thingnapped' or the best of Milly-Molly-Mandy, and be back before anyone noticed.

And the front garden's very green and yummy looking, and nice and big. Not exactly something that makes me want to slide all over it in my overalls, but very pretty. Another plus!

Advice from the disenchanted lawyer to the naive little lawyer

I am a newly admitted little lawyer. Clutching my certificate in hand I go to find a place where hopefully I will get a job, get a paypacket, and as some of my friends have said to me "this is a place where you can make a difference" and The College of Law tells you all about things like Professional Responsibility and Duty and so forth. So my eyes gleam for now not with little dollar signs but with candles of faith in justice and other honourable such and suches.

And then I was redirected to Lawyer Trixie's blog. Oh what a site it was! Naked people for Christmas parties at the Big City firm, not Fighting the Good Fight for the Weak and the Gentle.

I fear I have been seriously misled.

It is this kind of thing that leads lawyers to the bottle - either the disillusionment or the naked girls with the body paint. One or the other, it is a downhill path.

Then it is a spiral downwards and soon they will all either became sad lonely drinkers or investment bankers.

It is a path I have chosen now, I suppose, and I pray for strength.

The Tale Of The Control-Freak Office Manager

I have just recovered from a weekend of irreverent slobbish lazying, DVD-watching and honey-macadamia nut gorging, and reluctantly crawl out to the real virtual world.

I am glad to report that I have indeed finished the 75 days of Law placement - hurrah! I walked back down Liverpool Street with my fellow law clerk on my last afternoon, having an emotional farewell every few steps, and then reminding myself I had a celebratory Japanese dinner awaiting me (early booking) so I couldn't keep doing this, so I dashed off after the 473rd hug and promise to keep in touch by mobile, SMS, email and to pop in at lunch times for no particular reason.

Some things, though I won't miss about work:

1. Waking up early by my alarm
2. Waking up again by my second alarm because I dozed off after my first
3. Running to catch the bus
4. Running to catch the bus in the rain
5. Chain smokers
6. No time to blog
7. This one pop song that I don't know the name of but I know the tune by heart and I know one line by heart. It must come on the radio at least four times a day, and every time it does, my office manager starts singing it out loud. Badly. And shrieks out one line piercingly. Help!
8. My office manager

Yes, my office manager is one of the chain smokers.

Perhaps my Office Manager can best be explained through a little, dare I say, moral story?

The Tale Of The Control-Freak Office Manager

Once upon a time there was an Office Manager who managed a little office where there were some animals working for her. They were not stupid animals, but she treated them as though they were stupid, and she gave them rather confusing orders, which made them look stupid.

At least to her.

One day an iguana came to work for the Office Manager.

"You must not answer the telephone, unless I am too busy to answer it," said the Office Manager.

The iguana ignored the telephone. "Why aren't you answering the telephone, I am busy!" screamed the Office Manager, getting rather red.

The iguana was rather confused, as the Office manager had been playing solitaire on the computer and having a smoke. But next time she answered the phone. "Put it down, I told you not to answer it!" shrieked the Office Manager.

Poor Iguana!

It was like this for the Pretty little Hen upstairs, and the horse, and even the Lion was cowered even though he was supposed to be king. The Office Manager shrieked and confused them all. A rabbit gave her resignation, and a giraffe proudly walked out the door - or would have looked very proud if he hadn't had to bend his neck a lot to get out.

Very soon it was just the Office Manager sitting there with her solitaire and her smokes.

Wondering what she - how she - did manage.

P.S. I rather liked to be an iguana, at least just once in my blogging life!
P.P.S. Yes, Mr Coffee and I did watch 'Miss Potter' as our celebratory end of Law Placement DVD. Recommended.

Guilty, Guilty, Guilty

Ahh heck. It seems only recently I was writing a whole lot of agonised posts about job interviews, and soon I may be writing them all over again, because this li'l job at this 'ere place is coming to an end pretty darn soon. Or maybe it only seens pretty recent because I've been lazy about updating this blog, so it's only been a few posts ago, but quite a while ago?

Anyhow, news from this job: We lost. I mean the court case. A lovely farewell card to this job.

I felt terribly nervous when the jury came in with the verdict, and when they finally said it "Guilty. Guilty. Guilty." - I wasn't sure how to react.

I'm glad I didn't react like one man in the court, who for some reason got so excited he started cheering at the guilty verdict and rushing about with glee, which didn't make anyone feel any better, and didn't impress the judge too much.

The accused's mother broke down and started screaming, and they had to call an ambulance.

The truth is, you spend so much time preparing for this and talking to the families, and in the end you will never know if he was guilty or if he was not. Maybe he deserved to go to gaol, or perhaps he is an innocent man who will be locked away. There is just a lump inside you when you remember, especially, his crying mother, his laughing children.

Congraduations To Me!

For those who've been wondering where I've been - the one of you (um, mainly me) - I've been basking in the glory of my post-graduation phase. That's right, I've joined the ranks of those who can officially say that they've paid a stupendous amount of money on top of their Uni course and compulsory union fees to have an hour or so poncing about in a black tent and a flat topped hat to celebrate their liberty from librariness and their relief that they've now got to go out into the workforce and contribute most of that to HECS fees for the next few years to justify their existence.

Yippeee for me, I say!

I was told by so many how proud I looked, as I left the stage clutching my testamur. Mostly it was because I had managed not to fall flat on my face wearing those new heels I'd bought for the occasion.

Mr Coffee bought me some purple roses - my fave colour - for the event, to prove that I have a significant audience on my blog, reading my biography. One is a very significant number in quite a few cultures.

Mum got her share in the flowers too - a fair smack - literally. Ready - aim - strike - see photo. After all, my graduation was just before Mother's Day so I had to take advantage of the time before the day where I was obliged to be perfectly nice to her. A lesson I learnt in University is that you should never miss an opportunity. Actually I learnt that in kindy when I really wanted a great book on witches and this girl with a long plait left it alone for a minute while she was fiddling with her hair, but that's another story.

There is a lovely photo of my father and I. He is grimacing - or smiling with his mouth shut, because he's gappy. I tried to sing him the gappy song, but after several verses, I feared for my life. It's a pity because there are so many advantages to being gappy - he can do a great whistle now that he couldn't do before. I'd show the photo but I've been "requested" not to. Usually little Maria here would rebel, but since Dad has developed the gap-toothed temper to go with the tooth, I'll humour him.

Now it looks like I have no excuse to sit around as an unemployed bum, or student, as the polite term may be. Perhaps I'll take up another degree.

Bludging Without Blogging

Work or "work" has been an eye-opener for me in the last two weeks.

It's not, at the moment, that taxing - I've mastered the art of putting papers in alphabetical order which is a big part of the job here (handling paperclips is also a major art, as is kicking the photocopier, and I must give myself an A+ in all departments). So I've got plenty of time to myself.

Just ... no ... blogging ...!

What are lunch hours, spare moments at work for, if not for the joy of roaming the web and leaving half-witted spew on other people's rants and quarter-formed-thought-spaces? What are they for but to post drivel that you regret later, when similarly-minded individuals point out your inconsistencies and stupidities and mock you also? It's pain, I tell you.

I have a computer sitting right on my desk; unfortunately, the darn thing does not switch on. It's a mockery. It sits there to haunt me; to remind me that blogs exist but I can't reach them. I feel as though it's a very tempting chocolate mousse, but each time I reach out to grab hold of it, it darts away, just a centimetre away from me, and I am spending my time all day at work, jumping across the table, my arms flailing, as this chocolate mousse races away from my grasp, but I can never grab hold of it and stuff my face, because it's out of my reach, it's just not quite there, it's ... yep, it's been a slow chocolate week too.

I've been trying to comfort myself with doing the sudoku and the crossword, and reading the mindless entertainment and fashion/celebrity parts of the newspaper (hoping it will numb my braincells to the point of insensitivity to pain). It's not working.

Oh, for internet connection at work! How did people do without it? I guess they just ... worked?

What a horrible idea. No wonder people got addicted to cigarettes.

I'm A Poor Employed Bum

I'm overjoyed to report to readers that not only has blogging resumed, but I'm now a productive member of society. I've joined the workforce. All that plodding to crazy interviews finally paid off, and I've found a job.

At the interview, the lady said, "Of course, we don't pay for this sort of thing, though we do give you a bus ticket ... and the dog seems to like you ..." and I was in. Yes sirree. Getting along with pooches is a plus in life.

I'm not getting paid, but I'm excited. I've finally found someone willing to take full advantage of me, 5 days a week. I've been rushing about telling people about my climb up the scial ladder. Recently, Myer even considered that I'd be a safe bet on a credit card, even though I don't own a house, a car, have an income or have any other credit cards. I'm a woman of status.

So, what is my job like? Hmmm, well, my first day. The computer broke down, so the challenge for the week has been how to remain busy and to do intelligent seeming-stuff without a computer. In the 21st century. So, how to glam up a job that is largely filing papers and tying string around manila folders and photocopying?

"Paperwork consultant" "File Processor" "Administrations Manager" ...

The real pain so far in the job has been the lack of the computer - I haven't been able to blog in between work sessions (or vice versa). The withdrawal symptoms haven't been good for me. I've had a hungry, crazy look in my eyes lately and I've been tripping over that dog a few more times than usual (it's a tiny quiet little pooch - I disclaim responsibility) and I'm growling ...

The Interview: The Nice Guys Never Go For The Nice Girls

The one lesson I have learnt from my interviews is this:

If you think you liked them, if you think they liked you, if you arrived on time, if the job sounded great and the offices had a water view ... well, you probably won't get it. Ah, yes, I'm talking about rejection, a rebound relationship, a wounded heart ... but also long experience. Listen up.

Damn! (they don't want me ... they don't want me ... but I was so nice to them .. what did I do wrong? why me why me why me when will this nightmare end oh but why don't people like me why do they always pick up other girls what do they have that I don't have I'll never find myself an employer I'll always be unhappy why me nobody wants me no one no one no one I'll always be aloooone ....)

There must be some way to negate this - which must mean, go there loathing the place. No matter how buttery smooth the sweetheart of the interviewer is, be impervious to it. Convince yourself you were terrible. Be rude at every possible turn. Tell him or her exactly why you'd be useless at the job and don't be very interested. The more you love the job, The more you despise it. They'll jump all over you to hire you.

Then you're home and hosed, with that dream job you've always hated. What more could you ask for?