Alaska News

At 48, job hunting just isn't the same

I'm looking for work. I'm a really great worker. When I was 16, I garnered the unfortunate nickname of "Killer," which referred to the way I "killed" all the alders in my path, yielding a set of pulaskis all day for Young Adults Conservation Corps. I never understood how trimming brush was conserving, but they paid, so any inner arguments were silenced. I was happy to work all day, sweat and dust forming odd maps on my face. I loved it. I guess I've always loved clean, hard labor.

On the other hand, I'd rather chew my own arm off than look for work. It kicks up all those strange little insecurities I have. Perhaps it's a little too much like dating. Are my teeth white enough? Are my brows plucked right? Never mind that. Now it's "Is my nose plucked, and that hair on my chin?"

When I weighed 125 pounds, I thought I was fat. Now that I belong on "The Biggest Loser," I'll settle for being able to wrestle into my girdle, and hiding my cankles under a long skirt. The chip on my tooth does not give me character; it makes me look like some inbred hillbilly mutant who just fell off the cabbage truck.

So, a while back, I get the bright idea of getting some knowledge. I attend a decent career college, and study under some of the best teachers I've ever had. I did quite well (all A's and B's), but it's not brought about the work I'd hoped for. What it has done, is add a $20,000 debt to my delinquent electric, phone, and Internet bills.

I don't know where these companies get their receptionists, but patience is not one of their virtues. They do not care that I have paid my bills for 10 or 20 years, nor will they take anything in trade, not even my upcoming chapbook. Apparently, poets rate somewhere up there with dishwashers and thieves. One thing's for sure, if you were drowning, bill collectors would be the first to hold out an electric cattle prod.

Not to worry. If the business world is not ready to fling open its doors, I'll just go back to the Slope, where I worked for 28 years. I figure out which company I want to work with.

I graduate on June 13, and send them a resume and cover letter the following Monday, and wait for the phone to ring.

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That's odd. It doesn't.

So, on the third day I call them. Amy says Human Resources is "out." Naturally I babble some high-pitched pitch about how I'm a really great worker, and a nice person to boot, and if I got an interview, they'd really like me. Really.

Amy is not amused. She says she'll pass "all that" along.

I want to say, Hey, just because I'm an overweight 48-year-old woman does not mean that I still can't make a bathroom sparkle. Sure, the world doesn't revolve around me anymore, I don't attract men like I used to, but dogs and children still love me -- well, except for my neighbor's dog Penny, but she's a hard case.

You know, all this gets me down for a while, but then my boundless naivete and daydreaming kick in. I take a deep breath, and leap into action. My oil's out, so I put on some bug dope, sharpen the saw, and go out and cut some wood. I clean the arctic entry, and find some chairs I painted that might sell. I find some boxes of books that might sell too.

My dog has rolled in the mud. Would I get a better price for her alive, or as a rug? I wash my beloved mutt. I wash the car. I wash and paint myself. See? I'm just like an old boat, all I need is another coat of paint!

I take a moment to reflect. I guess I have the important things -- a pair of legs and arms, a set of eyes, a somewhat able mind. I'm also fortunate to have had good parents, and great friends, and neighbors who are friends, well, except for Penny, but she's a hard case.

Lillian K. Staats lives in Wasilla. After the Daily News accepted her commentary for publication, she landed a job -- but she's still awaiting that first paycheck.

By LILLIAN K. STAATS

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