On the whole, I have had an extremely lame couple of weeks. My routine has consisted of work, home, sleep, work, home, sleep, etc. I made the determination a long time ago that I was not going to be one of those people that word-vomits a stream of consciousness onto their facebook/blog/twitter, documenting every little thing I eat or mundane thought I have. Therefore, I have not blogged.
But something horrifying happened last week. The catalyst to shake up my monotonous routine was making a truly sobering, tragic discovery: not one, but two WHITE hairs growing on my poor, unsuspecting head. At the same time. Like two little white hair friends set out to be a bad influence on the brown hairs and turn them against me too. Not to mention this was coming on the heels of having already discovered one a few weeks ago and yanking that sucker out before it stood a chance. For those of you counting at home, that is a grand total of three white hairs growing on my otherwise brunette, 22-year-old scalp.
You may be thinking this is an overreaction and a few white hairs is nothing to justify these dramatics. I might agree with you if my dad hadn't gone prematurely white in his thirties, thus setting me up for a little smack in the face by genetics. I had always thought I would be the kind of person to age gracefully, but not starting this young. This young I plan on being dragged kicking and screaming if my body continues to not act its age. The saddest part of it all was that I pulled out several perfectly nice brown hairs trying to get at those white bastards. If they insist on trying to come back around, I can promise I will be even less forgiving.
Feeling prematurely old is bad enough, but then something happened to make me feel dumb. And feeling dumb is bad enough when you are fully loaded with brown hairs. Feeling dumb with white hairs is just demoralizing. I've been casually applying to jobs in Athens because filling up my tank three times a week due to commuting and additional travel is just not ideal. I saw there were openings for a few jobs at JcPenney, which is definitely not my department store of choice but I figured I could fake it. I go in with my resume in hand before realizing that of course you don't actually meet with a person so they can evaluate your people skills. That would make too much sense. You sit at a kiosk and fill out an application on a computer. A computer is way better qualified to gage how you might do at a customer service position.
So I filled out the basics about who I am and where I've worked, and proceeded to the 50-question survey portion of the application. This basically consisted of personality assessment-type questions: "How would you best describe your character? A) Honest, B) Hardworking, C) Determined, or D) Loyal?" Mixed in with these questions were ones that anyone could plainly see what the correct answer was: "If you were to catch a co-worker stealing from the company, how would you react? A) Report them immediately, B) Warn them that if you caught them again you would tell the supervisor, C) Not say anything, or D) Join in with them?" Oh yes, I am absolutely going to divulge that I would be totally on board to become a criminal, Caribbean Joe Fuddy Duddy Shirt-Stealing dream team with my delinquent coworker.
The final portion of the questionnaire was a series of two opposite descriptions from which you had to determine how much either of them fit your personality. Example: On one end you had "I openly express my feelings" while on the other you had "I never show how I am feeling," with the "strongly agree" option for both, "somewhat agree," and "neutral." I tried to tailor my answers to make me sound like a superstar potential employee- agreeable enough to work on a team but strong enough to work independently, confident enough to say I am right but humble enough to know when I am wrong, ambitious enough to have goals but wise enough to know my place on the totem pole. I thought I was a shoe-in....
Until I got to the end of the 50th question and hit the submit button. A window popped up on my screen, which I cheerfully read thinking it was further instructions or just letting me know someone would be in touch. But as I read further, it went a little something like this:
"Based on your answers and application, you have been determined to be unqualified for the position(s) you applied for. You may reapply to JcPenney in 180 days. Really, you are better off trying to find something else, because JcPenney kinda sucks anyway. I mean, if you look at our junior section it is reminiscent of what your grandmother thinks the kids are wearing these days but in actuality is completely devoid of anything attractive. And we really don't even have good deals. So you are better off going to Macy's or Belk. Hell, even Sears seems to know what the trends are and they sell dishwashers! Overall as a company, we just fail."
Okay, maybe that last portion may be slightly exaggerated in my memory. But the part where they essentially told me I am unqualified to fold shirts is ingrained forever. I sat there stunned for a moment then got up with my head held high and sauntered out of there. As soon as I was in my car, I gave Mark a ring.
"Those mother effers at JcPenney told me I am not good enough to work there!" I spat as soon as Mark picked up. "I have a college degree in public relations! PUBLIC RELATIONS! That means that the University of Georgia deemed me fit to RELATE with the PUBLIC. But nooooooooooo, apparently that is not good enough for JcPenney. There are people that get jobs there that don't even have a HIGH SCHOOL diploma. What the HELL? I am never shopping there again!"
"Whoa," was Mark's reply. "That sucks. Whatever, screw 'em. You don't need them."
"Damn straight," I said, bitterness ebbing away. "You can still shop there, though. I know you usually find stuff there that you like."
"Cool. Thanks."
I then got an earful of mockery from my parents, which was fine because it had evolved from humiliating to hilarious. I know that there are plenty of jobs out there I am qualified for that are a lot more stimulating than cleaning out dressing rooms. But my boycott of JcPenney still stands. Never again. Long live Macy's!
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