The lighter misses the thumb
People frowned as the black Porsche downshifted into first gear to drive through the line of people. Orange and yellow hot rod flames licked the sides of the door.
The line of people emerged from the front door of the hotel where the job fair was being held and wrapped around the side of the building into the parking lot. So many people were there that I had to park across the street in the Texas Land and Cattle parking lot.
As I walked to the end of the line, it hit home. This is visible evidence of a recession.
The Line
The media isn’t sensationalizing the situation by reporting day after day that companies have just cut thousands of jobs, or intend to do so soon to survive in this economy. At least 50 people stood in the visible portion of the procession to have a shot at a job.
“I’ll do just about anything, any kind of job except sales,” Justin Horn said to me while doing his part to slaughter time in the spot next to mine in line.
Horn had arrived at 11 a.m, the time the job fair officially started, thinking he would stroll in, hand out a few resumes, and be done within 20 minutes.
As we advanced in the line, I noticed that small support networks began to form, causing the line to resemble water drops sliding down a twig one at a time.
People standing next to each other critiqued each others’ resumes and practiced their self-promoting pitches to stay hyped.
In line is where I met Annabella Morelos Chan. The retired documentary producer had the poise of a woman who headed boards and raised funds for charitable causes.
Chan stood no more than five feet tall, her entrepreneurishly short, cocoa-colored hair neatly parted and combed to the right.
She had just divorced her husband to whom she had been married to for 30 years. He had been on the thicker end of the asset division.
The Guy Luce Mystery School alum gave me her card and encouraged me to contact her, so we could work on future projects together.
Perhaps she could teach me how to have a mentally-induced cosmic orgasm. I wonder if I would ever leave my room after attaining that ability.
By this time we had entered the hotel and stood in the misty aura of an over-chlorinated indoor fountain. The place smelled like a vacuum cleaner bag smeared with shoe polish.
I had been in line for an hour and fifteen minutes now to meet with representatives from four slightly interesting companies.
I watched the body language of the people who had already churned through the job fair as they walked past those of us who were still in line.
Many of them had their shoulders straight and heads held high; but there was a hollow disappointment in their eyes implying that this was a walk of shame for them after a jarring tussle with the reality of an unexpectedly crowded job fair.
The white-knuckled grip on their resume folders insinuated a possessive hold on the hope that someone would recognize the value of the person detailed on the paper inside the portfolio.
But not all were uncertain about their success. An obvious salesman, betrayed by the blackberry in his leather belt holster, boasted, “They’re not taking anymore resumes at Shoretel. Y’all can go ahead and go home. I closed the deal.” A few uncomfortable chuckles were heard.
Talkin' Strategy
When I finally got inside the room where the company representatives were, the meager opportunities were hardly action inspiring. Nonetheless, I gave my one-minute elevator pitch to sell myself to two spokesmen and got the same response.
Thanks for the resume; here’s my card. E-mail me a soft copy of it to get it in the system. I looked around and saw how exhausted all the company reps looked. Three fourths of them were ready to dip out. After that train of people, I would be too.
They weren’t putting stars on the resumes of people. The people were coming at them too fast. The stacks of resumes were too high.
Why bother wasting my breath? I could achieve comparable results in the comfort of my Sponge Bob pajamas with a laptop and an internet connection.
I began to walk past the people who were in line waiting to talk to the reps straight to the table on which papers with the job descriptions rested aside business cards. I had was reading one when another job seeker named Milan said hello.
Neither of us were interested in the Border Patrol Agent job, so we decided to mess with the guy at the table. We made up this ridiculous story that we were brother and sister who just happened to go to the same job fair.
We arrived at the table and I flipped the interview around to ask the uniformed, gun-toting agent about the realities of his job.
Milan asked him if he rode around in a Humvee all day. This was when I was supposed to chime in and ask him about whether he used his gun to shoot beer cans and illegal immigrants. But because the agent turned out to be such a nice guy, I didn’t want to harass him.
I posited whether electronic surveillance posed a threat to his job security. The encounter was far more educational than I anticipated.
We all had a few laughs; and I walked away with a completely inappropriate party favor. I don’t think the marketing department thought about the message that a promotional item like that would send.
It was a border patrol bottle opener keyring. It wasn’t a job. Or even the promise of a job.
But I left place feeling happy about my life. Invigorated by the human spirit. To hear where people come from, where they are, and where they want to go never ceases to fascinate me.
Within a daunting scenario in which landing a job seemed as hopeless as lighting a cigarette in a hurricane, I found people whose optimism was as out of place as a tulip sprouting from a crack in the concrete sidewalk, un nurtured and in constant danger of being trampled, but blossoming petals of imagination that refuse to wilt.
I know my niche is out there. I just have to find it.
