Laid off. Let go. Terminated. Fired.

However you want to spin it, I am jobless. I’ve only been without a job once, and it was completely voluntary when I first moved to New York. I am 31, and I have worked since I was 16 (14 if you count my lucrative babysitting career). I didn’t like my job selling luxury goods because it made me miserable, but it was better than not having a job at all.

I had been feeling stuck in my career and knew I wanted to move on to something more fulfilling for a while. For the last several months, work was unbearable, due to do both my unhappiness and the way I was being managed. Our weekly team meetings felt more like a rundown of who screwed what up. Rarely a day passed when one colleague didn’t make another cry, intentionally or not. And a management shakeup early last year added a new layer of unneeded stress, as well as unreasonable expectations. My coworkers were good people, but the environment was completely dysfunctional for a variety of reasons I won’t go into right now. I didn’t have the best sun-shiny attitude, but I delivered.

I quietly confided in a colleague that I was looking for a new job, and the cat was soon let out of the bag, because during my review, I was told that the company didn’t want anyone on the team who didn’t want to be there. Duly noted. A month after my review, I was taken into our bathroom and was told that I was going to be let go.

The wind was knocked out of me. I was told that I couldn’t tell anyone, and that I had to go about my business for a couple of days. My tears and clean desk were a dead giveaway, and people figured it out anyway. They were surprised, but not totally in shock given the dysfunctional atmosphere. It was a perplexing to come to work and not be able to talk to anyone about what was happening with me. I finished my work and tied up loose ends, grateful that I didn’t have to leave my colleagues with any unanswered questions. The whole thing seemed mishandled, as if they felt like getting rid of me would lift a dark cloud off the company.

It’s a strange, emotional time. I’m relieved that my time there is over, and that I can concentrate on moving on to something I (hopefully) love. I’ve emailed and spoken with a few recruiters, one of whom said I sounded like I was “floundering” because I couldn’t answer the “where do you see yourself in five years” question, which is just what an unemployed gal wants to hear. It made me feel like I’m destined to be jobless forever, although I know that’s not the case—that not everyone has their life figured out. I know what I’m good at: I have years of experience in communications, customer service, social media, graphic design and was consistently the top sales person at my company. But stories about high unemployment rates and people being out of work for months, if not years, freaks me out.

I took the first couple days to decompress, and now on the hunt again. I’ve made a point to not sleep in until noon, and am making sure I still exercise. My network in New York is small, but I’m contacting whoever I think might be able to help me. One fear I have is that I’ll be compelled to take the first job that’s offered to me, and I’ll end up hating my job again. I don’t think my next job is going to be perfect and life-changing (unless I end up opening that cat cafe), but I want it to be somewhere with an outstanding company culture and where I’m doing something I actually believe in.

In the meantime, I’m fine with babysitting and temp jobs and spending part of my time volunteering at an animal shelter. I’m also looking into volunteering in the social services field. I’ve thought about going into social work, but a master’s is required for that, and I’m not going to make that financial commitment without getting my feet wet first.

I filed for unemployment, but I won’t have any sense of relief until I get that first check. I’m paranoid that it’ll be disputed, even though I verified that I would be able to collect. I’m lucky that I have a tiny bit of savings, but I’d rather not see it drained. My supportive boyfriend and I were planning on moving in together this year, and it’s nice to know I have the option of subletting my room and moving in temporarily with him. All is not lost.

So, positive and helpful Billfold readers—any advice on how to handle this with grace? Do I try to get a job at Magnolia and live off of banana pudding? Panhandle on the subway? Anyone hiring? Any New York City temp agencies anyone can recommend, or have any other suggestions? I’m happy to send you my resume at any time.

Maggie Hamilton lives in New York City and is an avid pie-baker, cat-stalker, and park-runner. Write her at maggie.hamilton.nyc@gmail.com or stalk her on her new blog: maggiejobsearches.tumblr.com

I need to bow out of work for 30 minutes so I can call a recruiter. My dilemma? Where do I make that phone call? My car used to be the go-to spot for personal phone calls, but living in New York City doesn’t afford me that luxury. So what’s a job-seeker to do?

I work in an extremely small office, where privacy doesn’t exist. I might be able to go to the basement, and cross my fingers that no one scampers down. Going outside is an option, but then I am left to deal with the elements—it’s cold, loud and I run the risk of being targeted by the homeless woman that spits on people. Do I go to the bank and hang out in the ATM vestibule? If I was a teller, I’d kick me out.

Do I buy a coffee at the shop next door and make the phone call there? I’m not a fan of making public phone calls. I usually find them annoying, distracting and no one needs to know my business—even if I am just talking about what I had for dinner last night. Clearly, I am going to have an issue talking about my strengths, weaknesses, goals, etc. in front of complete strangers.

So I had a thought. Someone should really come up with a business that provides a space to make phone calls. Much like phone banks in hotels. I would gladly pay five bucks to have five minutes of privacy. To me, being relaxed and focused would be worth it. Whether it’s talking to a prospective employer, doctor or mistress, I think there could really be a market for something like this. Bonus points for shop cats.

All that I ask is that I get a cut when the first store makes millions. In the meantime, I’ll be in the basement.

Maggie Hamilton lives in New York City and is an avid pie-baker, cat-stalker, and park-runner. Write her at maggie.hamilton.nyc@gmail.com or stalk her on her new blog: maggiejobsearches.tumblr.com

The daily hunt for a new job is exhausting. After a long day at work, it’s tough to trek home and then hop on the computer to scour Indeed.com or Idealist.org for the latest postings, all while eating leftover Pad Thai.
 
Enter: The Recruiter.
 
I thought adding headhunters would be a good addition to my job-seeking arsenal. I contacted two—both whom were recommended by friends. The first recruiter fizzled out after I told him I was interested in a graphic design position, but couldn’t afford to live on a junior-level salary. When I told him I was thinking of just abandoning the whole design route altogether and that I was extremely open to other fields, I never heard from him again. I chalked it up to a good rehearsal experience, and moved on to the next agency.
 
With some practice under my belt, I confirmed my appointment with my next recruiter and prepared to meet with her. I picked out my outfit (a gray shift dress, a purple cardigan, and heels), purchased a new portfolio for my resume and notes, thought about answers to questions she might ask, and selected jobs from their website that I was interested in. I went in prepared, ready to get a new job.
 
The meeting seemed full of promise. Her agency specialized in placing executive assistants—the type of job I thought could provide an opportunity to get my foot in the door at a company I found interesting. After I arrived, she even brought over a few of her colleagues and gave them her pitch, and they all seemed excited and said they had a few positions in mind for me.
 
“This is fantastic!” I thought. “I’ll be giving my notice in no time!” I started envisioning my week off before I started the new gig. Oh, the things I would accomplish.
 
After going over my resume and giving me some things to tweak or expand on, the recruiter told me she wanted me to change my current title (luxury sales) to “Executive Assistant to the President.” I know a lot of people pad their resume and tell white lies, but it would become very clear in three minutes that I have never been an executive assistant to any presidents.
 
Could I be an executive assistant and be awesome? Absolutely. But I’m a terrible liar. I went home, made some tweaks, and, as a compromise, included that administrative assistant had been part of my job description at one time, which was true. But I wasn’t going to go any further than that.
 
A few days after the meeting, I sent the recruiter back my updated resume, with a note that I thought it would be misleading to call myself an executive assistant. I said I was excited about the possibilities and was eager to learn. It became clear to me that she was not impressed by my honesty, because the trail quickly went cold.
 
Contact with her has been one-sided: “Hey there! Just checking in. Do you need anything from me? Here’s an updated resume! Please call me! I’ll name my first born after you. Do you like homemade cookies?”

I can’t get a response. It is so frustrating to go from being hopeful to dejected. I have one more recruiter to contact via a friend’s recommendation, but I’m wondering if it will just be a waste of time. Has anyone had any good experiences with recruiters? There has to be some good ones out there.

Previously: “I’m Stuck in a Career Rut”

Maggie Hamilton lives in New York City and is an avid pie-baker, cat-stalker, and park-runner. She’s awaiting your job offers at maggie.hamilton.nyc@gmail.com