My final job check came and dissolved into my slowly evaporating pool of cash on hand, mitigated slightly by regular infusions from the New York State Department of Labor.
I’m looking at my spreadsheet, and looking at my calendar, when I make the decision that I’m only going to apply for one of these three jobs today. Why? Because on Wednesday, I have a mandatory appointment with the unemployment office to confirm that I have, in fact, been job hunting, and I need to show three “work search activities” on three different days each week.
Financially, things have not been going well for me since July 17, 2014, when I was laid off by the newspaper where I worked for eighteen months. That’s 10 months without full-time work, folks. Recently my unemployment ran out. In January my father died. I’ve had two sprained ankles for I don’t know how long. It’s kind of been a mess.
How many nets would each of us crash through before we ran out of options? It’s not the world’s happiest thought, but it’s certainly something I’ve wondered about more than once in my adult life. (By “more than once” I really mean “more than once a month.” Adulthood is scary.)
I woke up on a recent Tuesday morning at 9:30 a.m. with a slight hangover and nowhere to go, except maybe to my laptop to casually browse the internet for some sort of inspiration. I no longer had to program my alarm for 7:10 a.m., and it was no longer of a pressing nature to get to the gym before going to work because, well, there was no work, and truth be told, no desk job was forcing me to be bound to a desk. I could do Zumba in my living room at 2 p.m. if I wanted to, provided my downstairs neighbors weren’t feeling too cantankerous.
I could tell the man sitting across from me was nervous. He had almost as many years of experience as I had years of life. My questions seemed to throw him off. He came in wearing a suit that didn’t fit him very well. He was sweating.
Well, this is very sad:
Shanesha Taylor, a woman from Scottsdale, Arizona, is homeless. So when she got asked to come in for a job interview last Thursday, she must have been excited by the prospect. But when you’re homeless, there isn’t always an easy way to take an hour off from watching your kids to be at an interview. That’s how Taylor, 35, wound up losing her children to Child Protective Service — and losing out on the potential job.