Adventures in the Twentysomething Job Search

The following guest post is part of our Millennial Perspectives series. Please give Olive a warm welcome by commenting and checking out her hilarious vlog. If you want to add your voice to the Millennial Perspectives series, peruse the guidelines and drop me a note!

I had no idea that my elf costume was going to come in handy when I decided to move to New York City. But I also had no idea how broke I was going to be.

I recklessly moved to the Big Apple without a job or a clue. I was completely delusional about how my two years of experience qualified me for every awesome opportunity on the planet. After submitting resumes for four months with no semblance of response, I was deeply humbled and pretty desperate for cash. My bank account plummeted and, at one of the lowest points in my life, reached rock bottom at $12.34.

Looking for a job became my full-time job. Everything in my life became a verb. I was spending four days a week “resume-ing and cover letter-ing.” When I was too broke to ignore it anymore, a friend suggested I contact the temp agency she used when she first moved to the city. Temping is a soul –sucking New York City ritual. “New York City will kick your ass,” she explained to me. “You have to fight for your right to stay here, and a lot of times that means you gotta start out temping or interning.”

I went to the interview at the temp agency in a full suit with my briefcase from my previous employer. I could tell they were impressed.

Twentysomethings attend more job fairs than they do family dinners. (Photo credit: Thompson Rivers)

“Where do you want to be placed?” the interviewer asked me kindly after a long conversation about my skills.

“At a nonprofit might be nice,” I replied honestly.

They called me the next day with a placement at a Financial Firm, the exact opposite of what I had requested. But beggars can’t be choosers.

I started the next week as a fill-in secretary for the General Counsel at a huge investment firm. When I arrived, I was immediately thrown in the fire. The temp company lied to the firm and said that I had several years of secretarial experience. Secretarial work isn’t hard per se, but you’d be really damn surprised how complicated a phone system can be. The guy I was working for wasn’t a huge asshole but he wasn’t Mr. Rogers either. He was accustomed to his typical secretary who knew exactly what he wanted for lunch and which toothpaste he used. He didn’t know how to function without her. When he had to dial in on an international conference call he frantically ran to my desk screaming for me to connect him, which of course I had no freaking idea how to do. I walked out of the office feeling incompetent and inadequate. I called my mom, on the verge of tears.

“It’s only a week. You can do anything for a week,” she reassured. Throughout the course of temping that was my mantra. “It’s only a week. It’s only a week.” I would repeat it fifty times a day. The weirdest thing about temping is that it’s a small glimpse into someone else’s world. It’s such a short amount of time no one wants to get to know you because they know you’re already on the way out. I knew it too. It’s like being the ugly stepchild.

Just like that, for the next several months I became every Jackass’s Secretary.

I wore this new title with discouraged shame.

“So, what do you do?” some guy at the bar would ask.

“I collate things for rich jerks.” I’d respond, taking a swig of my beer.

I wish I could say temping was the lowest point in my brokedom. But it wasn’t.

Around Christmas, I decided I needed extra cash for gifts. After careful thought and consideration, I came up with the perfect solution. It was the kind of solution that would allow me to have a flexible schedule and temp during the day. The kind of solution that would rake in a lot of dough for a little amount of work.

I was going to deliver singing telegrams.

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Dressed like an elf.

That’s right. My million-dollar genius idea was to dress up like an elf and deliver singing telegrams. I got the idea from my dad, who at one point in his life had an extremely successful singing telegram business. And we wonder why I never turned out quite normal.

I rushed home with excitement after getting off the phone with my dad, my brain gushing with ideas. I opened my computer and started creating a flyer. I thoughtfully contemplated the branding and marketing when coming up with my name and finally settled on Polly the Elf. Perfect. I created a new email account, PollyTheElf2012@gmail.com and posted it on all of my flyers.

I canvassed my neighborhood, hanging them in the highest traffic locations. I noticed that many of the poles where I put my flyers didn’t have any other homemade advertisements. “Everyone must be too busy for flyering with the holidays,” I thought.

Then, I waited.

I checked my email every five minutes until finally one evening I saw that I had received an email. Ecstatic, I opened it.

It was from the city commissioner:

Dear Polly:

I am President of the 20th Precinct Community Council, the NYPD-mandated liaison which runs from 59th to 86th Streets. Although we realize your intentions are good, we write to inform you that the flyering (“postering”) you are doing for your singing telegram business is illegal, and carries stiff fines: $75 for the first flyer, and $250 for each additional flyer.

I grabbed a calculator and did the math, 75 + (24 x 250) equaled way more money than I had. In a complete and utter panic, I threw on my running shoes and sprinted out the door. I had no idea the next time the commissioner would be coming around but I wasn’t taking any chances. Running as fast as I could, I ripped down every single sign on every single pole until I was certain that I had found all of them. Panting for breath, I headed home to think of a new way to make money for Christmas gifts.

I called my mom on the way home to relay to whole story. Big mistake. In the same way my dad’s a crazy idea man, my mom’s a practical realist.

“Please tell me you’re not serious! Not only is that dangerous it’s also kind of embarrassing. Do you really want to dress up like an elf and sing songs for a few bucks? Is it worth your dignity?”

I argued that she was being a little dramatic but it was moot point because I had removed all of the flyers anyway.

A few days later I received an email from someone asking how much it cost for a singing elf telegram. They must have written down my email before I removed the flyers. My initial excitement about my business had quickly diminished after the email from the commissioner. Also, my mom’s words had sunk in and my long lost dignity suddenly made an unexpected appearance.

In the midst of my fruitless job search and unstable mental health thanks to temping, I didn’t want to admit to another failure. I didn’t have the balls to tell the prospective customer that I was no longer in business. Instead I responded with most ridiculous and face-saving answer I could think of:

Thank you for contacting Polly the Elf for your upcoming holiday event. I appreciate your interest in my service but I regret to inform you that I am booked through the Christmas Holiday season and no longer taking new clients. Happy Holidays!

Candy canes and mistletoe,

Polly