Busy doing Nothing: On being Unemployed

I found a great blog post called Cult of the Busy via Rachel Hills and Tiara the Merch Girl’s blogs. This post is aimed at people with disabilities, but the point I took from it was people judge their self-worth on occupations or roles.

Which sucks when you’re unemployed.

…And then things get internalized. “I don’t have a job. I’m not contributing. I’m not important. I better make myself small and inoffensive in some way so that no one thinks I’m a burden. I don’t really have a lot of worth as a person because I’m not contributing.”

After a month of unemployment, graduating with no job prospects and having only ambiguous employment at the moment, I sure can relate.

Remember back when Ric’s changed ownership and I was out of a job? What I didn’t tell you about was the crappy, crappy aftermath.

See, I had this grand plan in mind – to happily keep working at Ric’s for rent/food/beer money while pursuing freelance writing on the side. But I didn’t count on the whole Ric’s drama completely ruining my plans just as I graduated from uni.

After shit hit the fan at Ric’s, I found a job at a disastrous inner city pub and lasted a week. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lovely place to drink but there were dramas from day one and it didn’t get any better. So I left and was unemployed. Again. To tell you the truth, it was much better than working there. There are only so many times I can put up with creepy, friendless, drunk, toothless weirdos vomiting out the door and shouting abuse at pedestrians. Still, it was a depressing experience. First my favourite job gets taken away from me; now I find a job and it sucks.

My life.

Anyway, unemployment was good for a while. Having worked weekends for the last two years, it was nice to catch up with my friends on the other side of the bar for a change. I went on holiday without having to deal with hospitality management tut-tutting at me having time off at the busiest time of the year. I reread the entirety of the Harry Potter series (if you are a mad Harry Potter fan, feel free to chat to me anytime to discuss magical politics, swoon over Remus Lupin, etc). I watched a lot of DVDs. I played video games. I lined up another bar job but I wasn’t supposed to start until New Year’s Eve. Even so, it was just a trial – I didn’t know if I was going to end up getting it. So there were a few weeks of uncertainty.

Then I graduated. It was nice. I got to wear a cool hat. But the cold hard reality was this: I am a journalism graduate. I have no job prospects. I didn’t plan for any but I wish I had now. Crap. Unfortunately, degrees do not have magical powers. I was quite disappointed when, on receiving my shiny piece of paper, the editors of Rolling Stone didn’t magically teleport to South Bank and offer me a job right there and then.

The kids sitting in the row in front of me were about to embark on cadetships and real jobs. I tried not to jealously compare myself to them. The guy to my left was obsessed with politics whereas I have some sort of brain disorder that prevents me from taking politics seriously. The girl to my right probably started rattling off news bulletins the moment she came out of the womb.

Then the big, annoying question came: “Have you got a job yet?”

Even worse is when it comes from people I didn’t really want to answer “no” to. The sorts of people who believe tertiary education – especially arts-related degrees – is a waste of time and anyone who does them is an idiot out of touch with reality. Spiteful ex-boyfriends (and knowing their stalker-like tendencies, are probably reading this right now and cackling manically at my misfortune). My grandmother, whose favourite pasttime is making everybody in my family feel inadequate. This is the woman who wants to send me to deportment classes so I can learn to be a right proper laydee. I would like to extend an invitation to these people to shove their judgmental opinions up their collective arses.

Still, I wish I could reply with “I’m a journalist”. Or even just “I’m a bartender.” I couldn’t say “I’m a student” anymore either. And then that feeling of worthlessness sinks in. What am I? Nothing. I’m not contributing to society in any way. I have pissed away three years of education and nothing to show for it. I shouldn’t be making the most of my unemployment by watching back-to-back episodes of Black Books, I should be firing off a resume ever hour on the hour! I felt bad – even a bit jealous – reading Twitter with people’s posts like “20 minutes before work finishes!” after sitting firmly on my bum for most of the day.

There’s some food for thought. While you’re slaving away behind a desk all day, an unemployed person is at home, feeling unproductive and useless, wishing they were you. You have a reliable income. You have things to do. You are somebody.

Fortunately, I ended up getting that bar job. It’s nice. I also somewhat scored a writing gig for a street press magazine. I’m hoping that’ll go somewhere.

But I’m barely working enough hours at the bar to cover rent and the magazine doesn’t pay very much. I might as well still be unemployed. So now it’s time to look for another job.

What a pain in the arse the whole process is.  I looked at some career websites last night. All the jobs that sound good are scams. Jobs in the writing field consist of writing for publications like the Trucking Industry Annual or copywriting for some ghastly marketing company that requires applicants to be dynamic and full of synergy and other stupid buzzwords. And I hate writing resumes. If I had it my way, my resume would look like this:

Hello. My name is Ellie Freeman. I went to fancy pantsy private school and passed all my subjects. I have a Journalism degree from QUT, a fancy pantsy university for the real world. I have worked in terrible bargain shops, newsagencies and pubs. I can write, press buttons on a till, know how to use a computer, make cocktails and play guitar. Hire me before I starve to death. I promise I will rock up to work on time and won’t steal your stuff.

The one somewhat comforting thing about this is that I’m not the only one, and there are a fair few people in this position. People who barely survived the Ric’s debacle. People who’ve been made redundant due to the GFC monster and cold-hearted corporate bastards. People who have just graduated uni and don’t really know what to do with themselves.

But I don’t see these people as worthless.

And so that means that someone out there doesn’t think I am either.

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