I'm a terrible blogger....

Sorry for the long lapse between posts!  I've been busy and unmotivated, a fatal combination.

Some updates on the long term, legal employment front:

There are no real updates on the long term, legal employment front :/. 

Some updates on the interviewing front: 

I had a screening interview for a national immigrants' rights NGO for a DACA fellowship position. It would have been a lot of training and outreach on a topic I know...little about.  Nonetheless,  I was pleased to be one of the 17 people culled from the initial pack of 120 people.  I find it downright humorous that the positions I seem to get interviews for involve topics I am not especially familiar with (family law, DACA) whereas the jobs I seem to be perfect for (immigration and human rights law, research positions) barely acknowledge receipt of my applications.

Some updates on non-legal employment:

I'm still at the coffee shop/eatery and if nothing else it gives me a reason to get up and so something useful 3-4 times a week. Its interesting because My background keeps coming to the forefront.  The other day a customer remarked that I must be "college educated."  Alums from my college/Boston area schools come in and we have little chats.  There is one baby lawyer (ie law student) who comes in and we chat.  I see the absolute fear in his eyes and can practically hear him thinking "Ohmigod, is this going to be my future" when we talk.  I'd be flat out lying if I didn't say that sometimes I look around the bakery and think, "Is this it?  Is this all I can aspire to do 9 years of university and 250K later?" Maybe.

On the other hand, a (really really cute) customer who comes in and works for the DOL took me to lunch today and gave me all sorts of useful resume hints. He told me all about his own unemployment struggles, which actually helped to put me at ease.  So, the bakery is not without its networking benefits :)

In addition to the barista-ing, I began the process of applying to substitute teach in DC public schools in... January (when I sent off my fingerprints to the FBI).  A few weeks ago, I had a group interview where we had pretend we were teaching a class as part of a group interview.  The next day DC Public Schools extended an invite for me to attend orientation!  Right after I get a drug test and a TB test.  That's another few weeks of scheduling etc.  By the time all of this is over, those kids are going to be out of school. 

 I apologize for not being witty and interesting today, I promise there will be more of that in the future!  I'm still trying to find balance in my schedule.

x

Awkward moments with customers!

After approximately a month working a service job, I bring you…

Awkward moments with customers!  

Episode One: The Americano Lady 

http://starbuckcoffee.net/how-to-make-a-starbucks-caramel-macchiato.html

My workplace has recently begun to offer Almond milk as an alternative for dairy free people who also do not like soy.  Fair enough.  Soy milk appeals to me about as much as brown Norwegian cheese.  That is to say: not at all.

A woman came in this week and asked for an Americano with soy milk.  Our conversation proceeded like so:

Me: You know an Americano is espresso and hot water?

Look, I understand how this question may be offensive to people who consider themselves coffee snobs but I’ve never had anyone ask me for an Americano with milk.  People have asked for an Americano with ROOM for milk but baristas generally do not put the milk in for you.

Her (scowling!): Yes, I know what an Americano is!

Me (backpedaling): Okay, I was just making sure because sometimes people come in and ask for things but they aren’t really sure what it is they are asking for and I get into trouble –

This is where I was going to break into my Macchiato example.  A macchiato in every place I have worked – from London to Portland – means a double shot and a touch of hot milk.  I know it simply means “marked” so that the drink is open to interpretation.  A common interpretation (people blame Starbucks) is that a Macchiato is some sort of caramel latte.   So, while I initially assumed people KNEW WHAT THEY WERE ASKING FOR when I began this job, it turns out I need to make sure people know a macchiato is not a caramel latte. This is especially important because we don’t make espressos or macchiatos to go (by the time you get to it, the product is crap; espresso should be consumed as quickly as possible to preserve the flavor). I was going to explain this but she got even more huffy and said

I know about coffee!! I come here because I am serious about coffee!!

Me: Okay Okay (I think I literally held my hands up in surrender), so you want an Americano and we’ll put in some almond milk.

Then she seemed to soften a bit but by then I was hoping I didn’t come across as too condescending.   I just don’t like to be blamed when people don’t get what they think they ordered.  A few weeks ago someone got annoyed because their Sencha tea was not green enough…. 

http://www.rishi-tea.com/product/sencha-organic-japanese-green-tea/green-tea

Whaaaaaat?  It looks like CUT GRASS for Pete’s sake!  Anyway, people can be ridiculous so I am often forced to decide if I clarify as much as possible (and potentially patronize) or presume people know that the Sencha they ordered is not the same color as Ecto Cooler and then be forced to entertain their complaint on the color of their tea with a bland and slightly concerned face.

The same day, I had Awkward Customer Encounter Two:  Tapered Khakis = Dick Cheney Fan?

So while I was taking a customer’s order, my co-workers and I were discussing Alfred Nobel and how his invention of dynamite led to a guilty conscious and the Nobel Prize.  Our customer agreed this was guilt worthy and chimed in to ask “You know who is the most evil?”

I said, “Dick Cheney” before my manager and I dissolved into laughter.  I guess it’s a quasi inside joke because I was explaining to him a few weeks ago about how I remain a Christian.  I was flirting with agnosticism before Dick Cheney got his heart.  Then I figured out that if this man could get a transplant at his age, in his condition, that he must have made a deal with the devil.  If there is a devil, there is a God.  The end.

Anyway, the man who asked did not join in our laughter but deadpanned that Dick Cheney didn’t even break the top ten. In the scheme of things, this is certainly true.  The customer went on to say that engineers who came up with the concept of “blowback” were the most evil because they took an fatality causing concept and fiddled with it to make it even more efficient at killing people. 

He left with his little briefcase on wheels after that and I was afraid I offended him.  I also felt silly that I burst out with “Dick Cheney” because, really, could a man in his late 20s/early 30s sporting tapered khakis be anything but a Dick Cheney fan?   

http://www.polyvore.com/dockers_slouch_tapered_khaki_pant/thing?id=36826572

Maybe he worked for a think tank that paid Cheney to talk.  Maybe his aunt is married to the dude Dick Cheney shot in the face.  Maybe his older brother made a deal with the same demon… who knows?  I’ll just try to keep my politics to myself while taking people’s orders….. even when they are RACIST! This brings me to…

Episode Three: Racist Against Chinese Tea 

http://www.rishi-tea.com/product/gram-tin-china-breakfast-organic-fair-trade-black-tea/black-tea

An older lady came in with a companion and ordered some tea.  Another great thing about having a service job is that I get to sharpen my perceptiveness and intuitiveness.   Nine times out of ten I can look at someone and KNOW if they are going to be a pain in the bum. When this septugenarian, with her perfect gray pageboy, entered my line of vision…I knew.

Lady:  I would like a cup of tea.  English Breakfast.

Me: We don’t have English breakfast, we have Earl Grey, China Breakfast, Ceylon...

Lady: Well what do you have that is like English Breakfast?

Me:  I think the closest would be China Breakfast

Lady (making a face): Oh no, I don’t want anything made in China! Those Chinese…

Meanwhile, a co-worker had witnessed this exchange and passed me a cup of black tea (China Breakfast) and winked, saying LOUDLY

HERE YOU GO MA’AM WE DO HAVE ENGLISH BREAKFAST!

Me: Ok, right. Here you go ma’am.

I was thankful that I didn’t have to lecture a lady on her racism my first month in.  Lord knows what was going to come out of her mouth…

In job updates.... (ostensibly what this blog is for no?) 

I’ve been so busy with the service job and some friends’ visits (yay!) that I have not applied for as many jobs as I may have otherwise but since job applications appear to be an exercise in futility, a little rest might be good for my motivation.

Being Unemployed Is Like...Crossing Lake Pontchartrain

Eight months into the search for public interest legal employment is beginning to feel like crossing the world's second longest bridge over water: Lake Pontchartrain in Louisiana. Let me explain:

My mom's side of the family is from the South (Texas by way of Louisiana). We would go to visit them in Houston/Sugarland/Humble/Missouri City via car or train.  This explains my unabashed love for a city many find...unpleasant.  Now, our itinerary would invariably involved a trip through NOLA, one of our absolute favorite cities where my mom could go to Dooky Chase's and I could get an Oyster Po' boy. 

For the record, the BEST oyster po boy I have ever had (fresh, perfectly crusty French bread, creamy homemade mayo, crispy, sweet and salty oysters, ripe tomatoes) was at a Comfort Inn in New Orleans. No lie.  I think this was a different hotel than the one where I reached into the nightstand to check out the bible and pulled out an engraved handgun. "Mom, does this come with the room?"I asked.  Apparently not since the manager and security guard came to relieve us of said firearm after my mom told them of my discovery.

But I digress.  This is Lake Pontchartrain:

 

Source: http://googlesightseeing.com

                                                   Source: http://www.25facts.com/25-longest-bridges-in-the-world/

The Lake Pontchartrain Causeway, which cuts across the lake, is a little over 23 miles long.  When you are in a car (or worse, on a train because then - while shorter - it is just a single track... no tunnel, no railing, just a single track) at a certain point, all that you see is water.  Water all around you with no end in sight. I was always petrified to cross this lake when I was little because of the vastness of the water.  It was unsettling, undefined, unsafe.

That, my friends, is what my life feel like right now.  Like I am stranded at mile 11 and there is absolutely nothing around me.  No way to move forward (interviews for jobs I am highly qualified for? Ha! I...wish...) and no way to move back (switch that LLM for a clerkship or a entry level public interest job? Impossible.  I am no Marty McFly though I occasionally wear Calvins).  Nothing I can do to make the car go.  At this point, I am beginning to think putting forth no effort at all would be about as fruitful as networking and applying for jobs because I am stuck.  

News!

I should probably change the name of my blog to “Underemployed but not Unloved” because I have nailed down some tentative service and education industry employment!

One of the worst things about being unemployed was that my old mainstays (barista-ing and substitute teaching) did not seem to be panning out. DC requires you to obtain your own FBI clearance before you can become certified to substitute teach.  That takes two months.  Then the processing time for the city to certify subs is six weeks.  I dropped off my application (you have to do it in person) in December so I am still waiting for my certification.  After that I can apply to be put into the system. This is a far cry from suburban Connecticut where all I did was show up and submit to a 20-minute interview.  I think the certification and background checks are a good idea, I just wish they were not so tine consuming.

If you can tolerate children and sullen, incurious teenagers, subbing is a decent way to stave off abject (but not general) poverty.  Most of the time all you need is a bachelor’s degree and thick skin.  

So, I’m on my way!

On the service end of things, I’ve been working at a coffee shop/bakery/eatery in Arlington for a few weeks now as a cashier and gopher. I’d mention it by name but somehow feel like that might inhibit my ability to type smack.  Google revels all y’all.  Eventually, they’ll train me to barista.  I’ve done barista training twice now (Illy trained in London and Café D’Arte in Portland) and places have very different techniques when it comes to tamping etc.  Counter Culture, who are a big effing deal in the coffee world, will eventually conduct my training here.

The awesome thing about this job is that it forces me to focus on just a few tasks for long periods of time.  When I am in an office, I can procrastinate.  At a service job, its important for me to always “look” busy even if I am doing eff all…

I know for a fact that service jobs have prepared me for clients. Knowing when to hold ‘em, when to fold ‘em and when to walkaway are skills the service industry pounds into you one anal retentive, grabby, cokehead chef or manager at a time!

Now, to be fair, the chef at my current job is not grabby and is not a cokehead.  I’ve heard he can be nasty but so far he’s been fine with me. Of course, I am prepared for that to change. In fact, I’m bracing for it.

Thankfully, a few previous service jobs have given me a thicker hide than I thought possible.  We’re talking Alligator-thick skin my friends.  What made it this way?  I bring you:

                                                    Tales of Service Woes:

GAP:  I worked here my first year of college.  They would give me ridiculously early shifts, have me clean the bathroom and subjected me to “Rah rah GAP!” talk constantly.  I lasted about a month but I did get some super cute pants out of it.

Sally Beauty Supply:  I worked here the summer after my first year of college with several people that St. Louis natives would call “hoosiers.”  One of my co-workers, a purple haired Smith College attendee was the worst of the lot.  In addition to having sex in the back room with her underaged, high school drop out boyfriend, she called me during her lunch break at my first full day of work to say:

“Ohmigod we’re at McDonalds and my boyfriend overdosed on heroin! I am going to be late!!!”

The fuck??

My London job at a start up soul restaurant was a revolving door of cray-cray:

Manager 1: Dutch, beyond model thin, high strung, enjoyed insulting me and speaking to me as if I had a cognitive disability. Fired.

Manager 2: Nice young man of few words. Often high. Fired.

Manager 3: Smoking hot Aussie who made it clear I was being hired because of the way I looked and my convenient ethnicity/Nationality (Black American at a Soul Food restaurant?! Perfect). Crazy coke habit and therefore…. inconsistent.  Uncomfortably hot (thanks for the phrase Megs) for someone I had to be in close contact with on a regular basis. Fired.

Manager 4: Portly, grabby British guy who dropped C bombs (over Baghdadddddddd).

Manager 5: Super cute and chill young woman. Awesome.

Manager 6: Slightly uptight but had gone on a blind date with Orlando Bloom (he was watching his carbs at the time)

Chefs 1 & 2: brothers from Newcastle who would come and yell at the waiters in the middle of service. Fired.

Chef 3: Lecherous bald Polish chef who made me Eggs Benedict for my birthday. Fired.

Chef 4: Nice normal Irish lass.  Finally! (Of course, I left like 2 weeks after she was hired)

A Note on working in London:  Waitressing/serving/barista-ing in London at 21-22 years old were the perfect jobs at the perfect ages.  My friends were an international crew of ridiculously good looking and awesome people who also worked service jobs.  I rarely paid to enter a club.  I almost never paid for my own drinks or my own food (taking home the surplus and staff meals! Yessssss). I once saw Prince Harry at a Club (he said “pardon me” to me as he brushed past). I went to a private party with Busta Rhymes (hold on, I have to stop and pick up those names I dropped).  By the time I left I could drink seven martinis and manage a halfway decent British accent.  I earned enough money to travel and have even more adventures.  It. Was. Sweet.

So, yes, I am always thankful that a service job is a still a pleasant option, even if it is not a passion.

Way to Keep Sane *and* Pass the Time #2s: Volunteer

I don’t know if you know this about me but both of my parents have MSWs.  My dad used his more for the corporate world but has recently returned to his non-profit roots.  My mom, on the other hand, always did a lot of clinical and outreach work.  This means that at about five years old, I was well aware of things that most five year olds remain blissfully ignorant about until some movie of the week exposes them to the dirty, ugly truths of life. 

At five I knew about the HIV epidemic (this was the late 80s) because my mom had infected clients. I knew condoms had something to DO with HIV but had no idea what a condom really WAS (so I did get to maintain that smidge of ignorance).  I knew about child molestation and had been meticulously instructed on “good touch bad touch.”  Finally, I knew that there were people out there who would hurt and scare women and children enough that they were forced to hide in shelters. 

Those shelters were where my volunteer work began.  My mom would bring me and I’d help in the way a five-year-old can: stocking the kitchen, playing with other kids, etc.  Since then, I can count on two fingers (London and DC Part 1) the periods in my life where I was not doing something, for free, to help someone else.

Now, I am not saying this because I think I am amazingly wonderful and altruistic.  The truth is, I was indoctrinated as a small child and I don’t know another way to live my life. I do not feel complete if I am not volunteering.  It is not entirely selfless because it makes me feel good.  Another benefit is that when you’re unemployed, volunteering is a great way to keep up your skills and to fill the time.

In DC, I have two consistent volunteer activities. On Thursday nights I tutor and mentor a little boy from SE DC.  He’s 10.  We’re working on his reading and I’m re-learning fractions. On Fridays, I volunteer in house as an attorney at Catholic Charities.  I was connected with one of my pro-bono clients through CC as well.  I am deeply conflicted about, oh, 90% of Catholic practice and teachings.  However, their work with undocumented migrants, migrant victims of violence and asylum seekers makes me proud to be a (terrible) Catholic.

In addition to those two activities, I keep my eyes and ears open for things that interest me. This month was the President’s second inauguration and I decided to volunteer for that.  I’m excited for President Obama’s second term (especially regarding immigration reform and LGBTQ rights) and I thought it’d be a cool way to meet others who are like minded.  

It was the single worst volunteer experience of my life. Worse than that time I had to clean up brown recluse spider infested debris in post Katrina Slidell. At least then, only the venomous spiders, not the organizers or equipment, were a problem. 

Initially, I was told that I would be helping with coat check inside of the Inaugural Ball.  I was psyched though puzzled about how my background and small donation could have landed me such a plum role.  In my head, I was already dry cleaning my gold lace D&G dress.  I was contemplating how to create a smoky eye from my NYX kit (I have never gotten that down!).  I was studying up on the types of fur so that when JayZ handed me his chinchilla I could make a smart observation.

Alas, this was not to be. Instead I was outside of the McPherson metro stop in a bright red (made in the USA!) polyester hat carrying an “Ask Me!” sign.  How many people actually asked me how to get to the ball? One.  Most people who asked me questions were men who just wanted to talk.  I guess the hotlines for that sort of thing are fewer and fewer.

I’ll spare you the details about how awful it was to volunteer with this Inaugural Committee. In addition to voicing my concerns in person, I wrote the committee an email expressing my concern about their disorganization, cavalier attitude toward volunteers and failure to follow through on several assurances (examples: “you’ll never be alone and will always have a partner!” and “We’ll have handwarmers, vests and credentials for you!”). I stopped short of calling them a discredit to the administration but did state I would never volunteer with the administration again.  The email included more than half a dozen-bullet points.  My initial inclination was to include a chart but there’s no need to nuke a bridge when a good old-fashioned burning will do.

That was last week and I was just getting over the crowds when I wandered out of CC this Friday to grab something at Dunkin Donuts and ran into…. The March for Life!  It is the 40^th anniversary of Roe this year and this weekend DC is hosting a few hundred thousand anti choice activists!  I didn’t know this for sure until I asked someone in the Dunkin Donuts which was chock full of both coffee AND people who believe that life begins at conception and should be protected at any cost.

I admit to being so unsettled out by the multitude of squeaky clean, fresh faced anti choice advocates that I had to call my mommy.  She immediately wanted to know if I engaged them in conversation about my personal views on the subject. For the record, I’m staunchly pro-choice. You probably already knew that. 

Anyway, my mom is one of those people who really likes to engage people in hopes that she will challenge the way they think or figure out why they believe what they do.  On this issue, I am not. So when she said,

“ Did you ask them…”

I cut her off and said something like, “No, no I did not because by the time you’re in DC, having traveled there on a bus from middle America with 20 members of your church group, alighting to wave huge signs with a screen printed baby on them, we’re beyond conversation.”

I can hear it now…..

Me: I think your movement is rooted in religious fervor, misogyny, lack of empathy, short sightedness and a need to wholly control women’s sexuality.

Protestor: I think your movement kills babies.

Bam! Totally dropped the dead baby bomb!  As far as they are concerned there’s no coming back from that one! 

So no, I asked a few questions about what was going on, repressed the urge to yell “Long Live Roe! And to a lesser degree Casey! Ha! Souter fooled ya!” and sipped on my delicious hot chocolate.  DD makes fantastic hot chocolate.

Besides,  I know the marchers would not have gotten angry, but they would have tried to school me in a gentle, Christian way.  

Also, my already bleeding heart was softened when I saw one of them buy a homeless guy a turkey sandwich.  It was actually nice to see a fully integrated picture of Christianity (giving alms to the poor and protesting the murder of innocent babies). This is one of many things I have against several major religious institutions.  Sure many are downright draconian when it comes to sexuality, abortion and gender roles.  The same churches (I am looking at you Roman Catholicism and Latter Day Saints) are incredibly progressive when it comes to immigration, poverty and  the death penalty.  They should be JUST as vocal about the DREAM Act as they are about Roe.

And that’s why, my friends, it is awesome to see someone in a bright green pro-life scarf buying a homeless man a Turkey sandwich at Dunkin Donuts.

You had no idea that a post about filing my time with volunteering was going to end with anti-choice baby signs at Dunkin Donuts did you? Ah, the magic of the written word.

(Slightly Masochist) Way to Keep Sane #2

Gawker.com has an interesting series of stories about being unemployed that they collect from emails submitted BY the unemployed. 

This collection is not something you should read when you're down (just like "Help me Make it Through the Night" is not a song to listen to when you're single and downing your second glass of Manischewitz watching "Say Yes to the Dress" on a Friday night.).  

These emails/letters give both a fantastic glimpse into the type of people this economy is leaving behind and how others (or at least those apt to comment on the internet) respond to their plight:

http://gawker.com/hello-from-the-underclass/

Way to Keep Sane #1: Running

Like I’ve said many a time, running keeps me sane.  I think because it has been a consistent form of release for me.  I started running when I was eleven, but I didn’t do it with any regularity until I was thirteen and I joined my high school’s indoor track team.  My older brother had just graduated the spring before as a local sprinting super star.  Of course, I had to do everything he did; I'd met the coaches before I was even in high school and I had been introduced as the next generation. I started off sprinting like my brother and made varsity very quickly. I flaunted my awesome blue and white letter jacket and varsity pins like a peacock. 

I liked sprinting but I really connected with the cross country/distance coach, his personality and his methods. I joined the cross country as a sophomore, ran top seven right away, and its been distance running ever since. 

Part of what I like about running is the challenge but also the high. Endorphins are real y’all.  And they are my drug of choice. I love the feeling when  I reach the point in a run and everything is smooth and fluid - my breathing, my stride, my form...My mind can wander, I can work out any issues I have and the physical thing I am doing, it just...is. 

I’m not obsessed with it the way I was in high school but I always feel better after running than I do sitting on my bum eating Quaker Toasted Oat Squares (yes, that’s what I am doing now).   Running is the best kind of self medication. Well, until you get a stress fracture but that’s why everything in moderation…

I feel lucky to have run all over the world from Havana to Yerevan, Amsterdam to Durban, London to the Bay.  Its my own special brand of “Pimpin’ Around the World.”  Clearly, its different in each city. Running down the road in Havana, I ran right by (and stopped to chat with) Olympian Ana Fidelia Quirot.  Running in Durban, I was mostly peeved because EVERYONE SAW MONKEYS ON THEIR RUNS BUT ME.  I digress.  

Lately, I've been noticing the difference between the two cities I have lived in most recently: Portland, OR and Washington DC. 

I have prepared a chart to explain:

City	Portland, OR	Washington DC
Common Routes	Springwater Corridor, Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge, Forest Park and the streets of SE Portland	Streets of NW, Georgetown, The Hill; streets of Silver Spring, MD when I first arrived
The Scenery	A beautifully painted wildlife building, evergreens, the Willamette River, Sellwood Bridge, perfectly tended gardens, wetlands, dense gorgeous forest	Row houses, gas stations, McMillan Reservoir, Howard University, Washington Monument, The Hill
The Terrain	Asphalt, trails, gravel	Concrete. Ugh, my shins.
The Wildlife	Osprey, eagles, deer, the occasional skunk, garter snakes that I happily removed from the path with a stick, one turkey vulture, one daytime raccoon (I doubled back and picked up a rock with which to beam him but he hightailed out of there)	Black Squirrels! (These are still very exciting for me), small mice, a rat the size of my shoe, the sight of which caused me to squeak like a stereotypical girl when it ran across my path
The Spectators	Homeless people, Hipsters, Hippies that come out of the woods to cheer for you and then give you a tasty orange for post run consumption, practicing roller derby teams, Bikers who see you so often they learn your name	Homeless people, people who don’t know how to move the hell out of the way, roaming bands of Bieber cute multicultural boys in skinny jeans on skateboards and bikes
Fellow Runners	Chill.	Clueless.  Why in the world are you running 1) in black 2) at night 3) with your i-pod on?
Holla Holla Holla	Minimal.  Occasional double takes from guys on bikes. A hoot or two from dudes in a pick up truck.	Fair (DC) to Severe (MD). Listen, I don’t know if there are women out there who respond to the advances of men yelling at them out of cars while they run.  I hope not.  The sexual harassment put me on edge when I first arrived, especially when a guy followed me on a run in Silver Spring.  Thankfully DC hollerers seem to limit themselves to brief compliments and horn honking.
Smells like….	Teen Spirit (a mix of trees, dirt, skunk, water, beer, sticky icky and deep fried pickles)	Food smells
Bike Etiquette Grade	B+.  Points taken off for all of the ridiculously fancy Spandex and the few overzealous bikers who do not pay attention to where they are going.	C-.  Sidewalks are not for bikes. I should not have to press myself against a massive stone lion so that you avoid running me over on a bridge.