Of lotteries & jobs

I've been doing freelance work, and you probably know how that is: you get some and it's all cake and balloons, then it's finished and it's all stale crusts and brackish water. So I've been on the hunt for a job-job. Here's the thing about job hunting, it feels exactly like the lottery.

When I get a lottery scratch ticket, I like to get the kind with a crossword or other intricate game. That way it feels like there's exchange instead of just me donating to the state public schools. I know the bake sale is better odds, because at least for your buck you get a brownie, but, you know, I'm trying to cut down on sugar.

I let the ticket sit around for a couple of days so that it knows I'm not really all that interested in it.

Then I scratch the bits off slowly. But not too slowly! Because I have to tell my brain to shut off. I have to tell my brain to shut off, because if I give it the slightest leeway, I hear the chorus of thousands singing to me what I can do with the money. The soprano part is stuff like: remember they take out taxes, but we bet you can still repair the house and car. The altos bring in the fact that some nice things wouldn't go amiss, like a trip, books and fun classes, software, and stuff from modcloth.com. The tenors remind me that it will be wonderful to give lots to charity. And the bass comes in with, sure, it's a long shot, but I'm a fairly good person, and can't that be worth something, cosmically? Within seconds, I'm in a happy place, where the air is warm and the water is blue; sipping something with a little umbrella in it.

When you're looking for a job, they tell you to find out all you can about the company. Wow, this place looks awesome! I could be perfectly happy here! It's just my cup of tea! Look at the interesting projects they do, and how successful it is! And because I need a job, I can't really be thinking about who left the position and why, or the fact it's run by Captain Ahab and that woman Meryl Streep made look fabulous in The Devil Wears Prada! That can't matter, because I have to work somewhere, and working there is working somewhere!

The chorus is back. Sopranos: lalalala, you could make this work with your schedule. Altos: it looks like a great place to work. Tenors: you could really use the money. Bass: sure, it's a bad economy, but you've got the skills they're looking for. Now I'm in the happy place where the bills are paid, everybody's schedule works together, and the lawn is mowed.

If you need me, I'll be outside in my lawn chair. I'm wearing a sweater, and you'll have to wade through waist high grass to get to me, but you'll know it's me, because I have a drink with a little umbrella in it, and a fire made of resumes and scratch tickets. And I'm singing mezzo-soprano.