The craigslist blues

I have always found it very discouraging to peruse employment ads, starting in the days when they were in the newspaper and headed “Help Wanted – Female.” Nowadays it’s a particularly demoralizing exercise, because my general lack of qualifications is exacerbated  by the unacceptable number of years I’ve been on the planet. If you want to be the leader of the free world, it’s OK to be a woman over 60, but not if you want to shelve someone’s books or type their correspondence.

I would be so much more employable if I could just acquire a couple of these things:

  • eggs
  • sperm
  • a vehicle
  • hip or knee pain (shoulder pain won’t cut it)
  • youth
  • love for dogs
  • diabetes (or at least I haven’t been told that I have it)
  • asthma (though I used to have it)
  • experience with ____ (whatever it is, I don’t have it)
  • passion

The most crucial thing I don’t have, which 99 percent of employers insist on, is references. I used to have a stable of helpful folks who had agreed to serve as references for me (and a few whom I may not have actually asked but who seemed like good choices at the time). Now it’s been more than 10 years since I had an actual job, and I left that one under less than ideal circumstances. The volunteer gigs I’ve had in recent years have kind of fizzled, to the point where I can’t think of anyone (unrelated to me) whom I could in good conscience ask to recommend me for anything.

Since I basically have no one who can attest to my employability, I guess it’s a good thing that I have nothing to offer an employer. (And people call me a pessimist! Ha!)


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