Dreaming of Bacon

A few nights ago, I dreamt of bacon.

It sizzled in a pan, along with some slices of ham, the fat bubbling up between the former slabs of hog flesh. Then, an egg slithered into the pan; its whites spread to the edges as if running a race, while the yolk — yellow, round and perfect — remained Buddha-like in its stillness.

I don’t recall if I ate the bacon, eggs and ham. I probably woke up before I was able to

partake of this fat-laden but delicious feast. Just one of many bizarre dreams I encounter before I open my eyes to the pebbly gray of dawn and which quickly fade into the mist of deep subconscious.

I wonder why I had a dream about bacon. I love bacon (who doesn’t), but I haven’t eaten in a quite some time. Was it a subconscious stirring of hunger pangs?

I can’t say I’m hungry. I eat quite well. Yet my financial situation has forced me to curtail certain food purchases. No longer will I spend $5 for three ice cream pops. I scour for the cheapest cuts of meat and cereal boxes. I simply cannot afford those luxuries anymore.

Notwithstanding recent holiday indulgences, I know my hunger has subsided. Perhaps my nervousness over my incredibly shrinking bank account has slashed my appetite. In the past when I’ve been anxious about some major change in my life my hunger typically disappears only to reappear in calmer times.

Now, I feel anxious all the time about my financial status. How much in taxes will I pay next year on my paltry freelance revenues? Will my savings dissipate before I can find a full-time job? Will I end up homeless? And please don't get me started on my health insurance. These thoughts keep me awake at night (when I’m not dreaming of bacon that is.)

I’ve lost some weight (that’s a good thing), but not that much. I’m still frustratingly chunky despite my diminished food intake.

Sometimes, though, as in dreams, my hunger pangs rear up and take me by surprise. Like when I’m out for dinner with friends and relatives and I clean my plate. Oh, look at her, they must think, she can really chow down. No wonder she’s so fat. People can be so cruel when they don’t know your true circumstances.

Little do they know of my modest daily meals: cereal for breakfast, salad or occasional small sandwich for lunch, small piece of meat (overcooked) and serving of vegetables for dinner. Oh, once a week, I have pasta and sauce. I’ve cut out desserts (again, a good thing). They don't know of the meals I've skipped altogether.

Perhaps my bacon dream had nothing to do with actual hunger. Perhaps it’s my subconscious wish for a time when I’m no longer living this ascetic lifestyle forced upon me by two lengthy bouts of unemployment and unstable freelance work.

Perhaps it’s my longing for the day when I can buy whatever I want…food, a car, a new apartment, clothes. A time when I can indulge in bacon (although I’ll probably skip the ice cream from now on). Does that make me selfish?

Or travel. Can’t say I’m a big traveler (my sensitive stomach and swelling of my right leg make travel a bit problematic). All the time I see and hear of friends and family taking marvelous trips and I wonder, How do they get the money to do that? Then, I remember, oh, right, they have jobs.

I wonder why I can't have the life they seemingly have so easily. They have jobs, and I did, until I was told I didn't anymore through no fault of my own. Sometimes, it does make me angry. If it wasn't my fault, why am I the one dealing with the fallout? This summer, I bought two shirts — more out of defiance than need. I just wanted to buy clothes like everybody else.

I’m not jealous of others’ good fortune. I’m just wishing, hoping and dreaming of the day I can indulge as they do in nice clothes, trips … and bacon.

Ghosted From Jobs

Ghosting. It’s a new social phenomenon whereby one partner in a relationship severs all contact with the other person with no explanation. No phone call, no text, and of course,

never any face-to-face meeting. The person figuratively becomes a ghost, a plume of white dust never to be seen or heard from again.

Though this rather distributing trend occurs more in romantic or personal relationships, ghosting happens just as much in professional circles. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been “ghosted” from freelance jobs with no explanation (unless you consider the rather vague “didn’t click” BS I was given by a douchey client). Another time, I was told I had a steady freelance gig. But after I accepted, I never heard from the company again. So what gives?

Just this past week, a client of the editorial consultant I’ve been working with told him the company was going in a different direction. This swift turnabout came mere weeks after they assured him the company liked our work and would continue on another three-month contract.

Sometimes, personal relationship die out simply because you’ve moved on. You took a new job and don’t have daily contact with former co-workers. You move to another city, and have fewer opportunities to get together. That’s understandable.

Other “ghosting” incidents are less easy to comprehend. As a strikingly unpopular person since junior high school, I’ve become accustomed to people insulting and mocking me to my face, and cutting any and all contact with me in a rude, mean-girl manner with no reason given for their nasty behavior. But, hey, at least they did it to my face. And after some soul-searching, I realized my sometimes clingy behavior and “foot-in-mouth” disease might have caused the rift. Was I deserving of their abrupt expulsion? No, I don’t think my treatment of them ever rose to that level. I never insulted or was mean to them. My guess is they simply wanted someone to kick around so they could feel superior, and I was an easy target. They made it abundantly clear I wasn’t worthy of their time or friendship anymore. Once it become obvious they wanted no part of me, I respected their wishes and kept away.

Yet, those horrible, soul-crushing incidents (of which I count only three) made me a better person, a better friend and co-worker. I tried not to make the same mistakes, and for the most part I’ve been successful. I also know I would never treat somebody the same way those mean girls treated me. I treat people with respect, even when my courtesy is not returned.

What makes ghosting so much easier today is our digitally connected world. Why tell someone to their face why you’re dismissing them from your life when you can simply send a text, or better yet, say nothing at all. Poof! You’re gone.

How ironic at a time when we are more connected than ever that we’ve become less sensitive to other’s feelings. Aided by social media, we’ve become a callous, narcissistic society with no compassion or empathy. We’ve become more distant from one another, not closer.

We send nasty texts and make cruel Facebook and Twitter posts about people. Yet we seem to believe because those vile comments are made in cyberspace — not to the person’s face — they are somehow not hurtful.

So, why was I ghosted from those freelance jobs? Were the people in charge too busy to send me an email response? Can’t pay freelancers anymore? Was my work subpar? (Let me point out here that I’m always willing to edit my work to fit their specifications, and have done so when requested.)

All any of us who’ve been “ghosted” want is a simple, reasonable, respectful explanation of why we’re being kicked to the curb. Give us a reason. It may have something to do with our work or behavior. If that is the case, we can make changes to better ourselves. If it has nothing to do with us or our work — the website can’t pay freelancers anymore, the company is going in a different direction, the person you thought was a friend is a backstabbing mean girl — we should know that, too, so we’re not punishing ourselves for something beyond our control.

Without an explanation, we “ghosted” parties are left to ruminate as to what could have been our failure. As someone who has been laid off twice since 2009, I fall easily into the “I suck” mode anytime I’m ghosted or rejected for a job.

What really sucks is ghosting. Let’s stop it. Be brave and tell people why you’re doing them wrong — to their face. Or at least a frickin’ email.

Take This Job and…

Well, you catch my drift.

Since it’s Labor Day weekend, it’s time for my annual vitriolic (and admittedly biased) rant against corporations and their management lapdogs. Instead of recounting once again my

past humiliations at the hands of devious bosses and co-workers, I’ll tell you of two recent events showcasing just how cheap, disdainful and discriminatory companies are when it comes to hiring and treating their employees.

A few weeks ago, I answered an ad for a freelance editor. In my reading of the ad and my understanding of the term freelance, I assumed the job would be working in the office part-time or writing/editing on a project-by-project basis. Not a bad gig, I thought. Even better, the publication specializes in an industry I’ve previously covered.

I was called in for an interview, and so I went. From, there it went downhill, and fast.

First, the job wasn’t part-time or freelance as I and most understand those terms. It was a full-time contract position. In other words, I would be hired to toil full-time, yet paid hourly with no health insurance, retirement plan, or any other benefits. The ad was misleading, to say the least. In the company’s president’s (more on this a-hole in a bit) view, “freelance” meant the workers could say, leave early occasionally if their work was completed and they needed to visit a doctor. How compassionate of him! Frankly, in my experience at real full-time jobs, most bosses are pretty flexible when it comes to medical and family emergencies.

When I pressed (politely) on possible benefits, he scoffed at me, mumbling something to the effect that providing those perks was too much bother for him. Oh, those pesky full-time workers! How dare they demand fair wages, a decent health plan and a 401(K)! The nerve!

This rather alarming display of stinginess and condescension came after this 60-something, aging Don Draper-type bragged how his family owned buildings in the Garment District of Manhattan, and how everybody knew and loved him. This creaking vestige of imperialistic White Privilege just had to impress me with how great it is. I wanted to barf.

Obviously, he had the money to foot the bill for benefits. He just didn’t want to be bothered. Sickening, truly sickening.

His “publication” —and I use snark punctuation here— was nothing more than a mouthpiece for various PR agencies in the city. Even my sleazy bosses at my former former job wouldn’t publish the nauseating fluff/crap this guy did. He admitted he would never publish a real news story on a person or company. If a company were going through tough times, he would ignore it in print. I’m no investigative journalist, but you can cover the real news and be fair at the same time.

But, hey, everybody loves him. Wonder why?

The job entailed duties so easy I could do them my sleep. I’m looking for a bit more challenge in a new job than that. Also, the publication, as I mentioned previously, covered an industry where I know the most of the players and worse, could encounter some of my former colleagues at my former former job if I went to an event. I’d rather have a root canal than meet up with those bastards and backstabbers.

If that weren’t enough to make me walk away, given the overtly pandering tone of this “publication,” I would be a laughingstock to the entire industry and my former colleagues and bosses. Haven’t they had enough fun at my expense when they cruelly laid me off?

You guessed it. I politely declined this full-time-with-no-benefits job.

How dare she? She’s unemployed! She must take any crappy job offered!

Not really. Just because I’m unemployed does not mean I have given up my free will. I have every right to choose where and with whom I work. You know, the same right everybody else possesses. I believe anyone who criticizes me for not taking an unappealing job is probably miserable in his or her own job and feels everyone else should be, too.

Let me also remind you, I was gainfully employed, happy to work with horrible bosses, impossible workloads and stomach-churning deadlines. Until I was laid off. Where was my freedom of choice then?

I would dearly love another full-time job — if I were offered one with decent benefits and duties that allow me to use my background while also expanding my skills. None has been offered to me.

Unlikely I will ever be offered one, considered the blatant ageism I face. Back in the spring, I went on a job interview and was told point-blank I had “too much experience” (translation: you’re too old). I didn’t get the job. No surprise.

A week or two ago, I submitted an application for that same job, although I didn’t know it at the time. The name of the company sounded familiar, but since I submit an average of two applications a day, I figured why not give it a try? I had all the qualifications for the position.

The HR lady sent me an email asking for a preliminary phone interview. That’s when I did some digging and realized it was the same job I had interviewed for back in May but was rejected because of my age.

I was angry at first – why put myself through that humiliating experience again? — but didn’t do anything until I calmed down over the weekend.

On Monday, I decided to compose a direct, but professional email. Since we scorned candidates get so few chances to vent our feelings to our rejecting employers, I had to take advantage of this rare opportunity.

I recounted my experience, how I was told I had too much experience (as if that’s a bad thing), how those are code words for “too old,” and how I was ultimately rejected for the job.

I closed by saying that there was really no benefit for me interviewing for the job again if the company and the lady I interviewed with still practiced age discrimination. I received no reply from the HR lady. Why should she care anyway? Nobody is going to sue the company for age discrimination, least of all older, unemployed workers with no money. Nevertheless, I took a bit of satisfaction in at least calling the company out on its rather overt ageism.

Oh, and by the way, why is it advertising an opening for the same job a mere three months later? Gee, guess the Millennial it was so hot to hire for a paltry salary didn’t work out, eh?

I know what you must be thinking: How dare she refuse another job! Well, I wasn’t offered that job. Chances I wouldn’t be again. I haven’t gotten any younger in three months or undergone plastic surgery (though I did get my hair cut and colored).

This is what workers of whatever age face today in the workforce: Either you’re being discriminated against because of your age or forced to work for a meager salary for no benefits. Management holds the hammer, and boy, do they use it against workers at every chance. Especially when it comes to layoffs. Layoffs, in my opinion, are nothing more than management getting somebody else — their workers — to pay for their mistakes. And managers wonder why employees flee for another job at the first chance?

Sometimes I wonder, have I willingly left the labor force, or was I kicked out? It’s a bit of both, I think. Two layoffs in four years have made me justifiably hesitant to take another full-time job. A job I can lose through no fault of my own. I refuse to ever again be a pawn in some hidden Machiavellian management scheme that leaves me jobless and broke while my former bosses and their lapdogs continue to rake in their undeserved salaries.

A day to honor workers? What a freaking joke!

Every Day is Judgment Day

Not too long ago, I wrote about rejection fatigue. How the endless dismissal of my job applications eats away at my self-confidence and yes, soul.

That is still very much true. However, I’ve realized relentless professional rejection is not the

only slight damaging my soul and psyche. When job hunting, we expect rejection as part of the process. Nobody gets every job applied for, so we know going in there is a 50/50 chance we will not be chosen.

Yet underpinning rejection is something much more sinister — judgment. Think about it: Every time we submit a resume or fill out an application, we are being judged. Sometimes that judgment is fair; we simply don’t have the requisite experience or skills for the particular job. Other times, our rejection is based on one minor miscue — a wrong answer during an interview or a misspelling in our cover letter. Those judgments are painful, but at least we understand why we were rejected and can vow to do better the next time — if there is a next time.

It’s when we believe we were judged unfairly or harshly — or given no reason for the ultimate judgment and subsequent rejection — which gives us the most psychic pain. We ruminate, we judge ourselves severely, believing we did something terrible that justified our punitive treatment. In reality, we may not have done anything wrong, but it is so easy to fall down that slippery slope of self-doubt. It’s inevitable.

Not only during job hunts are we being judged. It’s also when we are, ahem, laid off. Unless an entire company or department goes belly up, management picks who stays — and who gets kicked to the curb. That, my dear friends, is a value judgment (oh, there’s that word again!). A manager has judged you to be less valuable, less of a worker, than another co-worker. That hurts, and leads us to question our abilities, especially since layoff decisions are typically opaque and we’re given no insight into why we were picked for the dung heap of joblessness while someone else was judged superior.

Judgment and its byproduct rejection also haunt every freelance assignment I do. Will the editor like the article? Will it be published? Or will it be judged inferior and rejected? Friends extol the benefits of positive thinking, to believe in myself. Yet without external validation or even occasional positive judgment, self-doubt corrodes my soul and obliterates my self confidence.

Even more frustrating is that these are mostly subjective judgments, not a test with a definitive right or wrong answer. This maddening situation has forced me to appreciate what actors and celebrities go through daily in our nosy Internet age. Not only are they judged on their work, but how they dress and rear their children. True, they are narcissistic media hogs, but sometimes all this attention and accompanying judgment must grate on them. I'm sure they want to shout, Hey, I worked 14 hours and had to stay up all night with a kid with an earache. Can't I just get a cup of coffee in peace! Nevertheless, many simply smile or put their heads down and soldier on – as we all must do in the face of constant judgment.

In my own life, I must admit ever since the consultant I had been working with divulged his douchelagoon client said we didn’t “click” during our one and only interview, I’ve been racking my delicate psyche for reasons why: What did I say that could have possibly turned him off? (He did most of the talking!) Was my work so much shoddier than the other freelancers? Why was I given the heave-ho from the project while they were kept on? I know this isn’t healthy, but without a clear reason, I can’t help but think the worst, to internalize all the tough judgments heaped on me. One editor slammed me for — gasp! horrors! — using passive voice and wordiness. Chill out, sister. You made minor changes in the first two graphs of a 1,000-word article and untouched the rest. Yet, even minor judgments carry harsh consequences.

Especially to my self esteem. Though I continue to look for a job and attempt to drum up freelance assignments, I have lost all confidence in my ability. Every article I write I judge as rotten.

If we are fortunate, we’re told why we were judged in a certain manner and can take positive steps to improve for the next opportunity. Unfortunately, sometimes we don’t get a second chance. A harsh, unfair and unexplained judgment stands.

I have yet to hear from that editorial consultant. Meanwhile, he has bestowed more assignments on those other two freelancers. One offhand comment was all it took for me to be judged inferior and unworthy of another chance. 

Life Hacks for Unemployed Losers

Instead of my usual whiny rants against unfair layoffs, nasty bosses, douchey clients, and blatant ageism in hiring practices, I’d like to discuss another favorite topic: How to save

money when you are unemployed and have no steady income.

I’ve touched on this topic previously, detailing how you can convert credit card points and frequent flyer miles for gifts and trips. I’ll spare you the obvious money-saving tips like coupon clipping (which you should be doing whether employed or not) and seeking out discounts whenever possible.

When you are a long-term unemployed loser, you must be more resourceful than that. Just this week, I used some creativity to save myself an enormous amount of money on a hair cut and color.

It had been almost two years since my last visit to a hair salon, and, frankly, my hair was getting unruly. It had grown to waist-length, and to be honest, I’m well past the age when flower-child, long, flowing locks are appropriate. It was a tangled mess, and oof — the gray! But I avoided the hair salon because paying rent and buying food took priority.

Yet it got to the point where I could no longer ignore the matted mishmash at my crown. It was weighing me down — literally and figuratively. I have thick, wavy hair — the kind everyone thinks they want until they realize it means a five-minute blow-dry every morning, gets knotted easily when too long, and frizzes like a Brillo pad in the humidity.

What could I do? My regular hairdresser charges $140 for a cut and color. Too expensive. Heck, that’s too pricey even when I did have a job.

I checked Super Cuts, which would have brought the cost down to $70. Cheaper, but could I do better, I wondered?

Then I remembered how dental hygienist schools sometimes give low-cost teeth cleanings as a teaching tool for their students. Might not a beauty school do the same?

So, through the wonder that is Google, I found a beauty school near me. Yes, its salon welcomed clients, and the price list on its website was more than reasonable. I called and was told to come for a skin test to ensure I didn’t have an allergic reaction to their products. I did so and saw no bad reaction.

Once I got payment for a freelance job, I called for an appointment. My hairdresser was a student, but she was near the end of the program. That makes sense — doubtful the school would unleash a new student on a salon client.

Further, the instructor — the flashily dressed Miss Sue — supervised every step of the cut and coloring process while fluttering around on electric-blue, seven-inch heels. A person like her could only exist in Jersey. Yet underneath her frosted crown of hair, she obviously knew her job and was a top-notch teacher. I felt assured my new hairdo would be professionally done — which is not something I can say of every salon I’ve visited in the past. I’ve endured some terrible haircuts by indifferent and sometimes downright nasty hairdressers that left in me in tears and took nine months to grow out. In college, one “hairdresser” scowled at me while he hacked chunks of my hair in willy-nilly fashion. Unbelievable. I left feeling it was my fault because I had “bad” hair.

Because of those frightening incidents, I usually request a blunt cut, nothing too fancy. So, I knew going in I wasn’t asking for anything too elaborate and definitely something a student hairdresser could handle. I merely wanted a trim and a dye matching my natural hair color to cover the gray. I couldn't look any worse than I did before I entered the beauty school salon.

Now, she was deliberate, as you would expect (and want) a student to be. The whole process took over three hours, longer than a normal salon visit that typically takes two.

Now to the best part: the cut and color cost $34. With a $12 tip (okay, I could have given more, but remember, I’m still unemployed), the entire bill came to $46. Not bad, and the results are excellent. My new hairdo looks as if were done by a professional — and it was.

I would definitely recommend contacting a local beauty school if you want to save a lot on a hair cut and color. You have nothing to lose by giving it a try. If you want a more elaborate hairstyle for a special occasion, then go to a professional salon. But for a basic cut and color, a beauty school is a great option. Hey, if it doesn’t look good, you can always go to a regular salon for a redo; but as my experience shows, that won’t be necessary. Choose a well-established, national chain, as I did, not some fly-by-night cosmetology school. Do your research.

When you are unemployed, you must get inventive to find ways to save money on so-called non-essential items. Will a new haircut and no grays help get me a job? Who knows? Solve my financial problems? No. However, I feel a tad better about myself, and even the smallest boost in confidence can’t hurt at this point.

Now, about that mani-pedi...

Who Do You Trust?

The answer, as I have lately realized, is no one. Trust. No. One. That is my mantra. Forget those corny posters with inspirational sayings, like Persevere, Never Let Go of Your Dreams, Be Kind, or

some such BS. None will ever grace my wall. What will is the one that states: Trust. No. One.

This past week drove home that cynical truism in the worst possible way. About a year ago, I started working with a freelance editorial consultant. Essentially, he found clients, and then hired freelance writers to report and compose articles (i.e., the real work). Things had been going smoothly, or so I thought. Of course, there was the typical back-and-forth between writer and editor. Nothing out of the ordinary. He seemed pleased with my work.

Earlier this year, he asked two other freelancers and myself to ghostwrite blogs for a marketing executive. To be honest, this was a new type of assignment for me. However, since my freelance work has pushed me into areas previously unknown to me, I figured, why not give it try. When I take on a new assignment, I jump feet first, full bore. We can debate the results good or bad, but you can never question my effort.

Long story short: I did the assignment to the best of my ability, adhering to the instructions. Each of us had to “write” three blogs on topics given to us. True of my life of late, one of my assignments was one of the more difficult ones, and one, frankly, the marketing executive pretty much ignored. He obviously had no interest in dealing with the topic. Nevertheless, I tried my best.

Since the blogs were to be bylined by this marketing executive, all the articles were heavily rewritten. Considering the nature of the assignment — writing for someone else’s voice — that was to be expected. When I asked about the rewrites — remember, this is a new assignment for me and I wanted to know if the work I did was okay — I was told it was fine, that the changes were normal. All the blogs I wrote were subsequently posted on several online publications.

The editorial consultant told us there would be more work for this particular client in June. Sounds good, I thought. I can use the money and maybe I’ll do better the second time.

Well, dear reader, I think you know where this is heading. A week ago, I was dismissed from the job, or more precisely “archived” off the Internet job board where the workflow was documented. Yet another sudden, slap-in-my-face professional rejection and embarrassment.

When I questioned the editorial consultant about the reason for this, he at first gave some mealy-mouthed explanation about not having enough work to go around, the assignment changed, he didn’t need three writers, an in-house person would be doing the assignment…blah, blah, blah. Then came the real kicker: The marketing guy told the editorial consultant that he and I didn’t “click” well over the phone during our interview. When I read that, my shoulders slumped, tears stung my eyes, and my confidence sank. It hurled me back to every time I was criticized and backstabbed by bosses and co-workers.

Now, I could go into a lengthy diatribe about why we didn’t “click.” But that would take up too much space, and sound rather whiny and defensive. Since I truly do not know what he meant by that statement, I have no clue as to what possibly went wrong — or if anything did go majorly wrong. It would be pure speculation on my part. I can assure you of this: I was professional and polite during the entire assignment. I don’t know how to act any other way.

There's no point in trying to rationalize anyway. The editorial consultant has to please the client, and if the client wants me gone, well, I’m a goner. The client is always right, even if that client is a douche-bro from Connecticut, land of craft beers, beemers, and white privilege. The entire stuck-up state ought to be renamed West Rhodesia. He probably likes the ego-surge of dumping a nobody like me off the assignment. Hey, it's his money, so that gives him the right to act like a jerk.

I didn’t respond to the email about not clicking with the client. No point. I would sound crazy (although in truth I took up residence in CrazyTown many eons ago).

More upsetting was learning later the two other freelancers are still working on this assignment. What the what!? (I learned this because I still have access to the Internet job board where the assignments are posted.) So, obviously, there is enough work for three freelancers. I was not picked to continue. Was their work better than mine? Apparently so. That hurts, not only because it is a poor reflection on my work, but, dammit, I need that extra money.

I’m not angry with the editorial consultant. He has his business to run, and my insecurities and feelings are of no concern to him. His priority is his bottom line — even if that damages my bottom line. It's his prerogative to dismiss me. But I'm under no obligation to accept or like his treatment of me.

So, no, I'm not angry with him. The person I’m angriest with is myself. Yes — me, myself and I. Angry because I believed this guy when he said there would be more work on this assignment for me. I believe he liked my previous work. I trusted. And what did I get in return? I was lied to and betrayed.

There could be work for me on other client assignments, the editorial consultant mewed unconvincingly. But I’m not holding my breath. Would I consider those jobs if offered? Of course I would. My financial situation is such that I cannot refuse any job. Alas, I doubt any offer is forthcoming. The relationship, as I perceive it, has been severed. Trust broken is never to be regained. You're dead to me Fredo.

Sadly, his actions have once again hoisted me into an insidious whirlpool of self-doubt: I’m not good enough. My work is horrible. I can’t write. I suck. No one will hire me. I'll be homeless in six months.

For a year, I worked hard for this editorial consultant, toiling on the weekends and meeting my deadlines. And all seemed fine while he was underpaying and over-working me, so he could reap money off my diligence. But one client makes an offhand comment and I’m gone? How is that fair?

Sadly, this is not new experience for me. I worked for a company for 16 years, and was laid off. Another company kicked me to the curb after three. Once again — once again! — I trusted that if I worked hard, my boss would treat me right. I was wrong.

Once again — once again! — I trusted my professional future and financial stability with another person who took it away without one iota of compassion or thought of how it would affect me. They didn't care. Never will I make that mistake again. Never. 

In all those instances, never once did I get a chance to defend or explain myself — or receive a clear, logical reason why I was terminated. Perhaps the reason we didn’t “click” wasn’t all on me. Since I have no idea what he meant by that, I have no clue as to what I did wrong, if anything. At the very least, if I knew what I did wrong, I could use that information to improve for the next time. Looks like there won’t be a next time. Oh, well…

As a side note, I had followed “Mr. Didn’t Click” on Twitter and connected with him on LinkedIn. Not anymore. Doubtful this egotistical douchebag will even notice, but it was my way of saying, “click off, Buddy.”

So where do I go from here? Tomorrow is Monday. I'll submit a freelance article I've been working on for two weeks (hopefully it'll be better received than the blogs I wrote for that marketing guru/master of the universe/class A prick). I’ll scour the job boards for full-time jobs and freelance gigs. If hired, I’ll work hard, but with an understanding that I can only really depend on myself and my ability to do a good job. Employers toss you aside, with no warning or explanation. You can’t depend on them. I’ve learned my lesson.

Trust. No. One.

Never Can Say Goodbye

The news was not unexpected. Yet what the intellect knows, the hearts does not want to believe. We cling to hope like a buoy in a sea storm. It won’t happen, it won’t happen…

“Your cousin died this morning,” the gravelly, exhausted voice said over the phone.

I knew this day was coming; I just didn’t want to believe. My dear cousin had fought bravely

for 12 years against a rare cancer that takes the life of most sufferers within a year. A vibrant, vocal (she told it to you straight, no filters, but always from a place of love), stunningly beautiful woman, she fiercely loved her family and friends. She will be greatly missed. The world is dimmer today without her, as we, those who loved her, stumble through the overcast and our sadness without a lady we’ve known since our earliest remembrances. I went to her funeral, but the real grief begins now.

Another lady I’ve known for many years is now gone from my life, too. We worked together at my former former workplace. She worked as the secretary to the company president; I, an editor. We struck up a work friendship that blossomed into a real friendship when, after her retirement, she moved to a town close to me.

We’d get together on the weekends, seeing a movie (we loved James Bond), shopping at nearby mall (she loved Macys as much as I do), and having lunch at pub restaurant where we’d sip Irish Coffees after the meal. We’d chat about family, work, life — and clothes.

In recent years, her back pain worsened, and she began to walk with a cane. She’d talk openly about selling her condo and moving closer to her daughter in Connecticut. A widow, living on her own was becoming increasingly difficult. Yet once again, I didn’t want to believe she’d actually leave.

The last time we talked, she said she didn’t feel up to getting together. That’s okay, I replied, I just want you to know you are well. Call me when you are able and we’ll have our Irish Coffees.

No call came. I sent her a Christmas card with a gift card in it. She sent back a Christmas card, wishing me health and happiness in the New Year. That was it.

Once the hubbub of the holidays ended, I called her number. It was disconnected. Shocked, I rushed to my computer, and after a quick Google search, saw her condo was — and still is — up for sale.

I mailed a letter to her old address, hoping it would be forwarded to wherever she is. The letter was not returned to me, but I also received no reply from her.

What happened? Where is she? Is she well? I don’t have the answers. I contacted the son of the gentleman she worked for, thinking perhaps he knew her location. He said his father would get back to him. I made it clear that if she doesn’t want to contact me, that’s fine. I just want to know she is safe and healthy. Still no word…

Now, she, too, is gone. Why didn't she tell me she was leaving?

As I process these losses, I realize that my career is also gone. Something that has been part of my life for so long, my ability to support myself, has drifted away like wisps of dandelions in the wind. I try to grab it back, but it eludes my grasp.

No one will hire me, and freelance gigs are drying up. Just this week I was informed one publication is going through a “reorganization” (translation: we’re laying off freelancers). I was banished from another job for reasons still unclear.

Yet, I know this is merely the ebb and flow of life, like ocean waves lapping to and fro on a sandy shore. What was once there, so visible and solid, suddenly disappears. Good times zigzag with bad times. Life is a series of transitions, some good, some not so good. Change is never easy, but we endure. We lose jobs; we find (we hope) new jobs. People are in our lives and then they leave.

We knit their memories in our minds. Despite the sadness pressing on our hearts, we move forward. We put one foot in front the other and keep walking — and hoping. Always hoping.

Just don’t ask me to say goodbye.

A Word About Ageism. (Pauses. Sips Tea.)

So I’m in the middle of a job interview two weeks ago when the interviewer says to me, “You have too much experience for this job. You’d be bored.” I knew then I had no chance of getting that job. That statement ranks among the top 5 of “Things You Never Want to Hear

During a Job Interview.” I was doomed.

Any employment expert — or long-time job hunter — knows the phrase “too much experience” is code for: “This person is too old for the job. I’m never going to hire him/her. Bring me a younger person.”

Yes, folks, ageism is alive and well in the workplace. Not only do companies target older workers for layoffs (I should know), they dismiss them outright for jobs for which they have every qualification simply because they are considered “too old.”

Like my recent job interview. Nowhere in the ad did it mention this was an entry-level position. I possessed the requisite skills and background for the job, not to mention knowledge of the company’s particular industry. Yet, a day later, I received the dreaded “We are going with another candidate” email. Yeah, a younger candidate, no doubt.

This wasn’t my first encounter with flagrant ageism. One particularly nasty guy I interviewed with looked at me and sneered, “At your age it would be hard to get a job.” Could he be any more transparent? His implication was clear: Since no one else will hire you, I may — for a paltry salary — and I can treat you as badly I want because no one else will give you a job. I’d rather be homeless, living in my own pee, than work for a horrible boss like that.

I knew when I started my job search 16 months ago my advanced age would hinder my ability to find employment. Add to that my two layoffs in four years, and I knew it would be a tough road. Yet, I was able to get job interviews, and I thought, foolishly I now know, that the skills I picked up at my last job would erase any doubts about my capability to master new technology. I was wrong, so wrong.

I’m not surprised that HR managers practice ageism when hiring. (Who’s going to stop them?) What does surprise me is how blatant they are about it, how little attempt they make to hide the fact they are discriminating against me because of my age, how they believe I'm so stupid I don't perceive their ageism. 

I’m also surprised when people of my generation discriminate against me because of my age. That woman who dismissed me for being “too experienced” (is that a bad thing?) was well past her 40th birthday. How would she feel if she was laid off and had to look for a job, only to be told she was “too experienced”?

Perhaps for that particular position I was too experienced. If that were the case, then the company should have specified it was an entry-level position or stated the salary range. Then, I wouldn’t have applied, gone in for the interview, and been crudely dismissed because of my age.

Of course, companies aim to pay only the lowest of salaries, so an experienced worker is automatically deemed to command too high a salary. Let’s hire young and cheap is the mantra of corporate America. My salary requirements run in line with the industry’s standards for someone with my experience, and I’m always willing to negotiate. Sadly, any attempt to negotiate salary has fallen on deaf ears.

There is more than mere ageism going on here. It’s the belief by so many employers that only the young know how to use technology. I believe that is a false assumption.

At my last job, I learned new tech systems and was given the toughest job in the department. Want to know what my beat was? Annuities. Yeah, good luck with that. It was the military equivalent of latrine duty. Hey, I was the newest employee, so I expected the shittiest assignment.

Nevertheless, I succeeded. I tripled page views on my channel and was the fourth most-read editor out of a staff of a dozen on the website. I was the lady who created a slideshow titled “12 Cheesy Sales Lines You Should Avoid.” It was a thing of beauty, and I had fun putting it together. A year after it was posted, it was still in the top 10 for page views. So, I proved I could learn new industries and technology. Great, right?

Unfortunately, the misogynist fraud that headed the department couldn’t deal with any older professional women and laid off three of us. He hated it when any female underling questioned him, and treated a lady recovering from cancer treatment very badly. He barely concealed his disdain for any of us. When the chance came to get rid of us, he did. Again, ageism reared its ugly head.

In light of my recent experience, I don’t understand why I’m summarily rejected for jobs simply on the assumption I’m too old to learn new tech skills. And why are young people automatically assumed to be digital wizards? And it’s not just me who feels that way.

I recently spoke to the head of a tech company for a freelance article. I asked what skills he looked for in new hires. The exasperation in his voice vibrated through the phone line. (Yes, it was a landline. It’s better for recording interviews. In my defense, I gave up my flip phone a long time ago.)

The gist of his answer was that while young people are users of technology, they remain clueless when it comes to developing a technology that can successfully solve a business problem. Just because Millennials are consumers of technology does not in any way mean they are innovators of technology. Heck, they may not even know how to code. If Millennials are such hotshot techies then why are they are thousands of coding bootcamps across the country? Yet, companies persist in the belief that only the young know technology and dismiss thousands of older workers based on a wrong-headed notion.

I fight a losing battle against that stigma every time I submit a job application. Age discrimination cases are notoriously hard to prove, so companies have no fear of dismissing older workers and being hit with a lawsuit. HR managers can spin the rejection of an older candidate by simply saying they weren’t right for the job or had “too much experience.”

That is so wrong, for so many reasons. Hiring someone based solely on their age is as stupid as rejecting a person because of their age. It’s ridiculous.

Why not look at the totality of a job applicant. Does the person have the skills and background for the job? In an interview, does the person seem personable and intelligent? Does that person have the capability and desire to learn new skills? Those are characteristics a person can possess at any age.