Another Day in Job Search Paradise

Had an interview today - with a vet. Animal, not military. An unlikely career choice but - as I AM on marriage no. 3 (if anyone's counting) - I've always said that I'll never have another husband but I'll always have another dog - or cat! I say this as 'Beau' my 3-year-old feline beauty sprawls across my mouse pad after licking what's left of his balls.

In a way men are like cats - some are very warm and furry and purr quite loudly when someone else does the ball-licking. Beau is quite a charmer. He doesn't understand that Mom is having major angst over trying to find a job. But he does sense that something is a bit off. He licks me more than usual. Maybe its because whenever I unconsciously download my Meno-app - iSweat - my arms taste nice and salty. Maybe its because I deboned a chicken for supper and he's draining the dregs of roasted fowl pheromones. Whatever the reason, I'm grateful for the sandpaper kisses and reward him with a scratch behind his ears.

Or, maybe he senses that there is a potential employer out there with enough feline fur to satisfy any fuzzy fetish (I just had to try to get four 'f's' into that sentence). Does he sense impending usurpment of his throne? Not likely since his too-beautiful-diva twin sister invented upstaging so he's used to playing second fiddle. I think he might be hinting that as a result of today's cattle call in Barrie I too will probably be upstaged by approximately 30 or so younger, thinner (but not so brilliant) candidates for the vet job. But unlike Beau, I won't even get a scratch behind my ears for my troubles. I'll be lucky if I get a call-back for the infamous "group" interview.

I often wonder about the wisdom of group anythings. What does the HR department get out of these mass cullings? Do they expect us to compete like gladiators in the arena? Cat fights (pardon the pun) to determine the last CSR standing? How about a reality show - "Job Market Survivor" - watch 16 unemployed Canadians as they battle to the death for a single position. Thank goodness I don't have to do this on skates. I can't imagine enforcing my way past Ty Domi for a shot at the gainfully employed goal. I'm the player who will get the crap beat out of them; tossed head-first into the boards and run over by the Zamboni as the driver flips me the bird.

If nothing else, however, it gives me the chance to check out the competition. And from what I've seen so far, I wonder what team the opposition is playing for. There were the "I don't care about my appearance so I'm showing up in jeans" group, a crowd of "I'm flaunting my wicked eyeliner and tats," a gaggle of "shut-up I'm on my cell phoners," a party of "my jingly jewelery and I took a bath in perfume" and last, but not least, a couple of old broads like myself, classic and conservative, dismissively eyeing the rest and smiling at each other out of veteran respect. This is my competition. Bruised, battered but still here for the long haul. Time will tell if the Gods were in our favour today.

Hopefully - not too much time!

And now...to take out the garbage and pill the cat.