Tag: Work

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Job Seeking While Old(er)

I’ve been trying to find work, for a while now. I don’t think it’s easy for anyone to get a job, but when you’re considered a senior citizen, at least by AARP standards, it’s almost impossible.

It is legal to ask a job applicants age, however it’s illegal to discriminate against because of it. It’s a Catch-22. (Oh, crap you have to be old to even get that reference.)

This reminds me a lot of job seeking while female in the 80s. It’s bad, immoral and stupid for companies to use age or gender against job seekers, but good luck proving it? Especially since there are no longer any real people involved.

I never thought I’d miss actual human resources departments staffed by humans and living, breathing head hunters. But I do.

Job seekers are now sorted through preset algorithms, and older people’s resumes are longer, which used to be a good thing. Now it triggers a hard pass. The virtual trash can.

Except for Uber. Every single day I get pitched to be an Uber driver multiple times. This would be a problem: my cars’ average age is 23, gas costs more than I’d earn and I get lost a lot. 

Then there are bait-and-switch jobs. There are entire websites of them. These have multiple interesting posts, and one is encouraged to apply. If you pay them $15 a month, or $69 for three months. Apparently the geniuses behind these things think that in addition to an inability to get a job, unemployed people can’t add.

The algorithm gods are far from perfect. I’ve The AGs can’t tell the difference between a film editor and a word editor. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten letters from ZipRecruiter asking, no begging, me to apply to an amazing opportunity editing film for ESPN or Disney. If only.

Some are gigs I’d love, but am clearly unqualified for. West Coast Producer for NPR’s “All Things Considered,” and Associate Producer for KTLA’s “Morning News” come to mind.

I have gotten a few positive responses to letters I’ve sent out.  Several websites have been all excited by my resume and writing samples. Unfortunately they all want me to write for free.  That won’t work until I get free water and electricity.

Some days, particularly after getting turned down for what are probably perfect opportunities, (freelance press release writing for an animal advocacy group – not PETA, I may be broke, but I still have a soul – or creating content for an instrument company’s website, etc.), when my depression starts to set in,  I’ve taken to responding to jobs that are just wrong for me.

I’ve applied for accountant jobs (I can’t balance my meager checking account), fashion copy writing (my wardrobe consists of barn clothes. Unless you are Ariat, this isn’t good), and food creatives (I set off the smoke detector yesterday heating a frozen pizza.) Shockingly, I haven’t heard back from any of these prospects.

Which leaves me trying to monetize my current skills: driving horse trailers and writing snarky blog posts.

Let me know if you hear of anything. I’m available.

All Those Candles Are Going To Melt The Cake

I had a birthday last week.  It did not spark joy.

I know, I should be grateful that I’m still on the correct side of the dirt, and reasonably healthy and very, very lucky. Blah, blah, blah.

Seriously, I am grateful. But…

I’ve always had a fraught relationship with my birthday.

When I was a kid it was fun, balloons, cake and stuff. Except for that one year when I was about ten, and my parents totally forgot it. I kept thinking they were planning a big surprise party or something. Nope. Just slipped their mind until my grandmother called. Oops.

I’ve never felt I was the right age. When I was young, I was too young. I couldn’t drive, drink or go to clubs.

Then boom!

I was old, or at least it felt that way. I was in college but by then Cameron Crowe had been writing for Rolling Stone since he was a tween. I was already behind.

I finally did write for Rolling Stone, and a bunch of other great (yay me!) publications. It was fun when I was actually working, and miserable when I was trying to get work. Think of it as ALWAYS selling yourself. Yup, that much fun.

They say that breaking into acting is hard on ones ego. Try being a writer. That’s real rejection.

Anyway, writing was and is the best gig I’ve ever had. But in an effort to actually earn a living, I did PR for years.  It was okay, but lying er, embellishing the truth, isn’t my best attribute. Telling the truth isn’t always positive PR.

I have actually had this conversation: “This artist isn’t exactly my taste, but what the hell do I know? Our A&R people love it. Please give it a listen. Okay?????”

Which I guess is better than saying: “This album blows chunks, but the singer is also blowing the A&R guy. So give it a listen.”

Which sometimes works, unless said A&R person overhears. Oops again.

I digress. When I went back to writing I contacted the places I used to write for,  or at least the ones that were still in existence. Not a lot were.

My favorite, or at least most memorable call was to Rolling Stone. My editor, a man older than me, told me point blank that I was too old to write about music.

I was so stunned I forgot to ask him why it was that women aged faster than men.

It’s been a lot like that.

I went to UCLA for a year to learn screenwriting, because it seemed like something I could do. It is. I’ve written a bunch of scripts, some of which might actually be commercial.

Of course I forgot that screenwriters age even faster than pop music writers do.  (Riley Weston anybody?)

I applied a couple of times for an apprenticeship at a well-known production company that claimed it was created the specifically to help solve the diversity program in the business. Since old is an under-represented segment of the writing community I figured it was worth a shot.

But I absolutely knew I wouldn’t get another look (and neither would a lot of applicants) when, in addition to a lengthy application that included two scripts, they required a one minute video from everyone explaining why they should get accepted.

I fully accept that my scripts might have been terrible.  Yet. Not one of the 80 finalists was over 25. Not. One. Nor were there many women of color.

Just saying.

Since then I’ve done all of the online job applications. I am getting contacted by employers.

As of today I’ve been recruited by Uber. Lyft and about a zillion phony universities purporting to help me reach my career goals by charging me a fortune for a useless degree.

Nope. For one thing, gas is $4 a gallon and I don’t even like taking Uber. And I’m already overeducated and under earning.

I’m still looking for work, but forgive me if I don’t celebrate my birthday with wild excitement.

60 is only the new 30 if you’re selling Botox or wrinkle cream. Wait a minute. Maybe I can be the ‘before’ pictures!