Paying dues when doing doesn't pay

The focus of this blog, really, is to to describe the employment situation our field is in, especially to new or potential librarians.  So when I bitch about seemingly personal issues, the message behind it is always: "this is what you will probably go through if you decide to become a librarian."

That being said, I hate my job.

This is the kind of profession where you may very well end up paying your dues in thankless and degrading ways for a long, long time in hopes to get the kind of job you someday want.

This is my current situation:

I work at a career college as an adjunct instructor.  I won't say where because obviously.

It was pretty good when I first started.  I liked my colleagues and boss, I liked the students, and I felt like I was contributing in a meaningful way.

I still like my colleagues and boss.  The ONE good thing I still have to say about this place is that the people I work with are very supportive, and I like to think I do my part to be helpful and supportive back.  It shouldn't be a surprise, it's a pretty common trait for a librarian.

However, when I started I was only teaching 1-2 classes, and I was doing it for the experience, not the money.  I had an office job that was my main source of income.  That business folded (through no fault of my own.... probably), and I was left with just the teaching job.

That's my brief history, now on to why you never, ever want to work in a place like this.

First of all, there is no work/life balance.  None.  The job follows you home.  You will spend your "days off" grading papers, replying to student emails, and preping lectures.  It is an all-consuming job you will be doing for.... hold on, let me move to my next point:

Second of all, the pay is garbage.  You will do this all-consuming job for no benefits and crap pay.  I am currently making $1126.13 per month after taxes.  Notice I said "making" and not "earning" because I earn far more than I'm given.  The powers that be have NO concept of how much work they're realistically asking.  This is not my personal experience, it is the experience of every single employee I've spoken to there.  Every one of them works far more hours than they are paid for.  This might be understandable in a high position where you're already making a large paycheck (I would not agree yet, but some could make that argument).  However, I repeat: 1126.13.

 By the way, this is the maximum (raises not withstanding-- I've gotten 3 or 4 since I started in 2009).  This is what I'm currently earning for teaching 3 classes, which happens to be the maximum I can teach.   Last semester there was only room for one spot on the schedule for me (which is pretty typical of Spring semester, and not uncommon of Winter either) and I was making 394.66.  Yes, that's per month.  On my Master's level salary.

So the pay is worthless and the workload sucks.  What about job satisfaction?  It started out ok, like I said I felt like I was contributing.  But more and more, the students are making things not worthwhile.  What I'm about to describe may not be typical of all schools, but it's typical at mine:

The students give exactly zero fucks.  Exactly zero.  I counted.  Twice.

At a normal school, a student who misses class will contact the instructor and ask what they missed.  That's what we did in college, right?

The students here won't do that.  So I email them.  At the end of each class, an email goes out to every one of my students with the work attached, saying "here's what you missed," and a re-hash of the instructions for the more in-depth papers.  Care to guess how many students can be bothered to take the initiative of checking their God damn email?  If you said "not a one" you are the lucky winner of this lovely set of not a damn thing, because I already told you what I get "paid."  But you would be correct.

I could understand meeting them halfway, but we don't just meet them halfway.  We go up to their door and knock.  And they can't be bothered to put on a pair of pants and answer it.  That's just their attitude: they don't want to take even a minimal amount of personal responsibility.  And yes, we all explain to them how college works.  Admissions does it, the advisors do it, the instructors do it.  We all tell them "seriously, you need to go to class."  And "seriously, you need to do your work."  They've all heard it, they don't care.

The problem with job satisfaction is, it's now to the point where most of the students are not putting in a serious effort, and the few that do are often the ones who don't really need a ton of help anyway.  I feel like all I'm doing at this point is weeding out the students who are wasting their time, and "angel of death" is not a very satisfying job.

And when they bother to show up?  Well that brings me to the last complaint, the workplace environment ranges from "borderline hostile" to "fucking hostile."  This job involves far, far more degradation than I am being paid to take.  The students fight and push back at you at every turn.  No matter how much you lower your standards, it's not enough to make them happy.  I gave up on trying to get them to stop swearing in class, all I asked is that they not use racial slurs.  I tell a guy not to say it, he immediately repeats it to my face.  I had a student rant and argue about every rule I tried to enforce, telling me "I don't like this class and I don't like you." And it wasn't just me.  He put 3 instructors through his brand of terrorism before being removed from the school. I had a student (not even one of mine) come into my room and start swearing as every other word out of his mouth.  Particularly something that started with "Mother" but then took a pretty hard left turn.  I ordered him out, and he walked out swearing at me now with a huge grin on his face, obviously very proud of himself.  And he was right to think he got one over on me-- he did.  I have no idea who he was, and thus no way to report him.  I went to a noisy room next to mine (more loud abusive language.  Of course plenty of racial slurs) and asked them to be quieter.  The whole time I'm talking to them one of them repeatedly barks "NO!" at me.

...I could go on.  For pages.

Even the students who aren't complete assholes by nature wear you down.  There's only so many times you can pass out the most dumbed-down research paper you will ever see-- (4 pages long, and we give the students a list of suggested sources.  They don't even have to find or evaluate the sources themselves, and we call it a "research" paper, because we've given up expecting more of them)-- and being consistently and unanimously told that "you're giving them too much work" and hear about how cruel you're being before you lose any shred of sympathy for the students, and for humanity in general.

Now to bring the point back around: yes, I'm venting.  It had to be done.  But this isn't all about me talking about myself.  The other point I want to make is this: this has been my job for four years now.  This is what I'm putting myself through week in and week out, because as terrible as it is in every aspect (unreasonable workload for crap pay and utter degradation), this is the best I can do in the library world.  This is exactly the kind of thing you may find yourself doing for years on end, week in and week out, in hopes of MAYBE one day being able to land something better.  How many years?  Well, four isn't enough for me so far.  I'll keep counting.

How badly do you want to be a librarian?

Idiot Wind

If I were trying to get to know someone and could only ask that person a single question, it would be “What’s your favorite Bob Dylan song?”

Bob Dylan touches a lot on the human experience.  It’s impossible to go through his catalog without finding something that really touches you, really strikes a nerve with you in particular, and seems to be talking directly to you.  For that reason I think that discovering someone’s favorite Dylan song can really tell you a lot about about them, what their experiences have been, and what kind of thing really strikes a nerve with them. 

Besides, anyone who doesn’t care for Bob Dylan probably isn’t someone worth talking to.

My favorite Dylan song is Idiot Wind (the original, from the Blood on the Tracks album).  Absolutely nobody can sing contempt like Bob Dylan and the way this song starts out is a good example.  But that’s not the main reason it’s my favorite, it’s just a strong supporting reason.  There are actually several good supporting reasons, but I’m going to jump to the main one:

You didn’t know it,
you didn’t think it could be done,
in the final end he won the war.
After losing every battle.

Every time I grab that album to listen to on the way to work I hear that song as though hearing it for the first time.  When it comes on I know I’m about to hear my favorite song by one of my favorite artists, and yet I always seem to forget that I’m about to hear that specific line.  And when I hear it, it’s all I can do not to break down and cry when everything it means to me comes flooding back.

For so many years that one line has spoken to me more than anything else.  It was my only hope, after all.  Life post grad school has been rejection after rejection after rejection, for years.  Every single battle lost.  It was always encouraging to think that it was possible, even after racking up nothing but losses, to win the war in the end.

My belief in that may be weakening over time.  Lately it seems like even if I do win the war, who cares?  I’ve been fighting so long that the end of the war isn’t going to be glorious or romantic.  It’s going to be missing limbs, misery, and unstable conditions for the region.  It has turned into the kind of war where no one wins and everyone loses.

After all, I already feel like I’m too old to still have time to get what I really wanted out of life, but can’t go for until my financial situation is in order.  I’ve probably already lost in life thanks to this career choice, but for some stupid reason I keep marching on in hopes of an eventual Pyrrhic victory.  What am I even fighting for anymore? 

My war…. what is it good for?

Member$ only

I got that dreaded email today.  “Renew Your ALA Membership.”  This email signifies another 65 dollars out of my pocket for absolutely nothing.

I’m not hating on the ALA.  I’m sure a membership is a nice thing to have if you’re working in the field.  But for a severely underemployed person who doesn’t actually work in a library?  This is pretty useless.  The ALA joblist is visible to me with or without a membership, so there’s only one reason for me to have it:

I keep renewing my membership in hopes that it looks good on my resume.

When I was in library school I had a professor who said that if she had the power, she’d make it mandatory for us all to have ALA memberships simply because it helps our resumes.  But as you know if you’ve been following my blog since the beginning (and I understand that’s not all of you… or any of you… or anyone because there is no hypothetical “you” and I’m talking to myself >.>) I’ve given up hope that it’s possible for me to get a job in this field.  It’s over, throw in the towel, I am a failure.  Despite this, I am still sending out resumes because, crap, I didn’t waste all that time and money not to try.

This is my first time being asked to renew my ALA membership since officially giving up, and I’m not sure exactly what to do now.  Do I waste my money on something I know is futile, or do I keep paying because, if I’m going to keep sending these resumes out, I ought to put my all into it?

How exactly is it even improving my resume, given that I have done precisely dick with it in the 5 years I’ve had it?  Wouldn’t it be just as well to write “I’d purchase an ALA membership if you gave me a reason to have one”?  Of course I’m speaking practically, and practical is not always the same as realistic.  Of course that wouldn’t look good on a resume, but for all intents and purposes it would be the same thing except I wouldn’t be wasting money that I desperately need.

I will grant you that 65 dollars for a year isn’t a lot of money.  In return, I hope you will grant me that it is a lot of money when I’m already operating under a yearly net loss from bills alone (thank you, student loans for a career I now know I can never hope to have!).

Is $65 in my current predicament worth the ability to tell myself that I did all I could, or is it time to cut another loss in a loss-filled life?

Positively positive

You're getting by now that I'm aware that I completely ruined my entire life with my horrible career choice of trying to be a librarian.  Yep, I am, no arguing there.  But in honor of Thanksgiving, I'm going to try to think of something positive to say about it.

The good thing about being a librarian is that the work itself doesn't suck.  Ideally.  I mean, no matter where you are, some jobs are just going to suck.  But if you can find a position that doesn't, it sure is nice to be able to help people and feel like you're doing something of value.

Before I embarked on this career, I couldn't fathom the idea of wanting to work.  It's something we do because we have to, not because we want to, right?

One of the things I learned in the management course in library school was that people are most satisfied with their professional lives when they believe that what they're doing really matters.  I had no frame of reference for that tidbit of knowledge to be useful to me at that time, but for some reason I remembered it when I was doing my fieldwork and a cartoon light bulb went off over my head.

The last job I'd had before my fieldwork was, embarrassingly, being one of those people at a busy intersection holding up a sign for a nearby pizza stand.  My entire job was holding up a sign.  I could have been replaced at any moment by a wooden post.  How valuable do you think I felt?

Then I got to do fieldwork and I got to help people.  Directly.  Even when it was something as simple as showing them how to print or explaining how to figure out a bus schedule, it made me giddy to know that people were presenting me with problems, and I was solving those problems for them.

Do I think I'll ever really accept that I have to give up the better half of my waking day, 5 days a week, to something else with no say in the matter?  No, of course not.  But for the first time I actually understood how working life could at least be bearable.  I realized how true it was that workplace satisfaction comes from feeling like your contribution matters.

The good news about the librarian career is that you do get opportunities to do things that feel like they matter.  So if it were actually possible for me to get fully employed in this field, I really would have something to look forward to.

Not only is the work itself not bad, but add on the fact that, while not many people will ever get rich in this field, librarian is a job that, for now, if you were to get it, you wouldn't be starving (assuming you're not living outside of your means).  Also, that was a lot of commas.

Put that all together and this is a career where I could put in a days work, come home feeling like I did something that mattered, and greet a spouse whom I do not argue with over money all the time because I do not have a minimum wage job that forces us to live check to check, paying off one credit card bill with another credit card, and never fully knowing how we'll make rent.  Instead, we live comfortably within our means and, though never rich, aren't constantly stressed out over money either.  That's a pretty damn good life.  In fact, I couldn't ask for better (I'm already assuming the spouse is hot.  With as hot as I am, it goes without saying).

That's the life I could hypothetically have, if only this profession, as nice as it can be if I ever make it to that side of the rainbow, weren't completely devoid of opportunity.  If only this career path had a somewhat reasonable expectation of job placement, it would be pretty sexy.

Yes, I'm thankful for the fact that librarian would be a good job, of only librarian jobs were out there.  I suppose that's about as useful as saying that I'm thankful for how delicious unicorns would be if only they existed, but hey, I said I was going to say something positive.

A Matter of Chance

I mentioned before how I followed the path of least resistance and more or less stumbled ass-first into this career path.  But that still doesn’t explain exactly why librarian was my last-minute desperation choice.  There has to be some reason that was on the top of the pile when I reached into my hat and grabbed one.  There is.

I blame Vladimir Nabokov.

Allow me to back up.  I’ve always been a good reader.  In fact, I was unusually good.  In kindergarten the teacher tested us on our reading level by pulling us into the hall individually and asking us to read.  She gave me the book and I read it.  Really read it.  Not sounding out words, and not pointing to the picture of the tiger and saying “kitty!,” I read it fluently.  She thought I must have had that book at home and knew it by heart, so she gave me another.  And another.  And another.  Then she finally realized that I was actually reading those books.  She was shocked; she had never seen that before from someone my age.

I would go on to take the ACTs and score in the 99^th percentile for reading and 97^th or 98^th for grammar.

Don’t get me wrong, I suck enough at math and science to balance that out so I don’t consider myself a genius by any means.  I’m not bragging, just giving you background.

The point is, I was good at reading right from the start.  And I loved reading.  I loved it right up to the age of 13 or 14, when I let that hobby slide in favor of other hobbies (not all of which involved my genitalia).  It wasn’t until the Summer before college that I began to read for pleasure again.  Although, it wasn’t really pleasure I was doing it for, to be honest.  It was simply because I wanted to be viewed as intelligent, and intelligent people should be able to list well-known books they’d read, or be ready at any moment to talk about what they were reading at the time.  So I began reading some of those books that intelligent people “should” have under their belt.  Catcher in the Rye, For Whom the Bell Tolls, Moby Dick.  You know, those kinds of books.  I didn’t dislike them, but I can’t say I loved them.  Then I read A Clockwork Orange, and that sparked something in me.  I actually enjoyed reading it; I found it fun.  For once since I was 13, reading really was pleasurable and not just something I “should” be doing.  But when I returned the book to the library, I still felt the same as always.  I still merely felt proud that I had another well-known book under my belt.

The next book I checked out was Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov.

There is no hyperbole in stating that this book changed my life.  It was beautiful, so so beautiful.  The language, the flowery prose, it was art.  It wasn’t entertainment or an idea or a conversation piece, it was, simply, art, in all its raging beauty.  When I finished and went to put it in the library return drop, I didn’t feel a trace of that pride from having “another one under my belt.”  That didn’t matter anymore.  All I felt was sadness for the fact that it was over, that I couldn’t immerse myself in it forever.  It was hard from me to open up my fingers and let the book drop.  It actually took a few seconds to bring myself to let it go.

It’s almost scary to think that, as much as Lolita changed my life, it’s not even my favorite novel by Nabokov.  I’ve read 7 of them, and almost every single one of his short stories.  My favorite, Pale Fire, is one of the few books I actually own, and I have read it almost countless times now.

Vladimir Nabokov is why I have a passion for the printed word.  He’s why I hold books sacred.  He’s why the library, and what it represents, is special to me.  And if not for that, the library wouldn’t have been the place I settled on when forced to decide where I wanted to spend my life.  Where would the path of least resistance have taken me if not for that?  I have no idea.

For a long time, Nabokov was the reason I was happy.  He changed my life in more ways than what I just discussed.  He made me happy.  No, not happy.  Content.  Reading his short stories inspired something in me, made me feel like I could feel “at peace,” and satisfied, whatever was going on.  That as long as I could find and appreciate the beauty around me, it would be enough.

As you can see, this did not last.  Now that the real world had ground me down, and now that I don’t have time to read Nabokov’s works anymore anyway, and now that I’ve become the failure I am, the glow of that contentment has faded.  Nabokov made me serenely happy, and then in time he made me a depressed, miserable wreck.   

So I guess you can say I know what it’s like to have been in love.

Would I change my path if I could?

Sometimes I sit alone and wonder about what could have been, about what could have changed or been done differently.  I found myself where I am by following the path of least resistance.  I didn’t know what I wanted to do after high school, so I took some scholarship and loan money to go to college.  I didn’t have a post-college plan, but I didn’t know what else to do, so putting the decision off for four more years was easier.  I chose a pretty not-outstanding major as far as jobs go because I still didn’t know what I wanted to do by my sophomore year.  That’s why, instead of picking anything practical, I picked what was interesting.  Everyone said I’d find out what I wanted to do when I got to college.  They lied to me.

Then came time to graduate from college, and the only exit plan I had come up with was “steal crap on my way out.”  It turns out that dry erase markers couldn’t pay off my student loans, however, so it was back to the drawing board.  Still no idea what to do, I kept going on the path of least resistance.  Library school.  Sure, what the hell, why not?  It didn’t seem like a hard job, I liked reading and libraries, and I didn’t know what else to do.  If I didn’t have such a horrific, paranoid fear of bugs, I honestly would have just been homeless by choice.  That’s how much I had no idea what to do.  Instead I chose library school, again doing the easy thing.

What if I’d done something different?  I still wonder what my life would be like—if I’d actually have one—if only I ever really wanted to do anything in particular.  If, instead of throwing a dart when I had to make a decision, I had been really into the idea of being a plumber, or dentist, or ninja.  If at any point in my life I would have had some burning passion.  Instead, I identify very much with the protagonist from Office Space.  We were supposed to imagine what we’d do if we could do anything we wanted for the rest of our lives, and that was supposed to be our career choice.  The problem is, there’s just nothing we wanted to do all of our lives. 

Don’t get me wrong, I do want to be a librarian.  I’ve enjoyed the work so far.  There are some parts I want to leave behind, and some parts I need to leave behind, and hopefully one day I’ll get the kind of library job I want so I’ll be able to.  But I do want to be a librarian.

But what if there had been a real passion in my life?  What if I were one of those kids who wanted to be a veterinarian from the age of 5 and worked my whole life with that goal in mind?  What if I swam against the current that took me to library school and ended up anywhere else?

The only problem is, even now when I try to imagine it, I can’t think of what that other path could possibly be.  The truth is, I never did have an interest in being a plumber or an exotic dancer.  What good is it to ask myself what I would have done differently when I still can’t even imagine how?  Even now I don’t know what my other option could possibly have been.  If I could hit reset and live it over again, I can’t imagine what I’d do instead of this.  

I guess it doesn’t help to imagine anyway.  After all, I’m a librarian.  I’m a librarian, writing this future blog post at 9:20 PM on a Monday, October 29^th, wrapped in a blanket despite being a little too warm, while avoiding grading some essays.  Just like I was always going to be.  And then in a few weeks or maybe over a month, I’ll post this. Whenever I do it, it’ll be when it was always going to happen.  There were different outcomes possible, but none of them were ever going to happen.  It may not be true that anything is meant to be, but everything that happens will be the only way it was ever going to happen.

I’ll never know what my other options were, and I was always going to be a hopeless, failed librarian.

What would I say to hopeful librarians?

This question makes me imagine going into a fit of wheezing coughs as I limp toward the asker while shouting: “HOPE?  ADANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER LIBRARY SCHOOL.”  But while imagining that in my head, here’s what I’d actually say:

Make sure this is what you want.  Make sure this is the greatest passion in your life, that you’d never want to do anything else for as long as you live.  If you think this “just seems like a nice job,” or “you’re not sure what else to do, but you like reading,” then I highly recommend that you fuck right off.  Treat this career like you’d treat the idea of being a rock star or an astronaut.  If it’s what you really want to do more than anything and you think you have the passion and drive, and you think you have what it takes to stand out, and you think that it’s something you absolutely have to try to do, then go ahead.  Try.  But don’t count on it being a sure thing.  Have a fallback plan.  Have two.  Try to make a go of it, but understand that the chances of success are pretty slim, and you can’t hang all of your hope on it.  And if you do succeed, it won’t be overnight.  You’ll be chipping away for years to gain any kind of ground.  Expect about 2 years in library school, and then 3-5 more years volunteering or working less than half-time before anything opens up for you.  Maybe more. 

Also, make sure you can go all out with it.  Don’t go for this career if you need to stay close to your family.  You have to be willing to go anywhere and take any kind of job.  Again, this needs to be your passion to the point where you’ll do anything it takes to get there.  If you aren’t passionate enough to relocate outside of a 3-hour radius, then you aren’t passionate enough to be employable in this field.

“That sounds rather pessimistic, it can’t be that bad,” you imagine. “I mean, just because you suck, that doesn’t mean that becoming a librarian is that fucking difficult.”  If you think I’m exaggerating, read this:

http://www.forbes.com/pictures/efkk45ifij/no-1-worst-masters-degree-for-jobs-library-and-information-science/

Yes, the MLIS is the worst Master’s degree for jobs.  Somehow—and I really don’t understand how this is possible since libraries are still things—but somehow, you would be more employable with a Master’s in French Literature.  Or History.  Or Art History.  Even fucking Communications. 

Yeah, it’s not just me.  This profession is the barren hellscape I described it as, and it will suck for anyone coming in recently.  The bottom line is, if you want to be a librarian, you’d better want to be a librarian.  You’d better want it so much that you’re willing to take a big risk for it, and you’re willing to make big sacrifices to make it.  If you just want to be a librarian because you “love to read,” then run.  Run now.  The field doesn’t need you.

Subterranean homelife blues

You may now be wondering, if I’m really making so little money, how is it possible that I’m, you know, alive?  I wouldn’t be a proper failure if I couldn’t tell you, without a trace of jesting, that I still live with my parents. 

I am 29, nearing 30, and live with my parents.  That doesn’t make me sound like a failure yet?  You say there’s an increasing trend of adults post-college who are being supported by their parents, and I’m in fairly good company and not completely pathetic?  Ok, wait a second.  Let me be more specific.

I’m currently 29 years old, almost 30, and I live in my parents’ basement.

I have no idea why living in their basement makes me a bigger loser than living with them in general.  I know it does, but I’m not sure why, and I find it interesting that it works that way.  When I meet people I will tell them without hesitation that I live with my parents.  Might as well, you know?  But if I even remotely care what that person thinks of me, I will intentionally avoid giving them any kind of indication that I live in the basement.  There are people who have known me for years and know that I live with my parents, but still don't know I happen to be underground.

It’s not like I’m in the basement because I happen to think it’s good to be there or anything.  It’s just that after I initially left during college, my sister got my old room and her old room became a computer room.  The basement is just where there was room for my bed, that’s all.  Not that I’m making excuses, it's just a fact.

And it's not like I spend all of my time down there taking drugs and playing video games, as per the stereotype.  I've never so much as tried illicit drugs, and.... ok, I do enjoy video games, but not at the expense of having a job or trying to have one.  I play when I have time, and it's not that often these days.  I still realize that doesn't make it sound any better.

Either way I live with my parents because I’m a grown adult who is more or less a waste of a life.  Would this situation really be improved if I slept across the hall from them rather than downstairs?  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about the perception, I’m just wondering where it comes from.

In any event, that’s my life.  I work as an instructor at a college, then I come home to my parents’ basement and grade college papers.  Imagine if my students knew that.

What is wrong with me?

I was rejected from another job.  I’ll give you time to fish your monocle out of your drink before I continue. 

  

When you’re rejected from a job you’re lucky if you hear back from them.  These people not only informed me, but they did so by email, which allowed me to have a conversation with them.  This is that conversation:

OK, thank you for the reply.

May I ask you a question?  I've been trying to find full-time work in this field for 4 years now, and in all that time I've only had one* interview at a place where I didn't know someone who knew someone who worked there and was pushing heavily for me.  So I guess my question is, is there something in my resume or cover letter that made you say "Oh my God, no"?

The reply:

There are no problems with your support documents.  The applicant pools are so big now that others are just more qualified.  We do a high matrix that judges each applicant against each required qualification and preferred qualifications.  Each requirement has a weight assigned to it.  Each applicant is rated between 1 – 5.  When all are complete the system sorts them by high scoring applicants.  No one is saying you are not qualified; it is just that others were more highly qualified.  Do not give up.  Keep applying for any position you are interested in; let the department disqualify you; do not disqualify yourself. 

I hope this answers your questions.

Again, thank you for your interest in [REDACTED].

It was quite nice to get a reply. I guess the main reason I’m posting this is because it eliminates one of my main concerns: that there’s something on my resume or my cover letter templates that turns employers off like a fat, balding man in his 30s who has cartoon bedsheets and is exclusively into Asian women. As it turns out, no. The problem is simply that 3 years of experience just isn’t enough experience anymore. Not when the field is in such a dire condition. There is no job I can apply to that won’t have at least 100 other applicants, and some of those applicants will be people who have been in the field full-time for 5, 10, 15 years or more. The bottom line is, there is no room for me in this field, period. Not because of some typo on my resume I can fix, but because it’s full up and they do not need me, and they never will.



*This actually occurred before the WY interview/train wreck posted prior. I decided I'd better post this writing before it gets even more outdated. If it ever will.

Mistaken identity

Yeahhhh, that interview did not go well.  Not even at all.

I fumbled, probably sounded very nervous.  The interview was blocked for an hour, and the email said it would be about 45 minutes.  It went 30.

But that's not really how I knew it went wrong.  No, that moment came when they asked about my online teaching experience because that was what caught their eye on my cover letter.

ummmmmmmmmmm.....

I don't have experience teaching online.  And I sure as hell didn't lie and say I did on my cover letter.  The only reason I can think of for her getting that impression is because I do have experience creating online web tutorials.  But teaching online?  nope, never.

So the entire reason I got an interview at all is because someone misread my cover letter.

The moment I said that I didn't have experience teaching online, I could almost hear the entire search committee audibly deflate.  I imagined them shooting each other looks, perhaps covering the receiver and mouthing: "oh s**t."  The entire tone of the interview went south immediately.  It was admirable of them not to hang up on me right then and there.

I was going to say after the interview, no matter how it went, how encouraging it was that someone at least showed interest in me.  That it was evidence that things weren't completely hopeless, that my credentials and experience are good enough for potential employment after all.

But nope, it turns out that the interest in me wasn't based on anything real.  It was just a mistake, that's all.

So, that explains how I got an interview for a job that I didn't seem like a good candidate for.  It's just too bad that I couldn't get something out of this experience, namely, like I said, the hope that comes with having a place show interest in me.  I just found out the cute girl was only flirting with me because she was drunk, and when the beer goggles came off and she saw the real me, she muttered something about quitting drinking and making amends with her father.  Then she ran for the toilet and I never saw her again.

I have the employability only a mother could love.

Trial by telephone

Well, this is news I never thought I'd have to share on this blog.  Not sure if it's good news or not.

I'll open by stating that I was asked to interview.  You may have noticed in my last post that I only had 2 interviews in my field in 4 years, only one of which was for a full time job.  Now I have another.  This brings my average up to one full-time job interview every two years.

That's the good news.  Yes, one interview every two years is good news compared to what I've been through.

The bad news is that it's not a job I'm sure I want.

This is going to be a telephone interview, and the job would be in Wyoming.  Obviously I'm not going to be more specific.  I am going to be interviewed over telephone for this position.  I'm not sure at this point if it's a preliminary round and they're planning to ask the finalists to interview in person, or if this is going to be it for everyone.

As I stated before, I'm applying to every job I can.  I can't afford to be picky about location.  And boy oh boy, have I not been picky.  Every once in a while when I'm applying for a job, I am gripped by a feeling of dread.  I suddenly realize, "But I don't want to move there," or even worse, "I'm not sure if I'd really be right for that job."  

Maybe the former concern shouldn't worry me too much.  Do I want to live in Georgia, or Idaho, or Alaska?  No, not really.  But then again, I don't know what's there.  Maybe what I'm looking for is in one of those places.  I won't really know until I get there.  Maybe once I get there I'll find everything I ever.  (I didn't forget a word in that sentence, I'm just making a fairly obscure reference by omitting the last word).  Maybe. But just thinking about those places, they're sure as Hell not where I'd want to be if I could write my own ticket.

Then comes the concern about not being good enough.  I shouldn't let it get to me.  The history of my life has been a history of thinking I can't do something, and then doing it, and doing well at it.  And the job requirements are always worded to be much more dense and intimidating than the job really is.  At the job I currently have I found out about it from someone I knew, but I never saw the actual job description.  When they were hiring more people later I saw what the job description looked like and thought, "There's no way I could ever do that job."  But not only could I do it, but I was already doing it and doing well.  I'm pretty sure that job descriptions are written to intimidate you.

So maybe those doubts and fears shouldn't grip me, but sometimes I'll have both of them at once.

Do I want to leave everything I've ever known and move to Wyoming?  And for that job??  If I could be choosy I wouldn't touch that job.  Not even at all.  The trouble with Wyoming.... apart from the fact that it's Wyoming..... is that it's not a reasonable driving distance, even for a weekend visit, to anyone I know.  This isn't the kind of opportunity I'd choose to pursue if I could be even a little picky.

And that right there is the problem.  I've been forced into such desperation that I'm not only being forced to consider inconvenient options, but options that may very well be terrible for me.  That's life as an MLIS holder.  I sure hope no one going for an MLIS is holding out any kind of hope that they'll be able to stay with their family or even stay in their home state, or even close enough for occasional visits.  If you're going for an MLIS, I hope very much that you love the profession so much and are so dedicated to it that you're willing to accept terrible options just to work in a library.  This is NOT a career where you get to write your own ticket, you have to take what you can get.  Even something terrible.  Or, in Wyoming.

So I will be doing this interview soon.  I'm telling myself that even if I'm offered the job I can always say no.  But at the risk of harping on it too much: two full-time interviews in 4 years.  Could I really say no?  I have to admit that a not insignificant portion of me hopes to be turned down just so I don't have to make that choice.  And while I'm being honest about that, I'll also admit that I've held that same hope for probably more than half of the jobs I've applied for.  The hope that I'd be turned down, because no matter what I said above about why I shouldn't worry, the fact is that terror still grips me.  I apply because I have to, but it is very rare for me to apply for a job thinking "yes, this is exactly the job I want."  I don't have the luxury of applying only to those jobs.  Most of the time a part of me is thinking "well, it's not like I'll get it anyway...."

I am afraid.

The near miss.

With four years of unsuccessful job searching, there must have been some near misses.  Well, the closest I’ve come is the job you already know I have—I was actually hired for a job that makes use of my degree.  The only problem is that it can barely be called a “job” since I believe real jobs pay with money rather than “all the dry erase markers you can steal.”  I’m not even earning half-time pay (despite the fact that, realistically, I’m probably working at least half-time, if not more) or any benefits.  In other words, I still have definitely not found the job I need. 

Other than that, there was one time where I had an interview.  An interview for a real, full time, benefits-included job.  Strangely enough, this was within the first couple of months of getting my MLIS and applying.  I must have actually thought that trend of being invited to interviews would continue, but how hilariously mistaken I was.  In any event, I obviously didn’t get it.  They ended up wanting someone with more experience, and given that the only experience I had at the time was fieldwork, that was fair enough.    And that was it.  In the four years I’ve been applying for library jobs, I’ve only had two interviews.  Two interviews in four years.  If you thought I was overreacting by accepting myself as a failure, please try to imagine a world in which you get invited to an interview two times in four years while applying to any job you can, and tell me how much you’d believe there’s a silver lining if only you “hang in there.”  Bonus points if you imagine those 2 interviews were in the first year, and you have now gone 3 straight without a single employer even willing to talk to you.

At the time I looked at my rejection as positive.  I’m sure I would have enjoyed working there, but I took it as a life experience.  And the employer was quite supportive.  Since it was my first interview, I emailed him later asking if he had any advice or pointers for me, and he was happy to oblige.  Too happy, really.  We ended up talking on the phone after that for what seemed like ages, and he occasionally sent me emails for job opportunities he saw.  That’s the great thing about this profession—we’re helpers.  We fell out of touch after I got my current job and he no longer was worried about me, and at that point I wasn’t worried anymore either.  I had just taken my first step into the profession and would undoubtedly be taking more before too long.  I was where I should be at the time.

That was early September of 2009.  As I write this it is 2:49 in the morning at the end of September, 2012.  By the time I post this it will be quite a bit later (I wrote many of my posts out before I began this blog, wanted to make sure I had enough to write about.  I’m planning to post one per week, so this should show up at the beginning of October).  The job I took to pay the bills while waiting for the full time job to come along has been my only other interview and only job I managed to land.  The full time job never came.  Nor two part time jobs.  Nor did I ever get another interview again, not a single one in 3 years and counting.

Here I am.

So what do I do?

This may not be the most interesting post, but I feel I have to get it out of the way.  As I lay my life before you, it will be relevant to know where I'm currently working.  I did mention already, after all, that I have 3 years of experience in my field.  You may already be wondering where I was able to find it.

I teach semester-long courses on information literacy at a career college (I also taught technology literacy, before they did away with the course).  “Teaching at a college?,” asks my reader (I know better than to pluralize that) with genuine surprise.  “Why that sounds rather sexy, what are you so bitter about?” 

Oh, well I’m sorry to have come off as bitter.  I was aiming for honest, it just happens that honesty always sounds like bitterness.  If it doesn’t, you’re not being fully honest.  These writings come from a place of sincerity, I assure you. 

But in answer to your question, the problem is that I’m an adjunct, and the job is less than part time.  How many classes I teach, and consequently, how much I get paid, depends on the semester.  At best, I’m less than half-time.  At worst, I’m breaking even after paying for student loans, gas, and car insurance.  And I mean dead even, give or take, with nothing left over. 

The job itself isn’t bad.  It has ups and downs.  I enjoy the people I work with, and I more often than not enjoy the students.  But it can be more work than the pay is worth, and I’m definitely far from having a life of my own.  Ultimately it's not where I want to be.  I want something with better and more structured hours.  Working nights makes me depressed, and not having structured hours (i.e., grading and prep time done at home) means I'll take 8 hours to do something that should take 2 because of ADD.  I want a job that I go to in the morning, get my work done at work, then come home and am off the clock.  But listen to me being picky.  Obviously I'll take whatever I can get at this point, and that's why I have what I have.  It's all I can get.

As far as experience goes, I'm not sure how far this job really takes me.  It is 3 years, but not 3 years full-time.  And the experience I get from it is specifically in instruction, I don't actually work in the library itself.  While this may be better than "fresh out of library school with only fieldwork under my belt" (especially since I do someday hope to have a job with an instruction component) I'm not sure if I'm really doing my resume that big of a favor.  I'm starting to think I may be better off to stop sinking my time into this job and find something I can get more money for, even if the "more money" job is something like a Wal-Mart greeter that will net me no career experience.  So far I've prioritized experience over money, but is this experience actually worth anything anymore?  Especially now that I'm facing the fact that it may be best to stop hoping to get a job in my field anymore, I just don't know.

Give Up.

Give up.  I will forever love The Postal Service for using that as the name of their album (and for being The Postal Service).  I mentioned before that this is what I’ve done: given up, declared myself a “failed librarian.”  So it may or may not surprise you to find out that I still apply for library jobs.  It used to be that I did so in genuine hopes of getting a job.  Now I do it because I at least have to try, even without hope, I have to try.  I’m paying 280 every month for student loan bills, and I’ll be doing so for the next 10-15 years.  If I didn’t pay for the privilege of being employable as a librarian, then by God, I paid to waste my time and everyone else’s by applying to those jobs. 

Besides, I have a new goal.  After all, I fail at my goals, so here’s one I can either succeed at for once, or be glad I failed at.  The goal is this: I’m trying to get rejected from every single state in the USA.  I want to be able to say, with more than just a hint of pride, that not one single state in this country wants me.  That I have asked to go to work for each and every one, and they have all told me separately and in no uncertain terms that I can fuck off in any direction of my choosing.

This is my progress so far:

You'll notice I've had a few rejections from Canada as well.  Canada is just a bonus.

I am a failure

They say to write what you know.  I have many interests.  I love video games, music (playing and tabbing), and various geeky things.  But there’s only one thing I’ve ever really been good at, and that is failing at my career and life.

I am a librarian.  Or, at least I tried to be.  I got my MLIS in 2008.  It was supposed to be a boom time for libraries.  You could get that degree and write your own ticket, any kind of library in any state you wanted to work.  All of the baby boomers were going to be retiring in a year, and the world was going to be in desperate need of librarians.  Those of you who remember the year 2008, however, remember it for mainly one thing.  It was the year the US economy threw up in its own mouth a little.

The profession never recovered.  In 2012, nearing 2013, the library field remains a barren hellscape on which soil no job can grow.  When people retire their positions are often not replaced, but are integrated into other positions (or the retiree is replaced with a paraprofessional).  Those positions are not going to come back.  Jobs that are shed like that due to budget cuts don’t come back, even if things do recover.  

And that is how I became a failure.  2008 was four years ago, and I have spent that time applying for jobs everywhere.  I’m not picky about location, if it looks like I’m even kind of qualified for it, I apply as long as I speak the language, or think I can fake it for just long enough to get away with it.  Despite having very strong references from my fieldwork and three years of experience, four years later I only have a very part-time job to show for it (which is where my three years of experience comes from).  And when I say very part-time, I’m talking even less than half-time.  Not even sustenance-level employment.

And that’s what I want, the ability to sustain myself, the ability to make a life for myself.  But after four years of constant rejection and failure, I have finally come to a point where I’ve stopped dreaming that I’ll ever make a go of this career.  I’ve stopped identifying as a librarian.  It used to be that when people asked me what I do I’d tell them I’m a librarian by career, but am currently using my degree to (etc., etc.).  Now I just face the truth and tell them:

I am a failed librarian. 

And this blog shall serve as a testament to my failure.  To others it may be more useful as a warning, or something to laugh at, or as a record of the struggles of new and new-ish librarians.