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.