Monthly Archives: May 2011

That sound you hear…

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Since I had them scheduled anyway, I decided to keep two interview appointments I had made for this afternoon. All I can say is that I hope I didn’t disturbe anyone with the strangled gurgle you heard coming from West Tennessee. That was surely my ferocious choking during a job interview with a federal department that rhymes with Domeland Obscurity. It. Was. Painful. I’m only blessed that I didn’t really have to listen to myself give the answers. Once I realized I’d completely lost the bubble, I stopped listening to myself and was focused on keeping my answers as short as possible in order to put the interview to rest with some semblance of dignity. Lord. It was just brutal.

The first question was ok. The second question is where the wheels came off. I don’t even remember what the topic was… and halfway through answering, I realized that even as I was giving an answer, I didn’t remember what the question was. The answer ended up being a series of vaguely interrelated partially developed thoughts as I mentally groped for the thread of the conversation. Needless to say, I never found the thread and never recovered my equilibrium after that. Running out the clock was really the only option I had left.

I knew I was in the deep grass when the panel leader closed up with “Thanks. I think you have some adequate answers there.” Adequate. Wow. Ouch. At least I didn’t drool on myself. Without a question, that was the most painful 25 minutes in recent memory. It was a shitshow tempered only by the fact that it was the second of back to back interviews and the first went remarkably well. It’s the carnage of that second one that’s going to stick with me, though.

Meatballs…

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Yes, I heard you the first six times you said you brought meatballs. In fairness, it’s 7:45 AM so you’ll have to excuse us if we’re not all hepped up about your culinary contribution to the day. And really, any food prepared by co-workers is suspect. I know I’d certainly lace whatever I brought in.

Reminding me that there are “still a few left” after lunch isn’t going to make me run off and try them. I’m sure you’re proud of your skills, and I appreciate your determination, but eating random food cooked by people under God knows what conditions, isn’t high on my list of things to do. You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t rush off to help myself. I’ve watched too many episodes of hoarders to be trusting when it comes to food prep at the homes of those who are effectively strangers.

Editorial Note: This part of a continuing series of previously de-published blogs appearing on http://www.jeffreytharp.com for the first time. This post has been time stamped to correspond to its original publication date.

Dog’s life…

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I’ve been a dog person basically forever. I had dogs as a kid, but they were mostly the outside chained to a box variety rather than the sleek, clean lay at your feet kind. One of the first things I did when I moved out on my own was get a dog… admittedly, a dog that would soon develop a brain tumor and go quite mad, so perhaps that’s not a great first foray into pet ownership. After that false start of my life as a dog owner, I had a long stretch of apartment living and a cat who was much more suited to the long hours I was working and commuting into the city every day. She never looked at you disapprovingly when you didn’t get home on time.

With the move to Memphis and a job that didn’t involve a ridiculously long commute and the overhanging threat of spur of the moment trips to whatever disaster ravaged part of the country was the hot topic of the week, the natural thing to do was get another dog. That’s where Winston came into the picture… because lets be honest, that’s a face you can’t say no to, right? If one dog is good, of course, then two dogs must be better. I had planning on bringing home a second dog after Christmas. Having a puppy amidst the chaos of the holiday and the accompanying 30 hours on the road didn’t seem like a great idea. That was before the flyer went up on the office wall. A local family had an “accidental” litter of labs, mama didn’t survive, they were being hand fed by the owners, and eating them out of house and home. If the pups weren’t taken by the end of the week, they’d be going to the shelter the following Monday. The Shelby County shelter isn’t one of the nice ones you hear about and since I like animals much more than I like people as a rule, I thought I’d just go have a look at the litter. Just a look. I don’t want a puppy until after Christmas after all. Of course I came out of the house with a 12 pound lab tucked in my coat. She was the only chocolate in the litter and stayed on my lap until we pulled into the garage. I wasn’t set up for a puppy, didn’t have the toys, gates, food – any of it – but that’s when Maggie made her arrival. A Lady Margaret to go along with Sir Winston.

That’s a long way of getting to my point, but it’s important to understand the context here. After another $250 vet bill yesterday, another round of ear drops, another follow up later in the month, sometimes I wonder why we put up with these animals that leave hair everywhere, occasionally poop in the floor, cost a small fortune in medical bills, and eat a holistic blend of all-natural, hypoallergenic food. I live here and pay the bills, but the place has mostly gone to the dogs. They might run me into the poorhouse, but these Memphis dogs are probably the best thing I’ll take away from my time here.

Who’s down with OCD?

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Yeah, you know me. One of the perks of having mild OCD and a pervacive impatience streak is that when the issue is pressed, I will find something for myself to do to stay occupied. Things not going great at home? Launch myself into a new project at the office. Things not going well at the office, lay down stone edging around every flower bed in the yard. You get the idea. Tonight’s overpowering need to do something in the face of not yet being able to do what I really want to do has conveniently led to mowing the grass, starting the laundry, pondering what to blog about while I washed dishes, spot cleaning the kitchen, and a brief game of fetch. Not necessarily in that order. Now, of course, I’m doing the actual blogging. So if nothing else, at least more waiting has led to increased productivity. Still, I’d be happier with less productivity and more packing.  That’s not to be this weekend… which is probably just as well since half of everything in the house is pretty much still sitting in boxes from my false alarm back in January. I haven’t had the heart to unpack it just to turn around and pack it back again. This hasn’t been the way I planned to spend my Friday night, but I’m thankful for any distraction my slightly addled mind can come up with at the moment.

Marking time…

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Whomever decided that patience is a virtue should be clubbed about the head and neck like a baby seal. I can only assume that anyone who thought sitting around quietly waiting for something to happent to them, must not have had much worth waiting for coming their direction. Yet, here I sit; anything but patient and without the first thing to do about it other than continue sitting here waiting. That and railing against the virtue of patience, of course. I suppose they can make me wait, but there’s no power in heaven or on earth that can make me like it… or even want to like it. Gratification has been sufficiently deferred and I want it now, damnit.

Yes, if you’re wondering, it feels better now that I’ve said that. I’ll be busy marking time if anyone needs me.

0703…

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That’s the time I’m going to officially commemorate as the moment of my redemption. The exact time when my voice from the wilderness was heard. Precisely when the shear volume of resumes I’ve loaded into the system broke through the morass (385 if you’re counting). That’s assuming, of course that I pass through the last widget in the process. I’m now in a period of HR purgatory between receiving the official tentative offer of employment and the official final offer of employment. This is the land of voluminous paperwork, of validating security clearances, pay-setting, benefit determinations, and yet more waiting. It’s the last moment for things to go horribly wrong. You didn’t think this was going to be a post about unbridled joy and optimism, did you?

I’ve waited for this moment for the better part of a year. Poured untold hours into crafting the perfect resume. Cursed fate for dragging this process down into the interminable frozen springtime. And now that it’s arrived, I can barely breath it for fear of it breaking apart at this late hour. This is a moment of hope beyond hope… and it is so close to reality and yet still painfully just beyond reach.

91 days…

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The post I was set to bring you tonight will not be appearing because the subject matter went and changed on me between the time I started writing and the time it was supposed to post. Instead of another rant about the Army personnel system, I bring you tidings of great joy. The 30-day civilian hiring freeze is over – ending its 91-day reign of terror. Don’t believe, me? Check out the Civilian Personnel website for yourself.

Aside from the system not being at a complete standstill, I’m not exactly sure what the great thaw really means yet. I know that it means that personnel offices now have a 90 day backlog of hiring actions to clear and that’s never a quick process even under the most optimal conditions. I don’t have much faith at this point in any of the possibilities that looked promising back in February. Expecting magical reanimation of things just as they were at the moment they were frozen back in March seems about as likely as breathing new life into Walt Disney’s frozen head. Sure, it’s sounds possible… maybe… but not very likely.

What this probably means is that at least now there’s a fighting chance at working through the nomination-interview-hiring process to the point where a job offer is at least a possibility. So now it’s a mad race to spool up and flood my resume back into the Army system. Nothing like being back at square one.

No apologies…

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The vile corpse of Osama bin Laden has barely settled to the bottom of the sea and I’m already hearing and reading snippets from those who would ask us to be filled with regret at the loss of “even one human life.” Maybe you are more enlightened than I am, because I cheered when I heard the news that brave Americans had gone deep into harms way to end his vile and retched existence on this earth. Bin Laden was a bad man who did bad things and the world is far better for his departure from it. The fact that he used a woman as a last ditch attempt to shield his own miserable hide proves only that he died as he lived – a coward.

Remember one thing if his death unnerves your delicate sensibilities – He chose this path, not us. I’m glad he’s dead and I hope 100 more of his like join him at the first available opportunity. Does this make me a bad person? I doubt it. It makes me a sane one whose only regret is I’ll probably never run into one of the SEALs who masterfully carried out this assault to personally thank him for his service.

As much as some would like to, we can’t wish away all the bad things in the world. Evil can’t be rolled back by doling out more hugs and passing out gold stars. It’s only stopped and put on the run because of the rough men who stand ready to do violence on our behalf. If there’s a hell, I’m sure bin Laden is in it. I hope tonight’s menu features the finest pork barbeque in all the land.