Tech support

When I went to college, my parents bought me a computer. It was (to me) a very nice laptop: big screen, a keypad, a trackpad that worked, fancy scrolling that didn't involve clicking, heavy but durable and highly functional. To somebody who knows nothing about computers, it was very nice. And compared to the dinosaur I had been using (inherited from my dad, which he had inherited from a friend, who supposedly had it new but that's not for sure, and probably manufactured when Nixon was president), it was a dream to work with.

It was sturdy. It survived my roommate spilling hot wax all over it, my carrying it to classes, getting dropped a few times, the battery falling out and cracking, and of course getting toted to and from home over breaks in my not-so-cushiony, worn-out, hand-me-down backpack that I was just too stubborn and lazy and cheap to replace.

That computer lasted me three years. The power cord shorted out on me over a school break two years in, but I bought a new one off of Amazon and kept trucking on. A little while later, my darling laptop decided that it was old and tired, so it began to overheat easily. I found ways to cope and moved on. That worked for a little while before new issues began to arise. The screen flickered. It would randomly shut itself off for no good reason. The battery lasted all of five seconds, so I had to keep it plugged in constantly, and I couldn't move it at all because if I did the battery was sure to fall out and/or the plug would lose connection because it was so loose. I could see that the end was nigh. Fortunately, it had the grace to wait until summer break to fully develop all of these horrible symptoms, so I had time to look for a new laptop without worrying that it would die and leave me stranded among piles of homework and no way to get it all done.

I eventually found one that I liked, hesitated about spending so much on a computer, read the reviews and talked to friends who all reassured me that it was a good choice, hesitated again, then bit the bullet and bought the thing, even spending extra on an extended warranty.

My old laptop went to my sister to use for schoolwork. She used it a few months before it gave up the ghost and died.

Turns out I needed that warranty. As magical and beautiful as my laptop is, it has decided to have issues. First the case broke. I got that fixed. Then the trackpad thought it would be fun to be difficult. I discovered that turning the machine off and then back on (hitting restart doesn't work; it has to be completely off) temporarily fixed the problem. And then yesterday my old enemy of technology problems decided to manifest itself in the form of a faulty power cord. I discovered, via a game of Twister with said power cord, that if I tuck it underneath my laptop just right, I can still get a charge.

But the last time that my cord went the way of the Twinkie, it did so within a matter of days and I do not intend to stick around to see if this cord can outmatch that. I called tech support.

The upside of owning a product of a large corporation is that you know right off the bat just how trustworthy they are, and whether or not the integrity of your product will live up to expectations and marketing.

The downside is that they are so large that they don't employ enough people to answer the phone.

They instead make use of automated responses that chatter messages at you like "your call may be monitored for quality purposes" which I think is a subtle way of saying "if you act like a complete jerk during this call, the entire internet will know about it thirty seconds from now", and "please hold, one of our representatives will be with you shortly"  by which of course they mean "we want to see just how desperate you are", alternately "we're trying to break the record for longest hold", and "for technical support, dial 1. For warranty services dial two. For your grandmother, press three. For none of these options, please stay on the line". By the end of  time that it took me to navigate the maze of  dial options, reach a person, find out that I was in the wrong department, get transferred, wait on hold again, listen to staticky elevator music interspersed with ads that I didn't want to hear because they didn't relate to me, and talk to the right person, I decided that I would have been better off pressing option five "for the shaman to pray over your machine and chase the demons from it, dial in a Latin chant and slaughter the firstborn lamb of your flock".

But then the nice person on the other side of the phone (who, as far as I can tell, was not a shaman), arranged for me to have my computer sent in so I can get the trackpad fixed (hopefully via non-spiritual methods, but I'm not being picky at this point), and get a replacement cord for my laptop. And all without satanic rituals or getting my phone call posted on the internet. That's something to be excited about.

My boss is psychic

According to one of my professors, graduates go into a mild depression a little after quitting school. This is due to the sudden drop in activity levels of the brain. Neurons (nerve cells) are constantly forging new connections in the brain if learning is taking place. Latin name of a plant? Oh look, you get a new dendrites (nerve tentacles. If you think of a nerve cell like a power plant, the body of the cell is the plant, and all the tentacle dendrite thingies are power lines) going out to different cells.

So now that you have learned this fascinating tidbit of information, you have gained new dendrites in your brain. Multiply that by four hour-long class periods every day for four years. Your brain is going nuts, building connections, growing dendrites like a boss. And then suddenly no more dendrites. Your brain has been super busy for years and then has to close up shop with no warning. Oh, did I mention that all that activity makes your brain happy? Its whole entire purpose is to store information and make sure it's readily accessible so that your life is easier, so of course it's happy to do it. Take away that job and it is less happy.

In brief conclusion, the brain is like a kid in a candy shop when college is going on, and graduation is like telling the kid that just kidding, it's time to go home and chow down on asparagus and brussels sprouts. Both kid and brain are not happy.

So what does brain do? It takes a few months to rest and then realizes that it's not as busy as it was a few months ago and decides to throw a fit in the form of mild depression.

It took me awhile to realize that I was depressed. First I thought that I was just tired and worn out from my job. It helped that my job involves doing the same physically-demanding things every day. And then I became increasingly dissatisfied with my job, which progressed to not wanting to go to work, which progressed to not wanting to do anything, which progressed to not wanting to get out of bed. It was at that point that I concluded I was most likely depressed.

But my brain didn't stop at being depressed. Instead, because it wanted to communicate JUST how vexed with me it was, it decided that depression would lead to social anxiety, which I've struggled with in the past but it hasn't been a problem since I was in my early teens. Apparently a large influx of new hormones made my brain tell itself that not only was it time to be extremely self-conscious about everything, but social interactions were something to be feared and stressed about and life is better lived as a hermit. And that's why I hate puberty.

Anyway, having social anxiety means that not only did I lack motivation to do anything except breathe, but I got nervous at the very thought of interacting with someone. When social anxiety happens, phone calls can't happen, going out shopping is a horrible idea, and purposefully going out and seeing someone puts my stomach in horrible knots that end in nausea because there's an unexplained and constant fear of, well, being social. I don't go so far as having panic attacks, but my chest gets tight and the more I try to convince myself that I'm being silly and talking to another person won't kill me, the more convinced I am that it will, in fact, kill me.

Unfortunately, right before all of this, I started looking for new jobs. Mine wasn't paying enough and though it's a decent job, it's horribly repetitive and I truly do not like repetitive. I wanted something challenging. Then depression hit and I really wanted a new job but had no motivation and then anxiety hit, which is about the same time I received a phone call to come in for an interview.

The preparation for that interview is something that shall not be repeated here for the purpose of shortness, but suffice it to say that it was nerve-wracking and stressful and I hated everything about my life that day.

I did not, however, take the job. The interview itself was stressful enough; the job described involved ten times more stress, which I did not desire in any form or capacity. So I kept my job and kept looking.

Then something happened. First, my work schedule changed. This whole summer, I have been working at the cafeteria, normally early mornings to afternoons with a few early evenings thrown in. The past week though, I've been moved from the cafeteria to the campus grill which means I work nights. To a night owl like me, this is a precious precious thing. I'm at my best at night. I do my best work, my best thinking, my maximum concentration ability is all at night.

Secondly, because my location and schedule changed, my job description changed. At the cafeteria I do one of three jobs and I do that all day. I have been doing that for two years and I know it all so well that it seldom requires thought. It gets very old very quickly. Working at the grill involves scooping ice cream, flipping burgers, making fries, working the cash register, and making drinks, sometimes within minutes of each other. I do something different every day, and I've been learning how to do new things. Unlike the job up at the cafeteria, the grill requires concentration; something I have been desperately missing. Being able to zombie through your job really eats up your morale when you're used to having to think through everything and you like thinking through everything.

Life got significantly better. And then I looked at my paycheck and realized I had gotten a raise. Life got even better.

The best part of all this is that I told my boss nothing about needing a challenge or more money. And now my title makes sense.

How I would revolutionize the job search

So there is this thing called a resume. I've been told it's necessary in order to get a job. My sources tell me that it is a summary of your skills and past jobs that tell your potential employer how awesome you are and how much you deserve to get a certain job. I've used it to acquire one such job, so I suppose that my sources know what they are talking about.

So, like a dutiful member of the twenty-first century society, I make a resume and tailor it to each job I apply for. This is not what I want to to. 

What I would like to do would be to simply list myself as an independent contractor, which is technically true and sounds MUCH better than "Server at Blah Blah Cafeteria". 

Unfortunately I'm not applying for business positions because I'm not a business major and I'm pretty sure everybody else would think it's weird. It's too much out of the normal system to be considered as anything other than strange and unconventional. I don't want to be labeled as strange and unconventional. Otherwise I'd totally do it. 

This is why: 

1. It tells the employer that I'm creative and think outside the box. Most people would say that they were a server at the cafeteria. But no, not me. I contracted myself out to the cafeteria for monetary compensation. I look at things differently and that is valuable.

2. It initiates a conversation with the interviewer, which makes me more memorable. They see that on my resume and want to know about it, so they ask. And then when they review the applications, they see mine and think "Oh, there's that innovative person, I remember her. She was cool. Let's put her in the call-back pile."

3. It catches attention. See above.

4. The potential employer sees that I value a job and treat it seriously. As an independent contractor, I'm not an "employee", I'm someone who sells my services. The employer becomes the customer and my client. I want to deliver the best product to my client, and I acknowledge that they will take their business elsewhere if I do not bring forth a satisfactory product. Boom. An understanding of the business model and instant work ethic explained in just a few words.

5. It makes me unique. And honestly, don't we all want to be unique and special just like our mommies told us we were?

6. "Server" doesn't sound important. It sounds boring and run-of-the-mill. "Independent contractor", however, sounds like something special. It sounds cool at parties. 

Demonstration: 

"So what do you do?"

"Oh, I'm a server."

"...Oh. Okay. ...Um, I'm going to go check the snack bar. See ya."

Versus:

"So what do you do?"

"I'm an independent contractor."

"Really? Sounds interesting. What does that mean?"

"I contract with Blah Blah Cafeteria to provide any services needed. Whatever they need, I can provide."

"Fascinating. Say, how about we go check out the snack bar?"

Independent contractor: Instant success. 

How to be a successful adult

Alternately titled "How to not become a fugitive or hobo"

1. Acknowledge that you are poor and will remain so because you're working jobs with base pay and no marketable skills. Your rent is due, so is your insurance and loans and those thirty dollars you owe that one person.

2. Cry.

3. Try to find ways to not be poor.

4. Acknowledge that there is no way for you to not be poor unless you feel like getting into illegal activities like selling drugs or harvesting organs.

5. Cry. Some tantrum-throwing, flailing, and punching things is acceptable here. Just keep it in moderation.

6. Pick yourself up off the floor, rub some dirt in those tears and remember that you're a tough old bird who grew up in the middle of the woods with only a stick to play with. Remember that your great grandparents were dirt poor farmers who had a gazillion children to feed. Remember that your grandparents were immigrants and factory workers who pulled themselves up by their own bootstraps and worked their way through to retirement and doing whatever they want. You're gonna be goshdurned tough like them and work your way to financial security like every other person starting at square one, only you're going to do it better.

7. Free time is overrated. Look for jobs. All the jobs. Lots of jobs. Apply to many many jobs. Remember that any job is a good job to have if it means you don't have to move home or ask your parents for money.

8. Work the jobs.

9. Save the moneys.

10. Pay the bills. Buy the food. Keep saving the money.

11.  Eventually you will become successful and no longer (as) worried about financial stability because you make a decent wage, wear a tie, and have lots of money in the bank.

I don't like mornings

Don't hire night owls to work the morning shift.

Your employee will try to go to sleep at a normal hour so that she can be up early enough to get to work.

If she goes to sleep at a normal hour, her brain, convinced that something is wrong and that a good deal of excitement is being missed, will wake your employee up at three in the morning and not let her go back to sleep.

If your employee does not go back to sleep, she will be awake for her shift, but groggy because eight hours were not obtained.

Because eight hours were not obtained and she is groggy, she will be cranky. Lack of sleep does that to people.

Crankiness makes your employee give fake smiles to customers, and she is more likely to snap at people who do things wrong like grab food with their hands instead of the conveniently provided tongs or bring a dirty plate to the buffet line.

If she snaps at a customer (who happens to be the 8th person doing something wrong) she may end up damaging their psyche (especially if that person is a child) by the frightening power of pure rage contained within her (and telling them that they're violating the health code doesn't help).

If that person is a child and his psyche is damaged, he will probably grow up being afraid of girls and Kermit the Frog hats. This fear of Kermit the Frog hats will progress to a fear of Kermit, so that when he is older and influential, he will destroy all memory of Kermit and the Muppets to rid the world of his fear.

This will destroy childhoods everywhere.

This will not be enough, however.

That fear of Kermit will be transferred to real and proper frogs, which will lead him on a campaign to destroy all frogs, and if he's rich and powerful enough, he'll do it.

Feeling satisfied and now perfectly safe, he'll go back to his home to rest in peace until the insect invasion takes over the world. Normally an insect invasion wouldn't take over the world, but since there are no frogs to keep the insect population in check, their numbers will skyrocket and they will take over the world. The entire earth will be consumed by insects and the world will end.

Don't let the world end by insect invasion. Hire morning people to work the morning shift.

My Neverending Story

Something I have been seeing on tumblr lately is a cover photo for The NeverEnding Story with the caption "what it is when you're a kid" and then below is a picture of an overflowing laundry basket with the caption "as an adult". I find this to be incredibly and soul-crushingly accurate.

I do laundry approximately twice a week. Not because I have that many clothes and change my outfit three times daily, but because I run out of clean uniforms. I wash incredibly tiny loads simply because there are not enough navy blue shirts or khaki pants in my dresser and it's sad. I have a recurring nightmare of getting up at 4:30 so I can be at work by 6 and either my alarm doesn't go off at all, which is terrifying enough, or that I wake up and find that I have no more uniforms and can't get to work because I have nothing to wear.

This is what my life has been reduced to. I wear my uniform so often that it's a treat when I get to wear "real people" clothes. Yesterday I had the whole day off and I thought it was the greatest thing to dress up in a skirt and go out. It really is the simple things in life that count.

Add to that the neverending story of buying groceries, cleaning (the dirt just never gets the hint that I don't want it on my kitchen floor), taking out the trash, washing and putting away dishes (because nobody else does it), going to work, or waking up with something being sore because I pulled it at work the day before and didn't realize it.

That's adult life, kids. It's a cycle of drudgery and pain that doesn't end but it's a lot better than no independence.

The moral of the story is to A. move to Neverland, B. live at home, C. get really rich and hire a maid to do everything, D. stay in school forever so even if you have to do all of that, it's on a smaller scale because of student housing and you don't have to pay loans.

I personally am opting for choice A and have already sent a message to Peter Pan asking if he needs another mother. I've included my resume which details my ability to tell stories, first aid knowledge, and babysitting experience. My cover letter insists that I will never demand he and the Lost Boys take medicine or have bedtimes and details why I am not an adult and despite my physical appearance, I am still a child at heart. I expect a reply back within the week, assuming I make it past the Tinker Bell screening.

If I don't post ever again, it's because I got accepted and I don't believe that internet reaches as far as the second star to the right.