So I get this job offer, well not the offer, but the “You’re one of our top candidates and we want you to spend some gas money and time to help us figure out if you’re the top.”
They post the salary in this interview request; a salary that essentially says they want me to be their bitch, pretty much, for the love of the kids. And I love the kids but I don’t expect I’d be walking the track for the love of my own. (Though I’ve been told a mother’s love is that kind of deep).
First of all, I understand this is what is known in some circles as investing in my future. But I’m sick of wasting gas and clean clothes on interviews that don’t lead to decent job offers. Decent job offers are those that don’t show you a stick or fist and say “Bitch go get my money.” I mean, that is what they may as well be saying. Because I end up paying the stipend—”salary” is too kind a word—back to The Man via BGE, Sprint, and Landlords who let termites eat a hole through your floor big enough to break your ankle in before they find a Pest Control Service “that isn’t so expensive.”
…’Scuse me for getting a little off topic.
I just want to make the kind of money that suggests my employer respects what I do. Not likes it. Or likes me even for that matter. But respects my work. I believe I get it in though my teaching self esteem is usually fairly low due to my save-the-world ambitions.
…Damn my daydreams.
I’m tired of the abusive relationship I’ve been having with this whole job/career thing. It beats the hell out of me and I return to its arms because it’s what I’m used to. You know how you get comfortable and you just stick around because, well, you’re comfortable? I have to do something different. Soon. Because the track is giving me blisters.
Sorry about that rant…I’m gonna stop now…I am such a whiner.
Tomorrow I’m gonna post something positive. Pinky promise.
darlene anita scott 