AMERICA.
Oh hello.
Have you ever wondered what the life of a Peace Corps Volunteer is like after their Peace Corps Service is over?
No? You haven't?
Me either.
For those of you that do not know, a Peace Corps Volunteer, following the close of their service, graduates to Returned Peace Corps Volunteer status. Better known in the Peace Corps World as an RPCV. So make sure you call me “Laura the RPCV” next time you run into me. You may also call me, if you feel so inclined, Laura the Unemployed RPCV or Laura the best RPCV Babysitter ever in the world (← I really like that one.)
I've heard several of my friends/acquaintances pronounce the words “With Peace Corps Volunteer on your resume you'll get a job, no problem.” Or words similar to that statement. And believe it or not! This is a gigantic misconception.
Guess what!? It is a problem. It's NOT easy to get a job. And I'm talking: it's not easy to get a job that is even a pinch meaningful. A job that won't make you wish you never did Peace Corps in the first place because cleaning up the Starbucks restroom is not the kind of job you saw yourself taking on after representing The United States of America for two years by picking bugs out of your breakfast and interrupting your excruciatingly hot evening run to poop in the rice paddies on a fairly frequent basis. Oh, you don't think those are transferable skills? Pooping in holes is not a transferable skill? Pooping next to the grazing cows? Pooping all night long? Pooping your pants on an 8 hour bus ride? Being pooped on by a one year old? Am I talking about poop too much?
Huh.
I'm sorry. I guess I don't really know what's normal anymore.
Beau Loves Toilets & Toilet Humor.
Being an RPCV, in my experience, has been a lot like the time immediately following college graduation. It was a very difficult and maddening time for me. No job. Living with parents. Feeling useless and hopeless. Directionless.
Luckily, almost immediately after I returned to the US, I had a job, a temporary job but an awesome job, nonetheless. I have worked for my dear friend Jeffrey Nistler for 10 years now (I count my 2 years away because I can) and he has always been there for me and allowed me to tag along on jobs that don't really require more than himself because he is just the best. Having my job at Nistler Farms right away allowed me to transition back into my life in America pretty smoothly. It was almost like I had never been gone only somehow I magically acquired a handheld computer that could fit into my pocket and for some odd reason millions of condominiums took root over night and grew to the size of Jack's bean stock throughout all of Minneapolis. So that was weird.
At Nistler Farms.
And then there was the never-ending question “So Laura, what are your plans now? What's the next step?”
“NONE OF YOUR BEES WAX! I HAVE NO PLAN! I AM PLANLESS. I AM A BROKEN WOMAN CHILD!” Is what I wanted to say.
But I held those feelings deep down inside of me, beneath the folds of my small intestines and pretended that I was actually going to really finally finish applying to grad school to get my Master's of Social Work. Because that's what people wanted to hear. People want to hear that I've got my shit together and that I am so well adjusted and I did such a great job being a Peace Corps Volunteer and I am a fully functioning adult now living with my parents in my childhood bedroom not actually feeling excited about the idea of going back to school just yet...or ever?
And I was too afraid to start applying for more permanent jobs because I feared rejection. AND FOR GOOD REASON! The job search is full of rejection. It's even worse than dating. You will send your resume along with a well thought out and beautifully written cover letter into the ether and not much later it gets sucked into that black hole that I've always secretly feared after taking an astronomy class my freshmen year of college that I amazingly didn't fail. But black holes, man. I don't want to get caught near one of those suckers.
I am all about run-on sentences right now. Run-on, my friend. Run-on.
BEAU. Stopping to sniff the flowers.
And this is why I only applied to 1 (read: one) job within the first 2 (read: two) months of being home. And that one job I applied to, I didn't hear back from until a month later when they informed me that the position was filled. I never even bothered calling to see what my status was. I took no initiative because I knew rejection was just around the corner. I avoided confrontation because rejection was inevitable.
And then, sort of out of nowhere, I applied to Target. I thought maybe it was time to “reward” myself. Get paid to do a job. To get paid maybe more than what my work and effort was worth, even. I applied to become an Executive Team Leader (this is a glorified title for an assistant manager, FYI) at a Target store. This position is very well paid. I was shocked. And I heard from Target immediately. As in, I sent in my application and resume on a Thursday afternoon and heard back that evening to schedule my first of what would be 5 (read: FIVE) interviews. I took this as an excellent sign. I'm going to be enjobbed in no time and get paid big big $dollars$ with benefits up the wazoo AND a Target discount, bitches!
FACE PLANT. Not the case at all. Five interviews (three of which were god-awful phone interviews) down the road and I never heard back from Target. I was dragged around like a dead dog on a leash for over a month with the ALMIGHTY TARGET and they never even gave me the courtesy of a computer generated email saying I was not awarded the job of ultimate corporate ass-kisser of the year, or whatever.
Oh, it's okay. It's just my life and livelihood you're kicking around and stringing along for far too long. No worries. I'll be fine.
BEAU. Triumphant in dog life.
In hindsight, thank goodness I'm not working there. I am not Target material. It was clearly not meant to be. I was meant to suffer longer than that. Unemployment loves me and wants me to stay entombed with it for as long as possible. And maybe longer. Unemployment wants me to wallow with it in the darkness to which it sleeps.
Following the rejection from Target, I got my ass into gear. Being removed from Facebook was several blessings built into one. Suddenly I am a productive person. Coffee became my co-pilot. He wore those old school goggles and a scarf; it was really cute. At this point in time, I have applied to an unknown number of jobs. I haven't really kept track. I'm just pooping the applications and cover letters out like an industrial printing machine. One job in particular I believed was a job MADE FOR ME. I had an awesome phone interview with them. I was actually a rock star and not bullshitting them like I did for Target. How could they NOT want me to work for them?
And then....silence.
Silence is cruel cruel company. Silence is a killer.
With all of my unstructured free time, I find myself over thinking everything, thinking too much, and over analyzing everything I said in the interview and wondering how I turned them off. Maybe my mistake was having the interview on a Friday so they had an entire weekend to forget about me. But how could they forget about me? It's just impossible. How can they not see my value? I HAVE VALUE!!! I am dying. LITERALLY dying. No, not literally. Literarily dying, yes.
With my excess free time, I end up watching a lot of nonsense on the Netflix. I mostly stick with stand-up comedian/comedienne performances because I can pretend that they are speaking directly to me. We are just friends hanging out casually talking about how annoying everyone is. I am best friends with Louis C.K, Patton Oswalt, Mike Birbiglia, and Reggie Watts. Don't be jealous. What we have is special. Another thing that comes from these friendships is inspiration. I started thinking to myself “Self, you could totally do stand-up. Just be your weird self and people will follow what you are and what you are saying and instantaneously love you. One day you too could have a special on the Netflix.”
Late at night, still shaking from caffeine consumed hours earlier, I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and begin performing the genesis of what will be my burgeoning stand-up comedian career. I talk about nose hairs and make-up and pretending to be a girl mostly because that's what I do whenever I'm in the bathroom staring at myself for too long. I'M HILARIOUS! I am literally the funniest human being in the Universe. Hollywood needs me in their already overly concentrated pot of not-actually-funny-people trying to make it big.
BEAU & Laurax. Dynamic Duo.
Unemployment also breeds a lot of selfie photo taking which is mostly despicable. And then, in my own self consciousness and embarrassment, I aim my miniature computer at my dog Beau. I'm hoping to turn him into an Instagram sensation. So far, it's not taking but I will remain patient with my dog's blossoming fame and subsequent fortune. It's quite an injustice that cats seem to get so much more attention and affection in the internet world than dogs and I'm trying to fight back. One dogstagram at a time...
The children I babysit twice a week are also frequent subjects in my Instagram art. It kind of boggles my mind that the 15 month year old kid knows exactly what I'm doing when I point my iPhone toward him. He puts on this cheezy smile face where his eyes become small slits and his mouth takes up the rest of the free space on his face. He has it down to an art and it gets me every time. Serious swooning. And for a split second, I understand why people keep make babies. I just hope his mom doesn't mind me pasting her children's faces all over the interwebs...Maybe they'll become Instagram sensations. You never know.
Babinstagram stardom will be mine.
What was I talking about? Oh yeah, I'm still unemployed.
Baby Mic Drop.
