nineteen: job hunt

*

The tables are turning. Things are looking up. For the past week, while Storie’s at work, I’ve been applying to every single job I’m remotely qualified for, and several I’m not. Some of the applications are so infuriatingly long that I don’t want the job by the end; some are as simple as uploading my resume – which is much better now, thanks to Kris’s expert eye – and hoping someone likes what they see. Not that there’s much to see.

I went straight from high school to college and never worked until I graduated, and every job since then has been some short term or part time gig, whatever I can get my hands on. I have a long list of experience, but I’m not very experienced, and even the most basic jobs I’ve been applying to expect me to have knowledge of programs and systems I’ve never heard of, jobs that claim to be entry level but tell me I need to have worked in the industry before. It’s a frustrating cycle, and the only way to get out of it is with a lucky break.

So I keep trying. I must have applied to fifty jobs this week alone. Some rejected me within a day or two. Most haven’t got back to me. Two offered me an interview; both rejected me the following day. I know the job market is saturated and it’s hard to find work, and I only wish I hadn’t bought into the stupid myth that high school pushed on me, the naïve idea that getting a degree equals a guaranteed good job at the end. It’s a lie, folks. Getting the degree was the easy part, and I was in therapy the first two years.

When I’m not trawling every site possible to scour the internet for job listings or checking every notice board in every coffee shop within a five-mile radius, I’m learning easy pescetarian recipes so I can have dinner prepped by the time Storie gets home, sometimes starving when she drags herself through the door after six. I think I’ve got a handle on a good coconut shrimp curry, and I make a mean butternut squash risotto. This morning I prepped everything for a vegetable stir fry, ready to throw together when she gets back, and after another mammoth session of applications, I’m heading out this afternoon.

It’s a bit of a novelty, having a friend. I’m not used to it anymore, way out of practice, but when Kaylani texted me earlier asking if I wanted to grab a coffee, I leapt at the chance to get out of the apartment and away from my laptop. Now I’m bundled up in several layers to battle the sub-zero temperatures for the ten-minute walk from the University Circle Healthline stop to the café she suggested we meet at. I should’ve taken the 38; it would’ve got me way closer, but I make it to the welcoming heat of a student-stuffed coffee shop and I spot Kaylani at the other side.

In the couple weeks since I last saw her, she’s switched out her Afro for braids and she’s wearing glasses, wire-rimmed circle lenses that give off a distinct John Lennon vibe, and I hardly recognize her. No wonder Clark Kent fooled everyone with a pair of specs.

“Hey, Liam!” She waves me over and I unwind my scarf as I sit down. “I got you a hot chocolate ‘cause I’m pretty sure I remember you saying you don’t like coffee, but don’t worry if you don’t want it ‘cause I’ll just have a second.”

“Hey, Kaylani,” I say with a laugh, pulling over the very full mug. “Thank you. You didn’t have to, though.”

“You can get the next one. That’s what friends do, right?”

“I think so.”

She gives me a funny look.

“Been a while since I had a friend,” I say, lifting the mug to my lips. “Thanks for this. I’ll definitely get the next one.”

“My pleasure. And you can call me Lani. We’re friends now. The only people who call me Kaylani are the ones who don’t know me very well, or the ones I don’t want to know me.” She sips her drink and pushes her braids off her shoulders. “We’re friends now – you survived a season at Cleveland’s Second Best Winter Wonderland without pissing me off and you achieved what very few people have achieved before.”

“Oh yeah?” I tilt my head at her and shrug off my coat when my body finally responds to the heat blasting in this place.

“We worked together two whole weeks and I liked you more at the end than at the start.” She grins. “I’ve worked plenty of winter seasons at that place and let me tell you, I usually hate everyone on sight by the end.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” I say. “And that’s certainly a good thing considering I’ll probably be back next winter, the way the job hunt’s going.”

She pulls a face. “Not good, huh?”

“Could be worse…” I trail off and consider how exactly it could be worse. I mean, at least I had the slightest bit of hope with those interviews, but it’s not looking promising. “I just want to find something, literally anything, so I don’t feel like I’m freeloading off my girlfriend.”

That still feels so fucking good to say, and I can feel my cheeks warming. Kaylani tilts her head at me and her smile grows.

“Damn, you’re so in love. It’s kind of disgusting.”

“It’s been a long time coming,” I say, curling my cold hands around my mug. “I know I’ve got things good – I live with the person I love and I’m finally fucking happy for the first time in years – but it would be nice to have a job. I just want to work.”

She eyes me, her lips pressing into a pout. I narrow my eyes at her, about to ask what she’s looking at, when she asks, “What’s your degree, again?”

“Business,” I say. “Probably should’ve done, like, law. Or medicine. Something with an actual proper job attached to it.”

“I’m pretty sure business degrees are attached to a lot of jobs,” she says, casting her eyes down to her phone, scrolling as she talks.

“Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure every single one in the entire state has rejected me.”

She snorts. “Here, how about this – account executive at a PR agency. Entry level position, ideal for a business graduate.”

My ears perk up. “Where’s that? Is it a new ad?”

She shows me her phone and it’s not an ad. It’s a text. The message above, from her, says: hey auntie! what was that position you were talking about hiring for? Ive got a friend who might fit the bill? He’s a hardworking business graduate with a drive for success!

And beneath, her aunt’s reply, followed by a second message: you know I’ll always take a recommendation from my favourite niece! Tell him to email me his resume and we’ll see…

I gawp at Lani. “What?”

She shrugs. “Worth a shot, right? I had a feeling my aunt’s company was looking for something businessy, and she’s based on East 9th street.” She says it with a wrinkle of her nose like it’s all totally baffling to her. “D’you want her email?”

“Um, yes! That’s, like, two blocks from my apartment. Seriously, Lani?” I scramble for my phone to send an email right away. I keep my resume as my most recent document on all platforms, for moments just like this. “Is this seriously okay?”

“Of course.” Her eyes sparkle behind her glasses. “Dude, you need a job. My aunt needs someone with a business degree. That’s, like, a match made in heaven.” After tapping away for a minute, my phone buzzes with a text from her with her aunt’s email: [email protected].

“Your aunt owns King Evans Creative?” I ask, gobsmacked as I paste the address into a new email and double check I’ve attached the latest copy of my resume before I type my most courteous email. It’s one of the companies that constantly pops up in the top ten agencies to work for in the city, ranked high for everything from employee satisfaction and perks, to salary and opportunities for progression.

“She is King Evans Creative,” Lani says. “Aisha King-Evans. It’s her baby. Sometimes I think she likes it more than her actual children.”

“This is a big deal,” I say. “Thank you. Wow. Shit. Thank you, Lani.”

“This is just a boost - she might hate your resume,” Lani says. I laugh and she grins, playing with the end of a braid.

“Thanks. That’s really encouraging.”

“Can I read it? Send me a copy.”

I save a draft of the email and send my resume to Lani, who adjusts her glasses and starts reading as I take a moment to finish my hot chocolate and process what’s just happened. My only friend in the city happens to be the niece of the owner of one of the best PR and marketing firms, and now the literal owner of King Evans Creative wants to read my resume.

I know nothing is set in stone.

L Nothing is confirmed. But this is a chance. A bigger chance than I’ve had this whole time. I open the draft again and tweak my email, editing my punctuation and taming my exclamation points until only one remains. I double and triple check that it’s definitely the right document, not the old shitty one I was sending out before Kris got his hands on it, and when I’m about to ask Lani for her advice on how to address her aunt and how to sign off, I stop myself. She’s done enough – I think I have to use my instincts from here on out.

I hit send.

And then I panic that I’ve messed it up and maybe should have checked the attachment a fourth time, maybe should have asked Lani, maybe should ha—

“Damn, Liam, this is really good,” Lani says. “That sounds so fucking professional. How’d you manage to make a hotel front desk job sound like you’re the fucking head of the UN or some shit?”

“I have Storie’s uncle to thank for that. He’s a whiz at stuff like that,” I say, realising I’d probably get nowhere on my own seeing as I’ve relied on three people so far. Kris for fixing my shitty resume; Storie for giving me a roof over my head; Lani for hooking me up with the best job vacancy on the market.

“Very impressive,” she says, tapping the screen with one long nail. “I’m sure Aisha will like it. Just be cool if she wants to interview you. She hates pretension and values honesty, but don’t be too earnest; you don’t wanna seem desperate.”

“I am desperate.”

“I’m well aware.” She polishes off her drink and I stand, getting my wallet out. I feel like my body’s been taken over by a swarm of buzzing wasps, my bones vibrating out of my skin, and I need another drink. I may not like coffee but I feel the need for caffeine – a mocha it is.

“Want another?” I ask.

“Go on, then. With cream, please. And extra marshmallows.”

While I’m in the line, I get a text from Storie. I didn’t realize the time seeing as it gets dark so early, but she’s home already.

STORIE: Hey! Where are you? If you’re anywhere near somewhere that sells Tylenol can you please get some? And some Hershey’s? And maybe a hysterectomy?

ME: just having a drink with Kaylani in university circle! Be home in an hour or so? Not sure about the hysterectomy but I can certainly get drugs & candy

STORIE: hope you’re having a good time! Don’t rush back, I can survive (but also thank you, you’re an angel). See you later x

I set a reminder to get Tylenol and Hershey’s before I get the bus home and ten minutes later, I’m back at the table with a couple of fresh drinks and Lani wastes no time plucking off each marshmallow and popping it into her mouth.

“I’m starting to think I should be doing a business degree,” she says with a full mouth. “I could really do with a $65k starting salary.”

I choke on my mocha. “Wait, what? Is that, like, a general business degree starting salary or the one for the job at King Evans?”

“The one at King Evans,” she says, and I feel faint. Fucking hell, I need this job. A bunch of people in my graduating class were talking about aiming to start on fifty thousand and several just wanted to break thirty-five. But sixty-five thousand dollars a year after all the scrimping and saving and shitty half jobs I’ve done?

I need this. Whatever it takes.

*

After another half hour with Lani, I’m on the Healthline with a bag full of Tylenol, Advil, Hershey’s, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups (for me) and a whole bunch of other candy, as well as a six pack and a bottle of wine, and a pack of sanitary pads that I’m pretty sure match the pack in the bathroom cabinet.

When I get back to the apartment, Storie’s sprawled across the sofa with the TV on, watching some trashy reality show. I bend over the back of the sofa to kiss her and she stretches up to meet me.

“Hey. Have a good time with Kaylani?” she asks, taking the bag off me and making appreciative sounds as she pulls out chocolate and wine, and she pops a couple of Tylenol.

“Really good. It was nice to catch up with her,” I say, moving Storie’s legs so I can sit under them. “She actually gave me a heads up about a really great job opening at her aunt’s company so that could be pretty exciting.”

“Oh, that’s great!” She beams and pushes herself up on an elbow to look at me. “What’s the job?”

I tell her everything about King Evans Creative and Kaylani’s aunt, and the job and its salary, and she’s fully sitting up by the end.

“Oh my god, Liam! That sounds amazing!”

I hold up my crossed fingers. “It would be pretty fantastic.” And then, after a moment, I add, “It’d be literally life changing.”

“Has the aunt responded to your email?” She shifts so she’s sitting next to me, legs curled up under her, one arm flung over the back of the sofa.

“God, no. It’s only been, like, an hour,” I say, but I instinctively check my phone and my heart drops out of my ass when I see an email titled RE: Resume for Account Executive Position. I go all clammy and my hands start shaking because what the fuck? She’s already replied? Storie inches closer, leaning over to peer at my screen when I tap on the email.

Dear Liam,

My goodness, that was fast! Thank you for sending over your resume, I’ve managed to have a read through and it’s all very impressive. Would you be available to interview with a couple of senior account executives and myself tomorrow at 3? If not, please send over a list of your available times and I’ll get back to you. I look forward to meeting you soon.

Regards,

Aisha King-Evans

CEO, King Evans Creative

Oh. My. God.

Holy shit.

“Liam!” Storie cries. “That’s amazing!”

“Oh my god, she wants to interview me tomorrow.”

“What are you waiting for? Tell her you’ll be there!”

I don’t waste any more time so I blast off a reply to Aisha, because of course I’m free tomorrow at three. Even if I had plans, even if I was supposed to be in another state, I’d make sure I’m free tomorrow at three because this interview could be make or break.

By the time I’ve cooked the meal I prepped earlier, I’m mentally exhausted and rather than sitting at the table, Storie and I end up back on the sofa for a new episode of her trashy reality show. It’s actually quite engrossing, even though it makes me angry. We carry on watching after we’ve finished eating, after we’ve devoured half the candy I bought.

My mind is racing, my head filled with all the interview tricks I’ve learnt and taught myself over the last couple of years. I’ve scoured the website for King Evans Creative, though it helps that they’ve been on my radar since I graduated – I don’t need to bullshit what I know about them when I’ve known for years that they’re a dream PR agency to work for, that they’re Cleveland’s youngest but fasting growing agency with an impressive roster of clients and top ratings. I know that if I can pull this off and land this job, I’m sorted. I’ll be able to provide for us. We’ll be able to save. I might even be able to pay off some of my monstrously high college debt.

“You’ll be amazing,” Storie murmurs, massaging my palm with her thumbs. “I know you’ve got what it takes and you know you’ve got what it takes. Tell them who you are. You’re freaking William Sanders Kazimir Alexandrov and you deserve this.”

She kisses me and I kiss her back, cupping her warm cheeks in my hands.

Do I deserve this? I ask myself. It’s not easy to believe, but Storie looks me in the eye and she smiles that radiant smile, and it gives me hope.

I do, I think. After everything, I think I’ve earned this shot.

*

so much for finishing this book in march! That was clearly optimistic! Work's been so hectic recently I just haven't had the time/energy/motivation to write but hopefully things will be calming down from July so I'll have a bit more free time - and hopefully finish this at last!