Thinking Inside the Box: Not Goodbye, More Like See You Around

I've never been one for long goodbyes, so I'd best go ahead and put this out there right up front… this is going to be my last post for Employee Evolution.

Before you shed any tears (I know, no one is crying but let me have my moment), just know that I'm not leaving entirely, just migrating over to Brazen Careerist. You see, the focus of EE is changing, and us guest bloggers are being shuttled over to BC so we can add our thoughts to the rising chorus of young professionals who demand a difference. So think of this more as me heading to a new house in the neighborhood rather than moving to another country.

I'm not entirely sure what my new role over at BC is going to be as of yet, but I know I will be offering more than just stories and humor, and can hopefully couple what I've been doing here with some helpful tips in ways to get ahead despite our youth. You might see me pop up from time to time in the journalism or politics section of the community, and I hope that if you aren't already checking out BC now that you'll start doing so, there's really a great community of bloggers over there who appreciate the readers.

So as I go I first want to say thanks to all of you who have read and commented on my posts week in and week out. When I was suffering through my old job, it was such a release to be able to come and write about my experiences in such a way that I could get all the frustration out while finding a way to make things at least remotely interesting to you all. Your encouragement, advice, and well-wishes were always welcome, and while I may not have responded to every comment, I read each of them. Your thoughtfulness continued as I moved halfway across the country and started the search for my true meaning, and my only regret is that I will no longer be able to bring you along on my journey as I seek that "dream job" we're all constantly chasing.

I also have to thank Healy and Paugh, who took a chance on me as just some random guy who wanted to write a weekly column. Jackie's Millenial Muse works made me really want to be a part of EE, and I'm glad the guys were willing to give me that opportunity. I'm looking forward to continuing in partnership with them (and Penelope as well) over in the BC community.

So now I'll wrap things up before I start getting choked up thinking of the good times we've shared. You have all been so good to me, and I thank you for letting me come into your life for a few minutes each week and share the joys, sorrows, dreams, and failures of the life of one simple twentysomething longing to be more than just another anonymous paper-pusher.

And now, since I'm told to always leave them laughing, and since I am an avid Indianapolis Colts football fan, a joke.

A Bears fan, a Colts fan, an Eagles fan, and a Patriots fan are all climbing a mountain. Seeing as it is the nature of sports enthusiasts, they all begin arguing about who is the most devoted fan of them all.

Suddenly, the Eagles fan says, "Oh yeah? Watch this! This is for the Eagles!" he shouts, and then proceeds to throw himself off the side of the cliff.

As the remaining three continue climbing, the Bears fans says, "That was nothing, this is for the Bears!" and casts himself off from an even higher altitude.

As the Colts fan and Patriots fan sally onward, still arguing, the Colts fan suddenly proclaims, "This is for everyone!" and promptly pushes the Patriots fan off the cliff.

Thanks again everyone, I'll see you around.

Thinking Inside the Box: Dusting Off the Resume

While I'm not yet ready to head back into the world of cube farms and meaningless projects (of course I'll look at this pointless presentation and tell you if it would look better if printed on violet or goldenrod), I figure I should at least update my résumé and bring it at least somewhat in line with what I've been doing over the past year or so.

The only problem is that it seems like the rules of how to write out a list of your accomplishments and hand them to someone in the hopes of getting an interview are changing so often that I don't know what to do, so I end up with a mash-up of half-baked ideas that likely make me as employable as the guy who stands out by the highway and insists to me that cheese is full of tiny spy satellites. And if I stare at one more online "how to" guide on writing résumés, I may just start to believe him.

The trouble all starts at the top, with the "Objective" section of the form. I was told back in college that this little blurb was critical, compressing everything important about who I am and what I do into one sentence. The whole thing seemed just as ridiculous then as it does now (I maintain that anyone who can condense their entire personality, hopes, dreams, and aspirations into one sentence is boring, droll, and as fake as Paris Hilton's philanthropic endeavors), so I used some sort of canned phrase designed to make me look like a young go-getter who can't wait to step all over his friends and climb over the corpses of his foes to get to the top. Now I'm told that whole thing needs to go, and instead it should be replaced with… well, that's the thing, no one knows what to replace it with, so my résumé will now feature a tiny sketch of Bobba Fett playing a game of poker against Stephen King. It may be stupid, but it still makes about as much sense as the "objective" idea did in the first place.

The next thing I've learned is that now companies use all manner of software to sort résumés, and therefore you should include all sorts of keywords so the program is more likely to pick up on you and then forward your information on to a real person. The real person will then take a look at your information, realize you've simply jammed it full of buzzwords to try and get the job, and then promptly throw it into the trash while wondering while no "real" people are applying for the job. The thought will briefly cross this individual's mind that perhaps it would be best to at least scan all the incoming résumés rather than letting a machine do it, but that soul will then remember the wonderful sales pitch delivered on goldenrod paper that got the HR department to spend thousands of dollars on the software in the first place.

At any rate, this state of review has left me cramming all manner of meaningless words into my life's story, so much so that I feel like the folks playing "Buzzword Bingo" in the IBM commercial. In describing my work with Employee Evolution I found myself writing, "It is the intent of my articles to provoke a reaction which will allow me to differentiate myself from other bloggers in the realm of new media. Furthermore, the use of social networking has allowed me to better actualize my goals of extending my network and making important connections in the blogosphere." Go ahead and count the number of useless buzzwords in those two sentences alone, and then extrapolate that into a couple pages. I think next time I'm going to do it in anagram form, something like:

Anyone

Can

Trick

Unsuspecting

A.I. through

Lying about

Inconsequential

Zeitgeist

Expectations

No wonder nobody in HR knows what they're getting when they bring people in for interviews. The fact I have to write like that to even get through the screening means that in today's job market, the ability to toss out technical sounding words is far more important than anything else.

I've also heard a million different other stories about this stuff. Bullet points are better than paragraphs; don't go over a page, DEAR GOD DON'T GO OVER A PAGE!!! List your activities, no wait, don't do that, nobody cares. Make sure when you are asked for salary requirements you don't write "One hundred billion dollars Bwahahahahaha!"

I think I'm going to just ask to see the cheese guy's résumé, he seems to have it all figured out.

Thinking Inside the Box: Freelancing, the Only Way to Make Less Money than Being Unemployed

When I finally managed to break my cubicle shackles I swore to myself that I would not take another desk job; at least not until I realize that not having health insurance anymore and only leaving the house slightly more often than those little old ladies who are convinced that the sun will kill them really gets to me. Therefore, I thought it would be prudent to take a break from the nine-to-five and try my hand at freelancing. Hehe, cute idea.

I believed striking out on my own would be a good idea because in the industry I'm trying to break into (video game journalism), there are very few true staff positions. Most gaming websites are run by a guy (or collection of guys, but always guys, because ladies still value human contact a little too much) who knows way too much about programming and also has an intrinsic desire to tell everyone what he thinks about games. Now, this is all well and good, as passion is a great thing, but the unfortunate side effect is that the vast majority of gaming sites are small, in-house operations that employ little to no actual staff. Sure, there are a few big companies like IGN, Gamespot, and 1Up who have a full-time professionals on board, but most "enthusiast" websites are nowhere near reaching those heights.

The nice thing is that there is just too much going on in the industry for one person to handle it all, and that's where we freelancers come in. Be it product reviews (it sucks), opinion articles (the whole industry sucks), or thoughtful editorials (everyone who disagrees with me sucks), freelancers can do it all. I've done a bit of freebie work the last couple years in order to build up my portfolio, and now I've garnered enough of a reputation and track record that I'm in a position where I can actually extract a little pay for my services.

The only problem with the whole arrangement is that the pay scale for freelance work is comparable to the allowance your parents gave you in middle school, possibly even less. Outside of Employee Evolution/Brazen Careerist, I write for four different gaming websites, and my total monthly take-home is somewhere in the neighborhood of $500 for a really, really good month. Also, over half of that amount comes from one site, so if for some reason we ever end up on bad terms, my yearly salary will be akin to that of your co-worker's 7 year old who gathers up aluminum cans and returns them for the recycling deposit. I'd like to think I have more income potential than little Susie, but she's got all of marketing and legal pitching in their cans, and we all know that if anyone loves caffeine it's the folks who spend their days coming up with ad campaigns and suing people.

The prudent thing to do would be to find outlets that pay more, but unfortunately it's not quite that simple. There is a big discrepancy between the major, investor-backed URLs who run a full staff and everybody else. If you aren't making money hand over fist then you likely aren't making money at all, which is why I'm lucky to concurrently find four places that will actually pay me when I vomit my thoughts onto paper.

I suppose I could branch out and write for other industries, but since I have no interest in how to be a good mommy or where to find the best shrimp salad in town I find it hard to develop a passion and give my best work. What's the difference between working at someone else's desk and being miserable than doing the same thing at my own? No thanks, I'd rather be broke and content than slightly less broke and miserable.

Besides, there's a traffic light near my apartment, I can always just head up there with a bucket and dance for change. That would be fun, assuming the hot dog cart guy is willing to share his little slice of solicitation heaven.

Thinking Inside the Box: Quality Time with the Family

After the debacle that was trying to get all of our possessions into an itty-bitty trailer, you would have thought the moving drama was over. Oh no, far from it, as the excitement had just begun. You see, in order to avoid paying rent on an apartment we weren't planning to live in, my wife and I had to move out on a Wednesday. Unfortunately, my dad wanted to wait until the weekend before we all took off to Maryland (and good luck telling him we can do it alone, there's no way my parents were letting us move 10 hours away without saying goodbye), so in effect my wife and I were to be homeless for a few days. "Not to worry," says mom and dad, "you can stay with us! It'll be just like old times!" Oh joy, I get to live with my parents once more.

First off, obviously I wasn't really moving back in with my parents since we were going to only be there a few days and since the only unpacking I did was clothes and a mattress (because we weren't both making it onto my old bed; "twin mattress" is a misnomer, only one person's fitting on there), but it still felt odd. After a couple years out on my own, coming home again was just so strange, like I was back in high school fielding all the same questions ("How was your day?" "Did you find a new job yet?" "Why can't you be a lawyer?") as I did all those years ago.

Conversations were awkward, as my family doesn't really understand the concept of "new media." In fact, I'm pretty sure the last time my mom checked her email was when I did it, and words like YouTube, RSS feed, and social networking make their eyes glaze over.

So I understand that they don't see how I can possibly make a living writing on the Internet (privately; I'm not quite sure how to do it myself), so the pressure comes in spades to go get a more "conventional" job. When I tell them I want to be a writer their response is akin to that of John Lithgow's character in "Orange County." (If you haven't seen it, go rent it right now, it's like Laguna Beach and the Hills, but with a better script. Ah snap!)

Aside from dodging questions about my future, there was also the implied need for my wife and I to see every family member and attend every possible family event one last time, just in case the Eastern Seaboard breaks from the United States, floats into the Atlantic, and then sinks, thus rendering us never able to see any of them again. There was the family cookout featuring too done hot dogs and steaks so big I wondered what parts of the poor cow were left, as well as my niece's softball games and random aunts and uncles dropping by to tell us how proud they were event though we've only met twice.

The night before we left my parents told us that if we ever needed a place to stay, their home was always open, "so long as she comes with you." That little phrase was both the most wonderful and terrifying thing I had ever heard. On the one hand, it shows that they have fully embraced the love of my life as one of their own, thinking of her as their own child, and willing to do whatever it takes to help her every step of the way. On the other hand, it also means that if for some awful reason we should ever end up divorced, I'm no longer welcome in my childhood home. I worked on winning them over to my side for 18 years, it only took her two; she must be some sort of sorceress.

As I raided my parents' pantry one last time I was struck by the sheer mass of the moment before me. Here I was, about to leave the only home I'd ever known (though I had lived in different parts of the same state, I was never more than a couple hours from where I grew up), to go to a place completely new and alien to me. I had been to Washington, DC once, in eighth grade on a field trip, and hadn't seen it since. I had no knowledge of Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, or Delaware (Delaware borders Maryland? Really? I thought it just kind of floated up and down the coast, settling wherever it chose), and my only lifeline would now reside a half-day's drive away, well out of reach next time my car broke down or the washing machine overflowed.

And yet I knew the tether had to be cut. The opportunity laid before us was too grand, too perfect, to exciting to let slip by, and consequences be damned we had to go for it. So the next morning we piled into our cars and started driving east, every mile we passed I left another little piece of my old self behind; readying for a new day, a new home, and a new experience. However, tucked into the back of my mind was that little reassurance, the knowledge that I can always go home again if things don't work out, so long as she comes with me.

I'd better be good, because if she leaves then I'm screwed.

Thinking Inside the Box: Packing Up

There are few things as fundamental and as frustrating to the human experience as moving. When I was a kid, my parents had lived in the same house for their entire marriage, and they had no interest in living anywhere else and happily commuted quite a distance to work every day. It was simply their home, and that was where they belonged.

Going off to college was my first experience packing myself up and preparing to live somewhere else. Like most people, I took way too much stuff, and my dorm room freshman year was so tightly crammed that trying to get from one side of the room to the other was about as easy as performing brain surgery on an over-caffeinated, non-anesthetized howler monkey.

As the years passed I got better and better at packing, eventually condensing my life into a suitcase and a mid-sized box. Then, once I got married, I got the full moving experience, taking not just clothing but furniture to boot. Thankfully my wife was there to inform me that some of the more "embarrassing" articles I owned would "in no way" be moving with us to the new apartment. Dear sweet woman; always there to save me from myself.

So in the past 7 years I have packed up and moved 7 times, and I'd like to think I'm getting quite good at it. This time however, my skills were challenged to the utmost.

Whenever we've needed to move in the past, my parents and my sister have all been there with eager faces (though I'm sure there's plenty of grumbling when we aren't around) and strong backs (except for my dad, who should probably be featured in medical textbooks as the man with a bionic back). My family has always loaned us their craft trailer, which we always manage to just fit everything into and get the doors to close. That was when we were moving around within the state though, this time that wasn't going to work.

My dad determined that with the price of gas it just wasn't reasonable for them to haul the full trailer halfway across the country and then an empty one back again. Also, since there are rather large mountains in the Eastern United States, they feared that the truck might not be able to make it up, and that rolling backwards back down a mountain, while making for a fun story to tell the grandkids, is not the most stress-relieving of experiences. No, instead we would get a U-Haul trailer, and it would be dropped off once we got to our new home. Fair enough, let the games begin.

Unfortunately, when the trailer arrived we were in for quite the surprise. The device which would convey all our worldly goods was less than half the size of the trailer we traditionally use.

The trailer that we have always filled to capacity.

On the spot we began to assign our possessions status rankings, and decided what essential items would be coming with us. We elected to go ahead and pack our clothes and dishes, seeing as how eating and not strutting about naked are both mildly important to the further existence of the species. We also managed to pack all of our end tables and nightstands, even though they all had to be horribly cannibalized in order to fit into the tiny nooks and crannies.

Some things were left behind however, and my niece is now the (not so proud) new owner of a beat up computer desk, a stained chair, and a microwave that insists on beeping at you ad infinitum until you come and take out whatever Hot Pocket or bag of popcorn you happened to throw in there. My mother was reunited with the hideous couch we had poached from her when we got married, and you would have thought she won the lottery. She believes that couch to be the most beautiful and comfortable thing ever created, while the rest of us see it as little more than a stiff eyesore. My former roommate described the thing best when he said, "I think that just looking at it has given me cancer… again." At any rate, she got her couch back, we had a convenient excuse to buy something less offensive, and everybody went home happy.

I'm pleased to report that after much stuffing, arranging, hoping, and praying; we managed to get almost all of our stuff into the trailer and the back of my father's truck. A few things did get left behind however, and we are currently negotiating a hostage exchange of my mother's book of Sudoku puzzles in return for my wife's sweaters. We need to get this deal done soon though, once the weather turns cool again this fall they hold the leverage.

As I look back on the experience, a simple truism comes to mind, a little thought that fills me with happiness and puts the whole fiasco into perspective.

Next time we do all this, we can always just hire a moving company and let them deal with it.