My working career began in the strawberry fields somewhere in the middle of nowhere in New Brunswick. I was proud of receiving the job of strawberry picker, I remember the excitement I felt driving to the field with my Dad. I was a working woman.
Five hours of kneeling down in the rain, dully picking berry after berry and putting them in a box before- get this- moving on to the next box, I was ready to quit my first job. “Is two weeks’ notice required?” I wondered. What I didn’t know was this was strawberry picking, if the season lasted longer than two weeks it would be lucky. And, some other poor unfortunate soul would replace my position picking strawberries anyway. There was no hiring process required, you could show up and that was enough. No criminal record check required. I was so close to quitting, but the desire for money and independence (independence was getting driven to work by my daddy) was too strong. I waited out the season, and picked like a mad woman. And I did it the next year as well. Unfortunately, I’ve realized that despite being a job that requires a ridiculous amount of hard work and dedication- as you get paid per basket, and the more baskets you pick the more money you receive- it’s not really recognized as work experience. Not even to get a job as a cashier in Toronto.
I’m capable of slaving away in the hot sun picking strawberries, yet I can’t smile politely and accept money from customers. That’s the impression I got from the lady I handed my application into at Metro. She hated me from the beginning when she read the first thing I’d written on the form “Position applied for- I’m willing to work wherever they put me.” I thought it made me look flexible, and open to trying new things. “Desperate,” she said shaking her head at me disapprovingly. “You never put that on an application form, she said. “It makes you look desperate.” She said the desperate word again, as if emphasizing how pathetic I really was. “This is Metro, of course I’m desperate or I wouldn’t be applying here,” I wanted to scream at her.
It brought back embarrassing memories of a time in my life when I was perhaps even more desperate to find employment.
I can still remember sending Gregg Zaun (retired MLB player and analyst for Rogers Sportsnet) a message on twitter in the hopes he could find me a job. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t in the business of hiring (especially not 16 year olds) or that I lived 17 hours away from Toronto. He worked for the Blue Jays. This automatically put him in the category of a god. He would be able to find me a job I thought, with a grin at my own cleverness. He would hire me all because I sent him a nice message on twitter. “I’m willing to clean toilets and pick up garbage” I listed off the grimmest duties possible in hopes he would, I don’t know, hire me to clean the non-existent toilet in the TV studio he shared with Jaime Campbell.
I was extremely naïve, because I felt disappointed when he replied with “I am sure they will give your application a good long look” which was probably more than I deserved to receive given the ridiculous content of my message.
I guess I’ve always been unsuccessful at finding employment, I was an umpire, a dog sitter, and a strawberry picker, but never did I have a “real” job. It wasn’t for lack of effort, I dropped off plenty of resumes, but it never got to the interview stage.
Now though, as a university student in need of money, I’m facing perhaps the most extreme desperation I’ve ever felt when it comes to finding a job. I flash back to the time a year ago when I stood in front of a gas station to fundraise money to have the opportunity to play baseball in Cuba. I stood there smiling with my bristol board sign and an ice-cream bucket and somehow made a thousand dollars in a day. The beautiful thing is I didn’t even need to be hired to do it. The wheels in my head are spinning as I think about investing in a piece of bristol board and writing “Help me pay for my tuition” on it. I could hope the people of Toronto are all in generous moods and not armed with guns on the day I sit on the street and hold an ice-cream bucket out to beg for tuition money.
Five hours of kneeling down in the rain, dully picking berry after berry and putting them in a box before- get this- moving on to the next box, I was ready to quit my first job. “Is two weeks’ notice required?” I wondered. What I didn’t know was this was strawberry picking, if the season lasted longer than two weeks it would be lucky. And, some other poor unfortunate soul would replace my position picking strawberries anyway. There was no hiring process required, you could show up and that was enough. No criminal record check required. I was so close to quitting, but the desire for money and independence (independence was getting driven to work by my daddy) was too strong. I waited out the season, and picked like a mad woman. And I did it the next year as well. Unfortunately, I’ve realized that despite being a job that requires a ridiculous amount of hard work and dedication- as you get paid per basket, and the more baskets you pick the more money you receive- it’s not really recognized as work experience. Not even to get a job as a cashier in Toronto.
I’m capable of slaving away in the hot sun picking strawberries, yet I can’t smile politely and accept money from customers. That’s the impression I got from the lady I handed my application into at Metro. She hated me from the beginning when she read the first thing I’d written on the form “Position applied for- I’m willing to work wherever they put me.” I thought it made me look flexible, and open to trying new things. “Desperate,” she said shaking her head at me disapprovingly. “You never put that on an application form, she said. “It makes you look desperate.” She said the desperate word again, as if emphasizing how pathetic I really was. “This is Metro, of course I’m desperate or I wouldn’t be applying here,” I wanted to scream at her.
It brought back embarrassing memories of a time in my life when I was perhaps even more desperate to find employment.
I can still remember sending Gregg Zaun (retired MLB player and analyst for Rogers Sportsnet) a message on twitter in the hopes he could find me a job. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t in the business of hiring (especially not 16 year olds) or that I lived 17 hours away from Toronto. He worked for the Blue Jays. This automatically put him in the category of a god. He would be able to find me a job I thought, with a grin at my own cleverness. He would hire me all because I sent him a nice message on twitter. “I’m willing to clean toilets and pick up garbage” I listed off the grimmest duties possible in hopes he would, I don’t know, hire me to clean the non-existent toilet in the TV studio he shared with Jaime Campbell.
I was extremely naïve, because I felt disappointed when he replied with “I am sure they will give your application a good long look” which was probably more than I deserved to receive given the ridiculous content of my message.
I guess I’ve always been unsuccessful at finding employment, I was an umpire, a dog sitter, and a strawberry picker, but never did I have a “real” job. It wasn’t for lack of effort, I dropped off plenty of resumes, but it never got to the interview stage.
Now though, as a university student in need of money, I’m facing perhaps the most extreme desperation I’ve ever felt when it comes to finding a job. I flash back to the time a year ago when I stood in front of a gas station to fundraise money to have the opportunity to play baseball in Cuba. I stood there smiling with my bristol board sign and an ice-cream bucket and somehow made a thousand dollars in a day. The beautiful thing is I didn’t even need to be hired to do it. The wheels in my head are spinning as I think about investing in a piece of bristol board and writing “Help me pay for my tuition” on it. I could hope the people of Toronto are all in generous moods and not armed with guns on the day I sit on the street and hold an ice-cream bucket out to beg for tuition money.