Cupid's Christmas (Serendipity #3)(21)
It would take her twenty minutes to shower and dress, and five more to drive into town, so Lindsay figured she had two hours to put together some kind of resume. Time enough, she told herself then she hurried down the stairs and asked to use the desktop computer that was hooked to a printer.
When John saw her booting up the machine, he nonchalantly said, “Catching up on your e-mail?”
“Un-uh,” Lindsay answered, “I need a resume.” The truth was she didn’t just need a resume, she was desperate for one. Her resume had been the stumbling block on every job she’d gone after. Shortly after she lost the job at Seaworthy, she’d handed a sheet of paper with her name, address and two job listings to an interviewer who’d laughed in her face. “This is it?” he said, and laughed again when she nodded yes.
John walked into the den forty-five minutes later and the only things on the page were her name, address, telephone number and three lines stating that she had a Bachelor’s Degree in Communications from Rutgers. “Having trouble getting started?” he asked.
“A bit,” Lindsay sighed.
John rummaged through a stack of magazines until he found the one he’d been looking for. “A few years back Eleanor worked for a guidance counselor,” he said. “She’s good with stuff like this. You should get her to help you.”
A look of annoyance took hold of Lindsay’s face and she snapped, “I don’t need help,” as he was leaving the room. She looked at the almost blank page, then moved the cursor down two lines and typed – Gift Industry News, October 2007-April 2008. General office duties and proofreading. She left out the parts about making coffee and answering the phone. She double-spaced then added – Seaworthy Insurance Company, May 2008 – October 2009. Administrative Assistant to one of many Vice Presidents in Marine Insurance Division. Since she’d had so few responsibilities, she decided to say nothing more.
Her third entry was The Big Book Barn, November 2009 – August 2011. Sales Clerk.
Her entire resume took up less than half a page. After four years of college and nearly five years of working, it appeared that she’d done nothing more than take up space on the planet. She had no achievements, no publishing credits, no awards, no promotions, not even a job with a story worth telling. Sitting in her father’s office chair Lindsay reread the resume three times. With each reading it seemed increasingly more pitiful. The resume wasn’t just bad, it was pathetic.
Lindsay tried to think of ways the resume might be improved. First she added space between the paragraphs spreading the text to fill more of the page. But after she adjusted the lines of copy the triple-spaced page looked emptier than it did before. The huge blocks of white space cried out for words to fill them. Perhaps if I add something about high school, or Gamma Phi Beta, she mused—but even though they at first seemed good ideas, she thought back and remembered her high school years as being academically challenged and her sorority activities consisting mostly of parties. When Lindsay glanced at the clock, she was out of time. She reluctantly hit print, made two copies and saved the file as Resume.doc. She scooped up one copy and left the other lying on the desk.
Twenty minutes later Lindsay dashed out the door with the folded resume in her purse. Her plan was to ask Traci for suggestions, then work on improving the resume after lunch. By then she’d most certainly have some new ideas.
Traci was already at the Sandwich Stop when she walked in. “Sorry, I’m late,” Lindsay said, “I was getting my resume together.”
“No problem, I’ve only been here five minutes.” Traci segued into a lengthy tale of how she was preparing for a design consultation at three o’clock. “Big client,” she said, “it would be a major coup if I can pull this off.”
More out of politeness than interest, Lindsay asked, “What kind of project is it?”
“Structural design for a walk-around fishing yacht with more maneuverability and less drag,” she answered. Using a string of words that were unfamiliar to Lindsay, Traci rambled on about the project for almost five minutes and then said, “Since you worked at Seaworthy, I thought you’d be perfect for this spot as Project Coordinator.”
“Project Coordinator?”
“Yeah, you have marine industry experience and—”
“What do mean marine industry experience?”
“You worked for Seaworthy, so you must have some knowledge of ship design, maritime laws, port regulations, things like that.”
“Afraid not,” Lindsay answered sadly. “I mostly answered the phone, did some typing…”
“You weren’t in underwriting?”
“I was in the Underwriting Department, but I worked for a man who didn’t do all that much underwriting himself.”
“Oh,” Traci said, but the word had the sound of a runaway car slamming on its brakes.
“Not good?” Lindsay asked tentatively.
Traci shook her head, “Not for this job, but I’ll see if I can come up with something else.”
Lindsay had heard similar phrases before and she understood the truth of what was unspoken. The words differed, but the meaning was always the same. It was the sound of a boyfriend who’d lost interest. “I’ll give you a call,” he’d say, but the call never came. This situation was nothing but another disinterested boyfriend—Traci was never going to come up with something else. Jamming the resume back into the bottom of her purse Lindsay decided against asking for advice. “Don’t bother,” she said, “I’ve already got several things lined up.”