Wishing for Wonderful (Serendipity #3)(25)
I’ve had to deal with all of her bad boyfriend choices, but employment problems are definitely not my responsibility. Even though I feel for the girl, she’s on her own this time. Lindsay’s not without resources, she’s just too blind to see them. Unfortunately, human relationships are like a game of dominoes. When one topples, everything else goes down.
~
The first domino began falling on the Thursday after Labor Day. It was ten twenty-seven when the telephone rang and Traci asked to speak with Lindsay.
“I think she’s still asleep,” Eleanor said, “but hold on and I’ll check.”
Minutes later a sleepy-voiced Lindsay picked up the receiver.
“I’ve got some info on that job I was telling you about,” Traci said. “I’m working on a project deadline right now, but let’s meet for lunch.”
“Sounds good,” Lindsay replied.
They set the time and place, then Traci added, “Bring a copy of your resume.”
Although it escaped Traci’s ear, Lindsay let out a saddened sigh. The resume—or actually the lack of one—was her downfall. It was the history of misspent years coming back to haunt her. Seven times she’d started to write the dreaded resume, and seven times she’d quit. After four years at Rutgers and a string of meaningless jobs, she had little that was worth committing to paper. Regardless of how she phrased it, a few clerical jobs and two years of meandering through the aisles of a bookstore did not make for an impressive background.
It would take her twenty minutes to shower and dress and another five to drive into town. That left two hours. Lindsay told herself it was time enough to put together a better resume. Disregarding the fact that she had nothing new to say or any additional experience to add, she hurried down the stairs and sat at John’s desktop computer hopeful that she could create a more impressive resume by embellishing her experiences. Instead of bookstore clerk, she would be a Literary Sales Expeditor. She would replace the word secretary with Administrative Assistant, and maybe that short stint at the publishing firm could be called Media Coordinator.
When John saw her booting up the machine, he cheerfully asked, “Catching up on your e-mail?”
“Unh-unh,” Lindsay answered. “I need to update my resume.”
The truth was she didn’t just need to update her resume; she needed to create 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’d said and laughed again when she nodded yes.
John walked into the den forty-five minutes later and peered over Lindsay’s shoulder. Other than a few lines at the top, the screen was blank. The only things she’d written were her name, address, telephone number and the beginning of a sentence saying she had a bachelor’s degree in communications from Rutgers.
“Having trouble getting started?” he asked.
“A bit,” Lindsay said.
John rummaged through a stack of magazines until he found the one he’d been looking for.
“A number of years back Eleanor worked as a guidance counselor,” he said. “She’s good with stuff like this. You should get her to help you.”
A look of annoyance slid onto Lindsay’s face. She mumbled, “I don’t need help,” as he was leaving the room.
Alone again, she moved the cursor down two lines and typed “Gift Industry News, October 2007-April 2008.” After thinking it over, she’d abandoned the thought of calling herself a Media Coordinator. Without an explanation as to what her job actually was she typed “General office duties and proofreading.” She left out any reference to making the 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.” Since she’d never even heard of a job called Literary Sales Expeditor, she settled for 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 it 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.
Maybe if I add something about high school or Gamma Phi Beta, she mused. But even though they originally seemed good ideas, she 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.