“Nobody loves me but my Mother” (…and she ain’t jivin’ neither, B.B.): How my mom got her thirty-seven year old son a job
“I come home last Friday, talk to the landlady and told her I lost my job
She says don’t confront me. An’ so I best have my rent next Friday
An’ next Friday come, I didn’t have the rent an’ out the door I went”.
- John Lee Hooker, “House Rent Boogie”
Fortunately for me, that day never came; I never got put out on the street by my lady. Since moving to London from Sydney in September, I have been in the unemployment line. Unfortunately, it is a very popular place to be…all over the globe.
We moved to London based on a promotion my wife received from her company. This meant me having to resign from my job back in Sydney. We make moves relative to the big picture; there is no such thing as sacrifice when it comes to making sure we are in the best position to succeed and enjoy our lives together. Moving to London was a no brainer for many reasons.
This is third time I have resigned (and we have moved) based on my wife’s career opportunities. My career has become this collection of experiences in a few different countries: The States, Australia and now, London.
Last week I got a job. Not just any job, but the one I wanted in a direction that I wanted to take my career.
Not bad. Three months in, and in the worst economy the UK has seen in some time, and with
a switch in industries…I found me a gig.
So why am I feeling a bit sad as I type? Because I don’t get to continue to write on YUD anymore, that’s why! YUD (www.yourunemployeddaughter.com) is a blog run by a friend of mine. I have written a few posts for her blog where she talks about being unemployed as a New Yorker. If you want to catch up on my previous posts for YUD, you can do so here:
- “Take this job and shove it“
- “Release the hounds: the London job hunt has begun“
- ““William Shakespeare and the New Rules for Recruiters”
If you don’t want to read those and are the kind of person who just reads the ending to books, just go to the last post. Here you go:
(Have a listen to this song before reading the rest of this story. No, really…you need to listen to it)
http://listen.grooveshark.com/songWidget.swf
http://widgets.clearspring.com/o/48f3f305ad1283e4/4b0e5b5a098a4346/48f3f3053cbe0b4e/b0fdcbdf
That’s right B.B.: Mothers don’t jive…
…at least not when it comes to their sons. I’m no mama’s boy, but I sure felt like one last week: my mommy just got me a job.
Yes, Yuddites, it is true. I had to rely on my mom (once again) to save my ass. Time and time again throughout my life my Mom (I call her “Ma”) has been there to support me. There may have been times when I pressed my luck and tested her patience, but Ma always did right by me.
Living in London, I usually call home to the States every other week. You can bet the last dollar from your unemployment checks that my job search will come up in conversation. Parents never stop worrying about their kids (unless you are a cold hearted, irresponsible set of dumb-asses like Ballon Boy’s two winners. Idiots). I knew only their best interests were on display, but as an unemployed person, the worst question to have to answer is: “how’s the job search going?”
There is really just one way to answer to that question and you have only two options to choose from: “good” and or “bad”. When you are jobless there is no inbetween. Oh, we try and make ourselves feel good about it with half-assed responses about “great interviews” and “real potential with that one”, but it is all a load of shit. No job is nooo job.
The last time I spoke with my parents. My mom didn’t ask me how the job search was, but she did ask me why I hadn’t used one of her contacts she gave me. Ma had given me the name of a friend that is a senior VP of HR for this company. To be honest, I looked at the helping hand as my mom just trying to be nice. Shit, if the Taliban were looking to hire, she’d pass along my resume if she thought it would help.
Finally I relented and decided to get in touch with her contact.
What do you know…the Old Gal pulled through. I’m sorry I ever doubted you, mommy.
The woman I spoke with in the US passed off my resume to her counterpart here in London. After a few email/phone conversations I found myself neck deep in a series of interviews. At the end of the final interview, the person who I was speaking to asked me “how do you know [the HR contact back in the States}?” Maybe it was me, but I thought I noticed a bit of a smirk crawl across his face when he asked me that question (did he know?).
Wow. Here it was, right in front of me: a true Moment of Truth. I figured that if I was going to work with this guy, I might as well tell him how I arrived in his office. Why not, right? “The truth is easier,” as my old pal Hunter S. Thompson used to say.
We talked about this before, Yuddites. In an interview, if you can’t be yourself, if you can’t speak your mind, if you can’t give them the “true-you”…what the hell are you doing there in the first place.
So I told him, just like this: “my mommy”.
I filled him in on the rest of the story about how she and my mom were friends. We both had a good laugh over it. He even called me a “momma’s boy”. Humility is cool.
So what is the moral to this tale about how I got my job? Never underestimate a contact or lead. At any given time, sparks can strike where you least expect them to.
Oh yeah, there is another lesson: Mother does knows best
Good luck, Yuddites!
p.s. I found it very ironic, if not scary, when I saw this recent story on the Huff Post.
