The Unemployed Life

Gigonomics: (Job) Fair Thee Well

One day I hope we’re all employed, noses happily pressed to various grindstones. Among the good things employment will bring, besides a steady paycheck and the restoration of self-esteem, is not having to attend any more job fairs. If there is a single force in the universe with the power to galvanize job-searching efforts, it is a job fair. And I don’t mean in the inspiring, Rosie the Riveter way. I mean in the screaming Edvard Munch get-me-out-of-here way.

It might have been just one of those days. But as I walked along Grand Avenue toward the Polk County Convention Complex in Des Moines, the world had a gauzy, surreal tint to the air, as if the buildings and the parked cars and the big steel sidewalk planters were cast onto a scrim from a rear-projection camera. I knew why, too. It was because, with all my heart and mind, I didn’t want to be here, making yet one more public confession about the sorry state of my predicament. I didn’t want to force a smile, glad hand an HR rep, and pass out resumes like a bartender plunking olives into martinis at the dry end of the Titanic. I wanted to be nestled safe in a labyrinth of office cubicles, comforted by clacking keyboards and automatic paycheck deposits. Or even out on a road crew, schlepping a wheelbarrow full of gravel for one of the President’s shovel-ready projects. Anywhere but a job fair.

I didn’t want to be here, making yet one more public confession about the sorry state of my predicament.

There are lots of well-meaning folks at job fairs, and you can bet that the people who organize them are earnest, caring and decent. Job fairs are well-attended these days, for obvious reasons, and they provide resources for thousands of unemployed who are looking for that single ray of hope. For recent college graduates, job fairs have always been rites of passage as they prepare to enter the world of work. A job fair is an opportunity to make connections, build up your personal network, and even find a job. But despite the booth banners and colorful brochures and bowls of candy set out on the tables, it is not a “fair” in the fun sense of the word, and in 2009 at this particular job fair the seriousness of the situation was pervasive.

Because this is the only fair I have attended, it is impossible for me to say if this one was characteristic of job expos in general. It seemed light on genuine opportunity. There was a smattering of mid-level companies, mostly insurance and banking, mixed with more than a few temp staffing recruiters and resume writing services. Those with a taste for adventure could sign on to any number of franchises and sell everything from vitamins to housewares to condos. Two large Chevrolet dealers were in attendance, conscripting young souls to a life of commission-only used car sales. Does Chevy even exist any more? A booth for IBM was cheek-and-jowl with a recruitment booth for the U.S. Army. The fellows in desert camouflage laughed uneasily when I asked if they thought I was too old for hand-to-hand combat.

So I meandered along the aisles under the beige concrete sky of the Convention Complex, seeing in the various faces of the attendees none other than myself, coming and going, with expressions that reflected bewilderment, concern and fatigue. After a fashion I found myself at the booth of Liz Nead, a career-help guru (www.neadinspiration.com) whose literature and CD set promised “the power of life transformation.” Liz Nead came right up with a smile as wide as a magazine spread, and I have to say I was enchanted—she exuded such a positive attitude. Sure, she had drunk her own Kool-aid and was buzzing on the self-concocted elixir, but it was obvious that she had a message that she genuinely believed. And by golly, when she started to talk, it made sense to me, too.

“Yeah, I know,” she smiled, indicating the sign above her booth that proclaimed, Liz Nead Inspiration. “People see ‘inspiration’ and they roll their eyes and say, ‘I need inspiration like a hole in the head. I need a job.’

“But inspiration is simply the beginning, the start of an idea. That first spark, the first thread that leads you to finding your way. Inspiration isn’t the end game, it’s the beginning of your focus. Once you know what you want to do, and focus on that, the rest of the stuff will fall into place.”

Eventually, I left the job fair and emerged from the complex into the cool spring air. Perhaps what I felt inside had been the effects of the down economy, distilled by many months of bad news into a gooey malaise. But I suddenly was refreshed, and energized, and more determined than ever to succeed. Liz Nead had managed to plant a seed, a seed of hope. Are those flowers starting to emerge from the steel sidewalk planters? I believe they are.

John Riha spent more than 20 years in magazine publishing including stints as managing editor of Traditional Home and executive editor of Better Homes and Gardens before being laid off in January. He now produces multi-media content, video, and, yup, is thinking about cranking out that novel. You know the one.

You can read all of John Riha’s columns here.

–

Recessionwire is on Twitter! Follow us to get the latest headlines, tips and insights for surviving and thriving in the recession. http://twitter.com/recessionwire.

Tags: Gigonomics, job fairs, job-hunting