Australian Job Failure

This job search is hitting a weird stage.

I had a job interview a few weeks back, involving 2 interviewers.

A week later, one of them phoned me to say that I didn’t have the job. But he just wanted to let me know just how impressive I had been. That I had been “neck-to-neck” with the guy who did get the job. And that they wanted to send me job adverts from other organisations.

Much obliged. But. The niggling question kept coming into my mind. If I was SO impressive, why not hire me.

Last week, the other interviewer from that organisation emailed me to say that I really had made such an impression on them. And here is a job advert for some organisation that I should think of applying to.

Again. Thanks so much for the compliment. But…????

What takes it from “impressive” to “hireable”? What am I missing here?

I recently phoned a company to find out where they were in the application process for another job that I applied for. She said she recognised my name, don’t worry, phone calls were being made the next day to set up interviews. “Its just been crazy here because a whole lot of people have left” (That did spark a warning bell). The next day came & went. The next 3 weeks came & went. Nothing. I received an email this Monday saying that I had not been short listed.

Last Friday, I received a call from some lady telling me that they had received my job application, for ANOTHER job I applied for, and she was so impressed. Could she send me some aptitude tests to complete on the Monday.

Monday came & went. No email. Tuesday & Wednesday morning, still no email. I phoned her and left a message. I emailed her finally. And received an email back saying that her boss in London had done her own check on the applications, cut a few, sent the test to the ones that got through, and “sorry, your application was disregarded. I just found out today. All the best in your future endeavours”.

I am now exhausted.

I do not know what to do.

I am aiming lower than ever before.

I really would like to stay in my industry.

But I feel like there is some all-mighty secret that I am meant to crack before they’ll let me in. Let me in to help people & manage aid programmes. Y’know, what I was doing. What I once thought I had some experience in.

How many times can you reword your CV, cover letters and “statement of dumb fkcing claims”. How many jobs do you have to apply for. How many times can you believe supportive people who tell you that they just KNOW some great job is around the corner.

How many times can you allow yourself to get mildly excited, only to be told, NO, but never told why not.

The last job was to coordinate charities in an African country. While based in Melbourne. Who knew that I would be SO far from applicable to this job description to not even make the cut to write aptitude tests.

If I don’t even apply to that description, how the fkc am I going to apply to any description that is even a step off.

Folk here keep telling me how well paying the job is of packing shelves. Have I considered it. At least every second week I hear this. And I am reaching a point of wanting to scream, but FUCK, I want to do more than pack shelves!!!!!!!!!!!!! I realise I am a chick. I realise it is my boyfriend who is the clever one. But I have worked so hard over the years to build up my skills & experience, surely I am not being a spoilt brat to want to pursue this. To not want to pack shelves, but rather to use my mind.

I have taken to crying now. Because I am just too exhausted. The guy wants to come home from work & take me for coffee (or a pub full of wine!?!?!?) but I just want to have one of those ownsome cries where you really get all this frustration and hurt of rejection out that you know you are going to look like a drenched red capsicum, dripping water from every facial orifice, thinking the most irrational thoughts.

And just get it all out.

Only to get myself up, out and on my way to babysit 2 random children for two painstaking hours. Me, with 4 random years of tertiary study, a coupla distinctions, six years of work, some of which was at the United Nation, and which also involved part-time study.

Fuck. I feel like a failure.