Sunday, January 25, 2004

Update: the Eternal Jobhunt

It's like my "Hunt for Miss Universe/Darwinian Selection" tactic for getting yourself a girlfriend. The paradigm is beauty contest; the prize is me.

You start out with a multitude of prospects, narrow the list down to a manageable size and then begin the dating, er, application process. You begin making your presence felt depending on who's convenient, adding a little star next to the prospect's name if things go well; rejection being regarded as trivial at this stage (Yes, I kept a black book). The list gets shorter as the stars accumulate on some women; as others drop out of the contest due to the exigencies of living. You wound up with semi-finalists (usually five out of the original twenty four) and then three finalists, one of which you crowned My Miss Universe after a gruelling final selection process. (Happily the other classic rule applies here too-- "Should Miss Universe, for any reason, be unable to perform her duties, the first runner up will wear the crown!").

PHILPOST has dropped out of the contest.

Reason-- I cannot wait another 84 days so I can take another pre-qualifying exam and then make another application for a position I'm supposed to have gotten in the first place. Apparently the whole set of applicants was not properly told about the rules of PHILPOST's employment game.

1. You pass the exam (at 87% and above) and interview, you're eligible for training
2. You will be paid P240 for every day you spend at the PHILPOST Training Center in Quezon City
3. We will deduct your training fee from the P240 we will pay you per day
4. Your training will last for 90 days, or until you quit, whichever comes first
5. If you quit, we will draw from our long waitlist, a suitable candidate (also an 87%+ scorer) who will take your place in the next training cycle
6. You make it through training, you will take another exam
7. You pass that exam, you must make an application AGAIN for the position you want

I'd love to have my weekends free. I'd love to deliver the mail at 5:00 in the morning , finish at 2:00 p.m. then go home and enjoy my painting despite the sucky and heavily taxed salary. I'd love to be with the friends I've made at the Postal Training Center.

But this is like... like courting Lilith.

I've learned my lesson. I am not gonna cut my hair for these guys, much less do cartwheels for them and shout "Yesyesyes!!!" when they give me orders. Not that these guys aren't nice, and not that these guys don't want me or I don't want them. In fact I'm getting the heebie-jeebies about working for _______. But the die is already cast: I want my cash. And I want it now.


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