My virtual seminar with
Centrelink dismissed the notion that I might semi-retire and do voluntary work.
I’m so unknowledgeable and unworldly that I have no idea, other than Saturday’s
big paper, where to look for a job. Milk spatters from my Weeties onto the job
section. Its skimpiness says that most people look elsewhere for work these
days.
Community Appointments,
Education, and Local Government, are the only areas I know. I rectangle two ads
with green highlighter, cut them out and stick them on an A4 sheet. One is for
a family services mental health worker, the other for an administrator with a
not-for-profit that does police checks for the community sector. Nineteen hours
a week, days negotiable—perfect.
I lose interest and ring Rock
to check on his post-accident health. He’s recovering well. I tell him I
updated my résumé but doubt it captures my abilities. My diffidence overwhelms
me. He sympathises: with our years and experience, he says, we understand the
nuances of language, read people astutely, know how to react to any situation,
and grasp new things instinctively. CVs and the ridiculously-titled skill-sets
don’t capture these qualities.
I fire up the interweb, trawl
employment sites for hours, and bookmark two jobs. I download PDs. The mental
health worker position in this morning’s paper doesn’t suit. A vacancy for a
Rail Trail and Recreation Project Officer appeals, but I’m not after full-time
work in the CBD. An association for children with a disability is looking for a
sibling worker, but it’s only one day a week.
I scan hundreds of education
and training positions I am unsuited for are listed. In desperation I check the
category labelled Other, but no. It’s all faintly discouraging, but I expected
no less.
When I attend my appointment
with the employment agency on Wednesday I can at least report ‘activity’. Until
then …
Rock on.
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