You're Semi-Hired!

(Hire me! I can make rainbows fly out of my butt!)
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In the immortal words of the Talking Heads, I ask: "Wait... how did I get here?"

Where's here? A desk- in an office, actually. A real, live office. My first ever. When I was at Former Fashion Magazine they kept me in a storage closet which, given my aversion to people, really worked out nicely for me. Not today, though. Today I have a desk in an office with a door that (blessedly) shuts.

It's sort of like this-- as Renton told Spud, you can't try too hard, of you'll end up employed. You can't not try, or they'll know you're not trying. It was a fine line to walk, and I walked the wrong way. And ended up with a job. Sort of.



So, I guess I am employed. As Beloved has been pointing out, I've been fairly employed for a while. (Hence my lack of blogging. I felt like a Funemployed Fraud!) I have been taking any freelance I can, doing maternity fill-ins as a copy director and going to school so that I can continue towards my goal of becoming a high school English teacher.

I am employed, but-- I am kind of barely so. The new-fangled job market in advertising means that I have been hired as a perma-lancer. What's that, you ask? It's a person with all of the responsibilities, less of the perks. At the New Fashion Magazine where I am semi-employed, I have an office, but no healthcare. I filed for that from the Freelancers Union who, it turns out, are kind of crooks, just like every other insurance based entity. I have a regular gig I can depend on, but no recourse if they decide one day they don't need me. Also, I have a fairly steady paycheck, but no vacation days... so if I do decide to take a day off for, say, Thanksgiving, I won't be paid for it. Of course, the office is closed on Thanksgiving or I'd probably come in, being the cheap bitch that I am.

It's sort of crazy being back. I am thrust back into my same self-loathing, fueled by the matchsticks that ride the elevator and load up on lettuce leafs in the cafeteria at lunch. I realize my attention span in meetings has been drastically reduced by 18 months of unemployment and Maury Povich reruns. I can barely make it through a brainstorming without shouting "You are NOT the FATHER!" Yet at the same time, it comes back, like riding a bike. (I should probably mention I was hit by a car riding a bike in high school, so this isn't the best analogy, but you get the point.) In this part of my life I am responsible, and organized, and at the risk of sounding conceited, quite good at what I do, which is writing ad copy. There's an energy to it that I thrive on, and I missed that. I work hard at it and I nail it down and I deliver within deadlines-- just like I always did. It kind of makes me wonder what made me so expendable to begin with.

So that's where I stand. Do I need to change the name of my blog? You tell me, but I don't think so. I think Semi-Employed doesn't convey the fun I have being barely employed at the lowest possible level.

You'll hear a lot more out of me now, because after some time I have finally decided on the new direction for this blog. Just because I am semi-employed doesn't mean I am not a deadbeat, so we'll see where it goes, but honestly this blog was always just an outlet for me to write about what I wanted, what I saw, what was important to me, and it will continue to be the same thing. So expect lots of posts on inane things. Um, I didn't ask you to follow me, you got yourself into this shitheap yourself.

Credit Where Credit is Due: Plum Crazy (Work Blog)

I realize I am not, by practice, your most diligent blogger. It could be weeks before I add a new post, and when I do I am often promising to do it more often.

That said, you should know, this isn't my only blog. I actually now need to blog as part of my job at New Fashion/Beauty Magazine. I am not really a diligent blogger there, either-- but since I am my only reader and I am grossly overworked, I think it's okay.

If you subscribe to this blog, you like the way I write. And if you like the way I write, you'll like my work blog. No one reads it except for me, so I have the liberty of being myself. Well, my more professional self.

So, I've decided to start linking the two blogs. It might get me more traffic on that blog, and it will make me feel less like a slacker on this one. That said, I will ALWAYS label it a work blog when it is one--so you know any products I am promoting are advertisers for that magazine. Cool?

Cool.

Here's the first post I did for them, called "Plum Crazy," wherein I try to pretend I know all about the plum makeup trend.

Things You Need When You're Funemployed

It's tough out there-- don't let the "falling unemployment claims" that our slick-haired politicians are touting fool you. What that means is that people are timing out of their unemployment benefits-- they've been unemployed so long that they're not able to claim any more. Look at me- I've been out of work 10.5 months already. Tempus fugit- or in my case, tempus fukkit--that's Latin for "time fucks you over." Americans everywhere are still losing their jobs-- but don't worry. When your boss drags to you HR kicking and screaming to hand you that delicate pink slip that's simultaneously the key to your personal freedom and your financial dependency, there's only one thing you can do. Ok- fine--AFTER you have a drink. Or ten. Whatever- I get it, do that first, and then get ready to do The Second Thing: consult my list of the must-have items that are essential for your pending unemployment.

Take it from me, someone who has been there and is, in fact, still there: it can be traumatic, and you kind of forget everything the HR people tell you on your way out the door, so it's best to have someone recap. And that's why I am here. And also, I know much more than they do about the real essentials of unemployment.

Not going to lose your job? Lucky you. But you can still help your unemployed friends out by getting them items on the list. And buy them a drink, you cheap, employed a-hole.

Things You Need When You're Funemployed

1. This website: https://ui.labor.state.ny.us/UBC/home.do

2. A notebook to write down jobs leads, phone numbers and important health insurance mumbo jumbo. Keep it solely dedicated to your job search, so you know where EVERYTHING is. I recommend stealing it from your former employer on the way out the door. They owe you. (*Addendum: If you can, SOME might recommend also hawking tape, a stapler, folders, scissors, a 3-hole punch and a lable-maker. But I can't say for sure that I am the one recommending that. Or that's what my lawyers told me.)

3. Cable TV, or access to the Maury Povich Show

4. Rich friends who offer free dinner

5. A bathing suit and SPF, if it's May-September

6. Wireless internet- job searching without it is a horrific nightmare from which you might never wake

7. Gift certificates for manicures and pedicures. No one should have to choose.

8. A gym membership. On days when we feel like sleeping in has lost its luster, it's good to go, work out and feel productive, and like we actually earned our afternoon nap.

9. Coupon cards for your local supermarket. Never signed up for your Pathmark card? Get it. And for those of you who go to Trader Joe's and Whole Foods... you better sign up for a Pathmark card, too. Couture grocery shopping is a luxury of the community of the gainfully employed- of which you are no longer a member.

10. An account on the networking site of your choice. No, not Facebook you tool-friend me, by the way, if you didn't already!- I am talking about LinkedIn or whatever you use in your specific industry.

11. A social plan: you'll be surprised at just how quickly you get isolated without a job to go to every day. Who will you discuss the latest episode of Gossip Girl with, if not your cube-neighbor? Ah, I miss you Annie an Derrica. Join a club, make a friend, volunteer- you need things to keep you actively speaking.

12. A Facebook profile. It fills the void of actual human interaction when the "social plan" falls apart.

13. Comfortable lounge clothes that can also double as outside clothes. I recommend yoga pants and have three pairs- my workout yoga pants, my lounge yoga pants and my dress-up yoga pants.

14. A sad voice. Use it to call your cable and phone company, explain that you've lost your job and that you need your bill reduced. I got Time Warner to reduce mine by $60 a month AND give me free Showtime, just because I tried. They're just waiting for your call. Oh, and for you to threaten to switch to Fios.

15. Friends. There are lots of ups and downs, emotionally and financially... you'll be fine one minute and the next you'll realize that you can't afford a cup of coffee.

At the end of the day, you just have to remember that this is temporary. And it's an opportunity. I am back in school and changing careers-- that never would have happened if I was still making bank. Now, I am painfully poor and happy. I slept til noon today! and now I am going to work out and do some homework for class, then go meet some friends. There is opportunity here. And if you can't fight it, you might as well enjoy it until it's over. Right?

Train to Nowheresville

The day I started my freelance gig at Unnamed Fashion Magazine, I got myself dressed up in a cute little dress, polished my favorite black boots, put on my chic winter hat and coat and headed out, my proud expression silently proclaiming "Here I am, World! Did you miss me?"

With eager anticipation, I hustled down to the subway, ready to board the N Train. The Success Express! I was ready to rub elbows with the Cream of the Crop- the Employed people of America! At last, I had returned.

And then, with one mighty whiff, my disillusion was shattered.

THESE people have jobs, and I don't?

Wait. I know that sounded judgmental.

THESE PEOPLE have jobs, and I don't??

Let me explain the N train, for you out-of-towners/Express Bus Elitists. First there's the Nail Clippers, the Booger Pickers and the Smells-Like-Shitters. To our left we have the Disgruntled Elbow Jabbers and the Dirty Look Givers, and to our right you'll see the Ones Who Talk to Themselves cuddled up to The Ones Who Snore with Their Mouths Wide Open. And let's not forget the woman with a piece of Scotch tape placed across her forehead-- she's next to the guy who's shaving-- yes shaving-- directly in front of me.*

How did it happen that a responsible, hard working and--I'll just say it-- mildly charming woman like myself finds herself on the breadline while the Weirdos of the world, (all of whom seem to ride the N train) go about their day, collect their paychecks, and go back to grooming themselves on public transportation?

As my time at Unnamed Fashion Magazine draws to a close, and I ready to rejoin the ranks of the remarkably unproductive, I realize that you know what? There was nothing I could have done to keep from losing my job. I worked hard, I was professional, I even dressed nice. But in the end, times are tough. Some people will hold on to employment and others won't. It's not personal, it's business-- and there's no rhyme or reason to it.

And at least I don't have to ride the N train if I don't want to now. I can just nap instead.

*These are all based on actual train experiences. and people I have seen, though generally not at once. I am not even getting into the guy who was dressed like Dick Tracy in August, or the lady who filled her cheeks with sunflower seeds only to spit them all over herself when I looked at her. So let's just agree that this is all real, if unbelievable.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I've said it before and I will say it again: I have a crush on Joan Halloway Harris. You know- the secretary from Mad Men. And yes, I know she's not real, but I love her! I love her style and her sass and the way the two things go together-- and I love that she's curvy and she rocks it. I can finally embrace my hips again. Bite me, Gisele! If only she didn't make me want to smoke cigarettes and drink Scotch and eat red meat. Ok, eat more red meat.

So today, I am at work wearing my Joan Halloway best: a pencil skirt, big belt, cap sleeved top and round-toe pumps, complete with a bow. Yes, I want to BE her.

I see a lot of women on the street that I want to be. I like to dissect outfits and find what would and what would not work on me. Sometimes, I'll even snap a pic.

So now, dear reader, I do you a service: you can do the same, and you can win a shopping spree at H&M! They're running the H&M Style Eye Sweepstakes, all via Facebook. Stop playing Bejeweled for a second, then take a picture of the women who you think have the look you love, even if it's you. Post it online here and you could win an H&M shopping spree AND get featured in Lucky magazine. Got an opinion? Go vote.

Yes, yes. You're welcome. Now, be a dear and pass me a smoke.

Oh. You Again.

The thing about being unemployed is that you spend most of your time figuring out how to be un-unemployed, and then you’re so busy that suddenly you’re busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking race, and everyone in your life starts saying things like:

“How are you so busy? You’re unemployed.”

And:

“What ever happened to that blog of yours?”

I think honestly that there are two reasons I haven’t written. The first is that I am, by nature, a self-saboteur. I found this blog to be an outlet, I received positive feedback and thus… I had to stop working on it. Why wait to fail when you can speed up the process?

Secondly, I have been engaged in said ass-kicking contest. The real thrill of being unemployed is not the freedom to watch paternity test after paternity test on Maury Povich, or to nap when it rains or loll about reading the classics on your stoop as spring makes it’s long-awaited debut. No—the real excitement is the adreneline rush that comes with the very real fear that the bottom is about to fall out.

Since I last blogged, I’ve been hustling. Not real pimp-and-ho hustling, and not pool shark hustling- but I’ve been moving. I’ve been, frankly, trying to make money and sock it away so that I don’t end up homeless. A silly fear, maybe- but not completely implausible. In the meantime I am working towards a future: I am back in school, studying to get certified to teach. High school English. Can you imagine? AND I took on a freelance position two days a week, and I get to feel employed for a little while. On the days I am not there, I am substitute teaching, where I live in fear that every day the kids will catch on that a.) I am clueless and b.) they outnumber me.

So now that I’ve gotten this “Where have you BEEN?” blog posting out of the way, let’s get back to the fun stuff, shall we?

The Choice is Yours.

When you lose your job, you're suddenly faced with a lot of choices. Some are bigger, more existential ones, such as "Why am I here?" "What should I do with my life?" "What's the greater lesson in all of this?"

Those are a few that I try not to ask myself too often- but in the dark, as I try to shuttle off to dreamland, there they are--hiding in my bed and farting under the covers. They were there before I lost my job, when I was working and feeling unfulfilled, struggling with tough bosses or stressful deadlines or writer's block or difficult clients-- or all of those things at once.

The questions that really get to me though, are the ones I never used to have to ask myself.

"If I save all of my money for the next two weeks, skip lunch every other day and clip coupons, should I use that money I can scrimp together to get myself a manicure OR a pedicure?"

"This Christmas, should I buy a Christmas tree, or should I save that money so that I can afford to buy gifts and put them where the tree would normally be?"

"Should I go to the doctor, or hope this sickness works itself out?"

"Can I afford a Metrocard this week, or should I just risk arrest and go under the turnstyle?"

Not exactly "Sophie's Choice," true. But the things I never had to wonder before, the choices I never had to make- that's what trips me up. I have to stop and think now about things that used to be automatic, no-brainer responses to simple, everyday conundrums. The more simple they were before, the more heartbreaking they are now.

Do I sound spoiled? That I get weepy over the fact that I can't afford a $17 (plus tip!) mani/pedi combo? Maybe. But as the holidays approach, the choices I have to make become more and more glaring. My family has agreed to not exchange gifts, but of course we'll buy for my niece and nephew. I scour the catalogs and find the perfect items for each of them-- for my musically gifted nephew James, I consider an instrument that I know he'll love. But I can't afford it. And so I just think about how much I want to give it to him, and I get a little sadder.

I've been through this before, of course. Not the last time I was unemployed, in 2001- when I was still waving around my various credit cards like they were the American flag. I went through it when I paid off my debt- when I made homemade gifts for my family, when I shopped sales and saved money and did everything I could to not let my financial dire straights and my $700 a month debt payment bring me down. There were lessons there, for sure. I got myself in that mess, I got myself out. But this time I did everything I was supposed to do. I worked hard. I stayed late. I did my best. And I lost my job anyway. My financial insecurity isn't because I overspent- it's because this is just the way the world is right now.

It's easy to feel resentful. Not towards you,the employed- because you can get a mani/pedi and hey, get your eyebrows waxed while you're at it. But at me: because I didn't save as much as I wanted when I was working, because I took my employment for granted, because I used to be able to not have to think about these things. And because I took that for granted.

As they say, resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for someone else to die. It gets me nowhere to be angry at myself. This isn't my fault, and I am doing the best I can. I once read that life is 10% what happens to us, and 90% how we react to it.

So now I have a new choice to make. Do I get down, do I allow self-pity to run riot through my apartment? Do I get under the blankets with the farty air and feel sad that there are no jobs, that rejection letters fly like confetti into my mailbox?

Or do I just tuck and roll? Muscle through this holiday season and know that this too shall pass, and that one day in the hopefully not-so-distant future, I'll get to look back on Christmas of 2009 and say, you know what, that was a tough one. Not as tough as 2007, not as easy as 2006. It was hard, but I got through it. Not because of what was happening, but because of how I reacted to it: with a positive attitude. With faith that things would turn around. With dignity, with grace, and with hope. That's the choice I want to make today. To live in the positive. To live in hope.

Happy holidays, everyone. I hope that they are merry and bright for you- no matter what you get-- or don't get.

Dress for Success.

On one of my favorite shows,TLC's What Not to Wear, stylist Stacy London often offers this advice to the pathetically dressed make-overees who come to New York to learn the basics of putting on clothes:

"Dress for the job you want, not the job you have."

It seems simple, but it's smart. During my days at Lucky magazine, I followed Stacy's advice and completely reworked my style of dress in the hopes that it would improve my professional standing. Gone were the khakis and cardigans of my early career days: now it was dresses, heels and pencil skirts.

And it worked! I swear that the confidence that dressing well gave me led me to succeed at work. In the two years that I was there, I went from being copy manager to copy director. And I looked cute doing it. Thank you, Stacy London!

Now, as you may have guessed by the name of my blog, I am unemployed. And I think it's safe to say that if I ran into Stacy on the street these days, she'd think I was an aspiring gym coach.

I made this realization about four weeks ago, as I headed off to a cardio class at my gym. That's what we unemployed people do: we wake up, sip coffee, read the paper, teeter around on the internet searching in vain for employment, then head off to the gym in order to maintain some feeling of productivity.

I digress. The weather had turned unseasonably cold, and I scratched my head at what I should wear. My favorite yoga pants had always been my thing before, but now, well-- they were out of the question. Why? Because they were the main- nay only- staple of my unemployed wardrobe. And I didn't want them to get dirty. Because then, what would I wear tomorrow? Lately, it's not about finding the energy to get dressed for success-- it's really just about finding the will to get dressed.

Every day that's dipped below 65 degrees since May 18, you've probably spotted me in my "unemployment ensemble." Black yoga pants, black tank, gray hooded sweatshirt. Flip flops when it's warm enough, sneakers when it's not. Every day, it's what I wear. I go back and forth between pajamas and comfy clothes. I am one polyester floral pattern away from surrendering to the house dress.

My dressing room is a sad retirement home for adorable things. Once I hit my goal weight and paid down my debt, I had set to work creating the style I always envisioned for myself.

It took years. And God- how I miss wearing it all. This afternoon, I was going through my closet looking for underworn things to give my little cousins at Thanksgiving (part of my new holiday tradition, which helps keep my clutter and shopping guilt to a minimum), I realized just how much I have and don't get to wear. The cute black and gray pinstripe dress I wore with my black boots. Oh, my black boots! How sad they look, like un-walked puppies making sad eyes on the closet floor. My wrap around cardigans, my black maryjane heels. Wide belts, sparkly accessories-- it's a cruel world that won't let you accessorize with sweats.

The last time I tried to wear heels, my feet hurt after two hours. They'd forgotten what it felt like to be dressed up, and it was as if they've given up. I can't say I blame them.

One of my best friends, Shanna, has an event company that does amazing work styling weddings, showers, all types of parties (SwoonEvents.com)... and they're hosting a charity "Wear It Again" party in the coming year. Brides will get to wear their wedding dresses one more time, sip cocktails and socialize, all for a good cause.

I'm thinking I should do the same. Invite all of my unemployed friends over and give them a reason to get dressed. Put on a tie and jacket, laid-off financiers; Put on some make-up, out-of-work marketers. Let's get together for some much-missed water-cooler talk about which Biggest Loser got sent home last night, and debate about where we should go to lunch.

Maybe it would make us feel normal again. Give us a reason to get up before noon. Make us feel less like we've got "reject" stamped on our heads. Remind us what a gift it was to feel needed everyday. To feel professionally dignified and respected.

Then again, maybe it wouldn't. Maybe we'd just get blisters on our feet.

Hope Springs Eternal

Now is the winter of our discontent. It seems to have come early this year, no?

Actually, that's not a correct usage at all. What Shakespeare meant when he wrote that in Richard III was not that it was winter and we were bummed, suffering under the blue cloud of our collective seasonal affective disorder-- but rather that our sadness was ending. Winter is the time when things die-- in this case discontentment-- and spring brings renewal. Hope. Of course what I mean is that a.) it's unseasonably freaking cold for October and b.) the cold gloominess suits my mood and c.) we never had a damn summer, we had monsoon season, so of course I am discontented.

Ah, hope. It's been a catchy theme this year, hasn't it? Barack Obama showed up with a bucket load of it when we were all drowning in such despair that the only choice that seemed at all reasonable was to hitch our wagons to his rousing optimism. And trust me-- I am an optimist. I really believe I have to be, because I am capable of such immense disappointment that clearly I must be hopeful in order to get so shockingly let down time and time again. I've made an art form out of getting my hopes up, then dashed. Our president talked about the "audacity of hope." I hear that, for sure. Andy Dufresne called it "the best of things."


Lately I've come to think that hope is a bitch.

It's like a drug that we're addicted to- the more desperate we get, the more we hope. Think about the hope a gambling addict puts into their lives-- just one big win can solve all their problems. They'll even bet the mortgage on it. Think about the heroin addict or alcoholic who, having tasted that high once, chases after it repeatedly hoping in vain to get that same feeling again, no matter what damage it brings to them.

So it is with Americans these days. Nearly as soon as this recession started, people were predicting the end of it. "We're pulling out of the economic downslide!" The spin doctors insisted hopefully as families lost their homes and retirees found out they had to work until the day they died. If they could find a job, that is. "Job losses are down!" They cried. Well, frankly that's what happens when there's no one else left to lay off. Everyone reading this knows at least one person-- besides me-- who has lost their job, I am sure of it. I dare you to tell them that unemployment is down.

In a way, the false reports of an economic recovery were strategy. The government needed us to believe that things were better in order to get us to stop holding on to every penny and go shopping, dammit. Because we were all saving our money, we were crippling the economy, and they needed us to start spending again to get things moving-- as if going to the mall was like fiscal Metamucil. It's sort of how the Gap uses "vanity sizing," which means they put a size 10 label on size 12 pants, so that you feel skinnier and better about yourself and then boom-- only shop at the Gap. The economy needs us to feel skinny in order to thrive.

They need us to kid ourselves. Because there is no room for realism in optimism.

Just last week, my former employer Conde Nast closed three magazines-- Gourmet, Cookie and Modern Bride. But wait-- analysts tell me the bloodletting is over! Didn't anyone tell SI Newhouse? And after you talk to SI, maybe mention it to my Facebook page, where a number of unemployed friends have turned status updates into a virtual soup line. "Anyone need a freelance writer? Will work for Tasti-D-Lite," read one recent posting. Okay, that was mine, and I would work for ice cream. But the sentiment is there-- it's still ugly in the job market, and there's blood all over the newsfeed.

So here we are, winter once again. Just when we didn't need it most.

I respect Barack, and I voted for him (well, I thought I did, then later found out that the Board of Elections made an error and my vote didn't count! Boo!), but it's getting hard to hold out hope. With each job I go out for, with each dollar I work harder to hold on to I get a little more desperate. I had been hoping this would all work itself out. Look at where that got me.

In reality, it's not hope that will fix things, it's time. In time, this will pass. In time, America will be thriving again. Someday, I hope soon, I'll have a fulfilling job that I love. Maybe it's the optimist in me, or maybe it's the realist, or maybe I'm becoming a pessimist just enough to make me optimistic, because I don't think things can get much worse. Maybe I've been listening to too much Howard Jones lately, but I kind of feel like... well, things can only get better.

No money, no job, and no idea where my life will be six months from now-- it seems like hope is all I've got. Now let's hope it's enough.

The Way We Were

I’m a little cost sensitive these days.

This happens when you lose your job. From my experience, this is the sequence of events, in this order: You go into shock, you go to sleep, you wake up, you panic, you become aware of the cost of everything, you start comparing prices on items you buy, you start to lament that living life is too expensive.

“Wait—two ply toilet paper is 3 cents more than one ply. Clearly I have got to start stealing t.p. from public restrooms.”

Par for the course when you have no job.

That is why the experience of an unemployed international traveler is absolutely revelatory. You would not believe how ripped off we’re getting—only you’re too employed to notice.

This week, John and I set course for Canada to celebrate his 30th birthday with his family and friends. We went via the cheapest way possible: We got a ride from my brother Owen at 5am to the airport—our flight wasn’t until 8:50, but Owen had to get to work, and we saved $40 by not taking a car. The two hours we sat saved us cash, cause we’re poor.

Next, we flew to Buffalo on a puddle jumper, which of course brought back my fat-kid paranoia that I’d have to weigh in, the way they do it on small planes to make sure it’s balanced. Luckily, there was no scale, so no tears.

Finally, we rented the cheapest car possible, a Ford Focus, in Buffalo, and drove the 3 hours to Toronto. Now we have a rental car for a week, all cheaper than what it would have cost to fly directly to Toronto.

So sure—that’s cheaply done. But here’s where I get angry.

Delta charged us $15 each to check one bag, and an additional $5 each for not checking in online. How can we check-in online when we’re not even in yet?

Remember last year, when gas was really high and airlines started charging for “extra” baggage? Well, now, apparently they’re just charging for baggage.

And you HAVE to check bags now. I travel light enough that I could carry on—but I wear contact lenses, so the saline solution I have to bring can’t be carried on. So no matter what, these a-holes are securing an extra $20 from me, and if I had a second bag it would have been—wait for it—an extra $25 per additional bag.

All because of the cost of gas, which we were paying for since the dawn of air travel—I mean—what is the ticket covering? The seat and the meal they don’t even serve anymore? Who paid for fuel before?

Does it matter that gas prices are down? No. They’re taking advantage of “circumstances” to make greedy, forever-changes. And it got me thinking—when else has this happened?

Ever hear one of those travel commercials, where they talk about awesome deals like, “Fly to London for $1!” then say quickly at the end “Taxes, applicable charges and 9/11 security fee not included.”

Um- isn’t our safety included in the cost? Wasn’t it on 9/10/01? Just because you invoke the phrase “9/11,” are we supposed to just accept that?

And really—what security are we paying for? That disgruntled, fat, bitter TSA guard who makes us take our shoes off and put them in the gray bin? Let me be the one to say it- they’re not going to sneak in a shoe bomb again, so let’s give that one up. These crazy lunatics are one step ahead of us on bombing technology- they’ll probably have their teeth made of bombs. Making my socks despicably filthy isn’t keeping me “safe,” and we all know it.

Why are we paying to be extra secure, when we’re not really any safer, and the fact is they should have been keeping us safe all along? Does the fact that we didn’t drop an extra $50 a ticket before September 11, 2001 justify the fact that they let those hijackers on the plane with box cutters? Stop using my grief and fear to take advantage of me, okay? That’s Rudy Guiliani’s job.

Somewhere in the middle of Buffalo it occurred to me that this is the new reality of travel—and that the same thing has happened with the job market. Employers are taking advantage of the recession and the nation’s economy to cut costs, make less employees do more work for less money and yes, you guessed it, be grateful just to have their jobs, which are precariously placed under the ever swinging axe of budget cuts.

Six months before I was laid off, the brilliant and talented young copywriter who reported to me—we’ll call her Laura—lost her job in the first round of layoffs. I had no idea it was coming, which is strange given that she reported to me, but that’s a topic for another blog. As a result, I had to take on her job—and let me tell you, she did a lot, and she worked hard. It was no small task. I missed her desperately but I never complained- I worked longer hours with a smile on my face, rarely took lunch, and became anxious to prove my worth to my employers and keep my job safe. I was doing two jobs for the price of one, and the refrain in my head was always “Just be glad you still have a job.” Pathetic.

They stopped matching our 401K, our healthcare changed to a plan so crappy that I had a $75 copayment—COPAYMENT—for one of my medicines, and little by little our quality of life at work was tweaked until it was barely livable.

When I was laid off in May, my coworkers took on my sizable workload as well as Laura’s. As a result, they are doing three peoples’ jobs for the price of one. And chances are that during the late hours that they stay at work they wonder if it’s fair-- a thought that's quickly replaced with a reminder that they should smile, play the hand they’ve been dealt without complaint—and be grateful just to have a job.

How much of the recession can really be blamed? How many employers are adopting their business structure to match what the airlines have done? Make the b.s. changes when people are patient and understand that this is “temporary,” then never go back to the way it was.

Do I even want to ever be a copywriter again? To go back into an industry that would take advantage of a crappy situation to, well, profit frankly in the long run—even if it completely decimates my life, despite years of loyalty? If the economy turns around tomorrow, will that magazine ever "fully" staff up again, or will my former coworkers continue to absorb the jobs of the people who lost theirs?

The answer, frankly, is no. I don't want to be a copywriter again- not full time, and not at a magazine. This recession has done nothing except reinforce something I already knew: in corporate America, you’re expected to show incredible loyalty to your job, but when the chips are down it will never be loyal to you. Like the airlines, they'll never travel back to "normal." It is what it is—and it is the way it will always be.