The Employment Center

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Day 19 in Las Vegas
The Coffee Bean's black couch

The walk through the lobby is no problem. I know where I'm going so the maze of carpet and tile don't confuse me. The furniture does, however. I'm early for my meeting so I sit down in a very weird looking chair in the lobby of the resort. The frame is made of wire mesh, the cushion not that soft. When will furniture designers get a clue that a chair should be comfortable to sit in? People are walking about, a bellman checking a computer terminal, a suited employee observing the scene.

After a few minutes I exit the front doors of the lobby and turn right. I'm looking for a metal door with a sign above it: "Employment Center." I find it about a hundred yards down the sidewalk from the entrance to the resort. For some reason my heart begins to beat faster, sweat begins to accumulate beneath my pits and I begin to feel a nervousness inch it's way up my spine.

"Why the hell am I so nervous," I ask myself. "What's the problem?" I look up at the "Employment Center" sign and take a deep breath. I've heard that deep breathing helps relieve anxiety.

I enter the metal doors and see a small sign pointing left saying "Team Members." Well I'm not a team member. I've not been part of a team in years. Thankfully another sign is pointing right with the words "Employment Center." The haves and the have-nots. The employed and the unemployed. The paid and the unpaid. Being separated by these two signs gives me pause: go left because you have a job, go right if you need one.

I go right, of course. As I enter the Employment Center waiting room it immediately occurs to me that I'm in a doctor's office. Am I lost? Chairs lined up in neat little rows, no signs of life or a sense of humor. The one difference is the flat-panel screen hanging on the wall to the left. I've never seen a doctor's office with a television in it. Along another wall are two computer terminals. The room is spare of any decoration, save for a wall poster or two.

Opposite me are two side doors leading to small offices. After a few moments I notice a sign-in sheet. My job application was done completely online and the web site automatically assigned me an interview time. The sign-in sheet is for those who have an appointment, as it clearly spells out. No walk-ins welcome. I'm glad to be a part of the included, the ones who have an appointment time. I sign my name and my time of arrival, happy to see I am three minutes early.

CNN is broadcasting on the flat-panel screen as I sit down in the waiting area. A discussion over torture is underway, and former vice-president Dick Cheney's belief that waterboarding was an effective use of the CIA's time is the topic. So what if some terrorist gets water thrown on him a few times...what's the big deal? Job-hunting is far worse.

I think to myself at that moment that looking for a job in this economic downturn is a kind of torture. How bad can waterboarding be? Try filling out dozens of online job applications.

I see nine other job-seekers waiting along with me in the sterile room. We are all in our own little worlds, no one is saying anything. My attempt at a humorous remark is unnoticed. Tough room. We all just sit there, some are staring at the pundits on CNN, others are staring at their laps.

Twenty minutes later I'm called into one of the offices. I feel like I am back in high school, being called into the Principal's office. "Now, Mitch, I know you didn't want to insult Ms. Dollar that way. You've got to stop making fun of the way people dress. Especially your teachers." Funny how looking for a job makes you feel like a scared, young, inexperienced high school kid.

"Sorry for the delay," the young woman says. I'm old enough to be her father. "Won't you have a seat?"

The office is small, not much more than a closet. The desk and chairs take up most of the room. An enormous computer monitor sits to one side, blocking my view of the interviewer. She punches a while on her keyboard and brings up my file. She is reviewing my online job application and has a curious smile on her face, a smile that seems glued on rather than authentic. She is going through the motions. Another job application, another interview, another day doing the same old routine of asking silly questions and filling out silly forms. Yada, yada.

I say to myself, "Why pay a real person to sit here and go through this...why not just have me punch in answers on a computer? Does she even know I'm sitting here?"

After a couple of goofy questions like "How would you provide someone with top level service?" and "Do you like being a part of a team?", she calmly says my file will be provided to the appropriate departments and if an opening is available that fits my application then I will be contacted. Yada, yada, yada.

As I walk out of the Employment Center I glance up at the CNN broadcast on the flat-panel screen. Wolf Blitzer is moderating a discussion about bringing Dick Cheney and other former Bush administrators to justice for war crimes. I look at the other faces staring blankly out into space waiting to be called in for their interview and I think I'm in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Someone change the channel.