Are You Polite When You're Wrong?

I applied for a journalism fellowship this week, which involved a lot - of a lot - of paperwork, in quadruplicate. It's a long shot; let's hope for the best.

I also applied for a job at a large national bookstore chain, seeking minimum-wage employment to pay the bills. You apply on-line, and it involves a lot - of a lot - of virtual paperwork, at least as much as applying for a major fellowship as one of journalism's nascent geniuses. Somehow I didn't expect the one to have much to do with the other, but, it did.

The bookstore application is roughly 40 pages (count 'em) long. For a job that will pay you 12 dollars an hour, at tops. It involves dozens of pages of questions that try psychologically sheep-herding you into buzzing shears, like, do you get angry often, do you smile, do you get on well with others, are you polite when you're wrong, are you always right (yes), do you go into sleep mode if no one gives you something to do, are you a born leader. My favorite question - much more upfront - are you a convicted felon? Nothing subtle there, except, the application assures you parenthetically that your answer will have no bearing on your potential employment. Uh, huh. Yes, I'm a convicted felon. Book theft. What can I say? I love to read. And I'm too poor to buy books. That's why I'm applying for a minimum-wage job.

The application also asks for as many references as the fellowship did. Well, let's see, Clinton Correctional Facility in Dannemora. Ask for Reverend Dave.

















My Greek landlord Bobby in Astoria once gave me an invaluable piece of advice. "Billy" he said. "Always write your own check." By this he meant, don't expect anyone else to be able to employ you as well as you can employ yourself.

So how did we get into this mess?

Thank you for listening, ma'am.