NO GUTS, NO GLORY
Have “Balls” Gone Out of Fashion?
On drowning in a sea of pussies.
Do you ever feel as if there’s no place for you? That everything you put out in the world, especially via your writing, is a waste of time and energy? That you’re virtually invisible to the decision-makers? Those people who can either make or break you?
If you’re anything like me, you can certainly relate. I’m not sure what happened, but somewhere along the line, we’ve nurtured a nation of pussies. People who are afraid of their own shadows, and would rather drill their own teeth than speak up and out, against injustice of any kind. I’ll expound on this in a bit.
For years, I’ve pondered the pussies, and the more they shrink from me, the more irascible I become. Because it’s hard to stomach anyone who sees wrongdoing and turns the other cheek. Whether that be cruelty to other human beings or animals or a careless disregard for our dying planet, the pussies make me want to puke, frankly.
Also, for years, I’ve railed against age discrimination, especially in the workplace. How can it be, that with all my experience, I can’t find a writing gig to save my life? Other than a couple of short stints, I’ve not earned anything close to a “living wage” since I was laid off in February 2018.
How the fuck is this possible? Even though I know the answer I lay awake nights, wracking my brain for any reasonable explanation that a writer, with over thirty-five years of experience, penning everything from press releases to feature stories to advertising and marketing materials to produced screenplays — is virtually invisible to hiring managers and independent recruiters, many of them so devoid of intellectual thought, that it’s stunning.
Yes. I know the answer, but I can’t live with it. I can’t fathom the sad reality that the date of my birth signifies that I’ll probably die, broke.
Now there’s a happy thought!
Several times, I’ve tried to initiate a conversation about the trials and tribulations of the “seasoned worker,” on the waste of virtual space known as LinkedIn, with zero response. That infuriates me to the point where I don’t know what to do with my anger. So, I keep pushing. As with the following recent post:
Seasoned workers, especially those of you in creative professions, such as writers of every genre, designers, etc., are you tired of getting ghosted by recruiters once they figure out how old you are? I sure as hell am. Recently, I’ve received several communications from recruiters who troll, for example, Monster, (worthless, btw), many of them from the Middle East, or India, for some reason.
They engage with me and ask if I’m interested in whatever BS “opportunity” they’re laying out; which sometimes I am, but most often, am not. When I am, we usually progress to a “phone chat,” and this is what happened to me, recently. I answered all the dumbass questions, because, you know, 35 years as a career writer doesn’t suffice, these days. If we’re not attempting to volley inexplicable queries, we’re taking “copy tests.”
So, after the phone convo, during which the recruiter’s child made a significant amount of noise in the background, I expected a follow-up email. Nothing. I waited a few days and then got in touch with Mishal Lalotra in the hope of finding some closure to this latest sham. Crickets. Tried again. More crickets. Not even the courtesy of coming up with a lie as to why I wasn’t a “good fit.”
Is this the “new professionalism?” If so, I’ve had it and will name these individuals so that the rest of you know whom to avoid and why.
“So, thank you, Mishal Lalotra, for the assumption that my time, and my dignity, ain’t worth sh!t. Have a lovely day.”
I realize that all recruiters and hiring managers don’t operate like this, but for those who do, shame on you.
Yes. I outed this dumb twat and she deserves it. And I’m certain that many would agree, however, this post, thus far, has received one-hundred-forty-two “impressions” and one comment from a kind soul who probably felt sorry for me.
You can’t tell me that a shit ton of people who troll LI can’t relate to my words. Yet, nobody wants to own up and either share their own experience or simply agree with me.
What’s up with this, people? What have we become? I can get why the young and dumb wouldn’t affirm, or even acknowledge my post, but what about the older contingent? Perhaps they’re afraid they’ll lose the gig they’ll never get.
Or, something like that.
I don’t know what to do anymore, other than continue to come up with something by me, for me, that will somehow, make a few shekels.
That said, as far as the job search goes, I’d probably have more dignity intoning into a microphone, “Clean-up in aisle three.”
And if that happens, you can be sure I’ll launch a new blog or newsletter or something (only not here), entitled “Food and Fodder.”
Remember. You read it here, first.
© Sherry McGuinn, 2022. All Rights Reserved.
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Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. She is currently pitching her newest screenplay, “The Month We Fell Apart,” a drama with dark, comedic overtones inspired by a true story, as well as “DEAD TIRED,” a female-driven, ass-kicking thriller.
