**Admin. note:  Today,  Harold Clemens from Ghetto Uprising, is going to take over for the Panamanian one.  Make sure you go check out his spot. Enjoy. **

Anyone else notice getting a job is alot like getting some ass?

When you’re young, you hit the mall or whatever nearby shopping center and pass out your “application” to whomever will take it.  You’d like to “work” somewhere nice, but you don’t really care that much who “employs” you as long as you “get paid.”  Your presentation is awkward and you don’t really know what you’re supposed to say to impress your audience, but you hope you’ll get lucky because it seems like everyone else has found work. On top of that, you’re getting older now, so it’s about time you “worked.”

As you gain maturity and “work experience,” you get more selective about whom you’ll apply with.  You won’t just “do anything” or maybe you will, but if you do something below your standards, you never intend to stay with it long.  And if you do stay with it too long, ya ass is sad and frustrated telling yourself, “I could be doing better than this shit.  I shouldn’t have even fugged with this.  I’m finna leave soon as…”

Assuming you stick and move right and don’t get stuck in such a “working relationship” that you can’t stand, by the time you reach early adulthood, you know how the game works a lil better.  By now you’ve realized that meeting “employers” in intimate spaces like school, cookouts, get-togethers, socials, conventions, and conferences is really how you “get in.”  Sharing mutual acquaintances or being a part of some network also helps big.  You understand that the picky employers screen their candidates, so gatherings like these put you in an exclusive pool by default.  Randomly passing your number on to a stranger without any prior connection is for losers or the lucky.

Once a grown man, you’re pretty certain where you want to “put in your labor.”  You’ve had enough jobs that you’ve left either amicably or in turmoil that you know the prizes and pitfalls of working with different types of people.  And, now, since you feel a bit confident about what you’re worth, you’re not desperate.  You search for jobs online and send your “resume’” to those you’d like to toil for, or you attend specific events where potential hires and “staffers” go to meet.

If you gain someone’s initial interest, you get excited at the prospect of an “interview.”  You, sometimes literally, pray to get the chance to impress the employer one-on-one in a more personal setting than a noisy room or from behind a computer screen.  Jah know when you get a call to “set a date” later in the week (or month or two), ya ass is runnin’ around tellin’ all your friends that you might “got something.”

If you’re in the opposite position and never hear back from the company, you wonder what was wrong with your approach, spiel, credentials, etc. and what the cat who got the job must look/be like.  If you go too long without getting any calls, you start to feel like a loser; like nobody likes you.  You begin to feel young and desperate and resolve that you’ll take whomever comes along first.

Returning to the original scenario though: suppose you do get an interview.  You’re nervous as hell the night before and might sleep uneasily.  The morning of the big day, you get fresh to deff in your best fits and anxiously leave the house.  If you suspect you might be late, you dang near sh%t your pants on the drive there for fear the interviewer will write you off on sheer tardiness.  Everyone knows tardy nickas ain’t that serious.

*Phew* You arrive just on time.  They’re not even ready for you yet (as usually is the case, you’ve learned.)  While waiting, you pray you don’t fugg this up.  You try to prepare for whatever questions will be asked.  You plan to be honest because you have principles and demands in adulthood, but it’s still game.  It’s still delivery.  You still have to “tell ‘em what they wanna hear” to some degree.

During the actual interview, you smile, feign to be heavily engrossed in the conversation, and laugh nervously when appropriate.  You mask or downplay your weaknesses well and play up your strengths.  Even though this may not be “the one,” you want the option.  You’re far more amicable and gregarious than you usually are.  You even try to show off your intellect when you have opportunities too.

The minute you leave the venue you begin to wonder what the employer thought of you and what impression you made.  Could you really “get it”?  If you’re confident, you grin and congratulate yourself, “It’s just a matter of time.”  You expect a call soon inviting you “on board.”   If you sense you didn’t do too well, you soothe yourself by saying, “Something else will come along.”  You cheer yourself up however you can.  Weed, alcohol, or flirting with another less attractive (sometimes ex) employer often helps. You’ll get back on the grind as soon as you can.  You’ll “be aight.”

Every time your phone rings you hope it’s good news.  If too much time elapses and it becomes evident that you’re not going to be invited back, you go through the obligatory rejected, defensive tirade: “Fugg them!  I ain’t like ‘em that much no way.  They got better issh out there.”

If “the call” does come, you nod your head proudly and strut like a mack, “I’m bout to get it!”  If you’re used to getting such calls, you’re not that excited, but happy nonetheless.  Your ego is well stroked.  You might be impatient though if the call is for a “second interview” instead of the actual “position”: “Sh%t, this better be it.  Not going through all that twice for nothing.  Fugg that!  I better get it after all this.”

Luckily, you’re usually right, but when you’re wrong, you reason that the company is on some next sh%t anyway or maybe the other cat, who you know exists but isn’t spoken of, fits their tastes just a lil better than you.  It’s disappointing, but you can live with that.  If you made it that far, someone else is sure to like you soon.

And on the rare occasions when you breeze through two interviews, when you get a call to third, you don’t even want the dang job no more: “Frontin’ ass ain’t even that hot!  You know you like me!”

-HAROLD CLEMENS of GHETTOUPRISING.COM