Jitterbug

I typed this up at 2 this morning.

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I start my new job at the Houston SPCA and I cannot sleep.

It feels a lot like the first day of school.

Do I remember where to go? Do I have everything packed already? What if they don’t like me? What time should I leave the house? What if they laugh at my lunch box?

From kindergarten through graduate school, I went through about 38 first days of new semesters. You’d think I’d be over it by now.

It’s daunting. It’s exciting… It’s making me anxious.

In all honesty, I anticipate seeing some pretty awful things when sent out to the field to report and take photographs. I imagine there are things that will make me question and curse humanity, and things that will break me down. However, I expect that there will be many more things that will restore my faith in goodness and continue proving that my work is worthwhile.

I haven’t started, yet, and I already take pride in what I do. When I talk to friends and family about where I’m headed, I hear stories of their rescued pets, and their links to the organization. For instance, after my barbell strength training class at the gym, my instructor congratulated me and proceeded to tell me about her two rescues and how she will post anything I sent to her about events and adoptions. Two of my rock-climbing students already offered to volunteer on the weekends.

Every time I think of it, I grin from ear to ear like a loon.

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I sent out 73 job applications in 2013. Well, I have receipts for 73 applications in my inbox, so the actual number may be a tad higher.

I graduated with two master’s degrees in May, and completed my undergraduate degree cum laude and had memberships to three different honors societies.

I have four and a half years worth of retail experience. I also worked four internships throughout college and graduate school, from Houston to Palestine to DC.

I designed annual reports, advertisements, invitations, etc. for non-profits and an art gallery. I helped coordinate more than 300 volunteers nationwide for the National Iranian American Day of Service (with one other person). I wrote letters of inquiry to organizations such as Lynda.com and United to help Together Liberia train and equip Liberian journalists so that they can rebuild their country’s infrastructure and democracy. Overseas, I worked on a peace-building project between Israeli and Palestinian olive farmers, mill operators, and business owners. In Houston, I worked with local non-profits and learned everything there was to social media and electronic press kits.

I didn’t get paid for most of these things.

No, no. This is not bragging. I merely listed my qualifications. (I can link you to an interactive resume if you are interested.)

Seventy-three applications resulted in three phone calls.

The first was for a job that required a bachelor’s degree and two years of experience. At the end, she couldn’t give me a solid reason why they needed someone with two years of related-work-experience salary history. Apparently, working full-time for free as an unpaid intern is not as valuable.

The second was for a paid digital internship in Washington, DC. They traveled a lot and the department was new, but the organization was prestigious. They offered me the position two days later because they couldn’t wait to let me know. They offered me $8.50 an hour.

When I lived in DC, during my last semester of graduate school, I lived in a one-bedroom 650 square-foot apartment with two good friends. We each paid $500 apiece. I shared the living room with Zoha, a journalist struggling to find work as well. After we left, management bumped the rent for that apartment up to market value, which was about $2,100 a month.

Needless to say, I was going to starve on $8.50 an hour. In fact, I was so embarrassed by it that I couldn’t even tell my parents what they offered me. I was getting paid more to work at the gym, teaching rock climbing and cleaning toilets, than this opportunity to go use my degrees.

The last call was with the Houston SPCA and they set up an interview. After the interview, they called me a week earlier than anticipated to offer me the job. My immediate response was something along the lines of, “This is a full-time position AND you want to pay me? Best Friday ever. I gladly accept.”