Posts Tagged ‘tech’

Off The Market?

October 5, 2016

The job market that is.

Not the dating market.

Still single and available for dating.

Just not chasing anyone down and not asking for a date and not using a dating app or website or anything.

Just word of mouth.

Anyway.

Fuck I digress.

I had an informal interview today that was really basically an interview.

The referral was so strong I didn’t even bring a resume with me.

The mom I interviewed with has kids that go to the same private school as the family I currently work for, in fact, for the two families I currently work for.

I guess you could say we’re keeping it in the family.

The mom I interviewed with reached out to my current employer and asked after me.

I guess it was in the air.

I’m awful glad they did and I am really grateful that I was able to clear things with my employer weeks ago and start a dialogue about moving forward.

The mom that reached out for my services originally mentioned that the family was looking for 30 hours a week in the initial e-mail that was sent to introduce me.

Not enough.

And that’s exactly what I told her in a reply.

I’m looking for 35-40 hours.

She responded that she’d still really like to meet and I figured, sure, its practice and maybe there might be room for me to help them and my current family.

Except!

Maybe I won’t need to.

Once we had gotten ourselves settled down outside a little coffee shop in the Mission, I have a sidebar I want to put in here so bad, but I’m going to hold off for a moment, it came out that the family is actually looking for 35-40 hours.

Well hello.

We talked about school, mine, my obligations, my long-term goals.

It turned out she was softly feeling out how long I would want to be with a family.

Um.

As long as fucking possible.

I still have a year and a half to go on my degree, but 1,000s, literally, 3,000, hours of interning that I have to do before I can take the licensing boards and start a practice of my own.

I mean I’m still looking at a five-year process.

It takes time, but nothing worth having, I remind myself comes easily, there is always work to be done and the work put in makes the reward even sweeter.

She wants long term with at minimum a year commitment, in fact we did talk longevity spanning some years.

Dude, I’m so down for that.

We talked about family background, the family is European, and about how schools in Europe do things differently as well as maternity leave and how long they have it there versus the US.

The mom is pregnant and due in December.

Yes.

Sweet.

Sagittarius baby.

I’m a December baby too you know.

The family is looking for a start in January.

I’m looking for a start in January!

They have two other children, 4 and 6, the same ages as the boys I work with now, in fact both sets of siblings have the other families kids in their respective classes at school.

The mom said she really didn’t need a resume from me, having seen me work with the boys, they have been over for play dates and although I cannot for the life of me remember the play date, I guess the mom had a really good memory of it.

Very flattered.

“Plus, sometimes you just know, and you are obviously so good with children, you sort of ooze it,” she said with a sweet smile.

Super flattered.

We talked about the five Fridays in the Spring semester I would be unable to work.

No problem.

The mom is part-time in her work, owns her own business, she’d be able to cover those Friday.

And.

Dad is well.

Let’s just say dad is tech and leave it at that.

I’ll be signing a confidentiality agreement and a contract.

We absolutely agreed on both.

“I’m Trustline certified, plus M________ ran a background check on me before they hired me and also, my school has done a criminal back ground check–a requirement for starting my practicum….” I paused, man it’s nice to not have any shit out there.

The mom basically was like, yup, I know all that too.

I am pretty sure she’s had a few talks with my current employer, especially since they had a play date yesterday while I was with the other family I’m helping out in Noe Valley.

So.

After a lot of talking, a lot of agreement on play, outdoors, adventures, schooling, my goals, etc.

We got down to it.

We talked compensation.

We talked holidays.

“Oh!” I said, I had almost, not quite, forgot, “I need to be transparent and let you know I just bought a ticket to Paris for May (7 month notice should suffice),” I said and gave her the dates.

“No problem,” she replied, “vacations are important!”

Oh my God.

We set a date for me to come over to the house and meet the husband and re-meet the two oldest children.

It was to be two weekends from this weekend-they family is going to be out-of-town.

Except.

Heh.

I got a message from the mom when I got home thanking me for taking the time to meet and that they have decided as a family that they want to meet with me sooner.

Am I available any time sooner than the day we had settled on?

Oh damn Skippy straight I am.

I almost said let’s do it tomorrow!

But.

I have commitments and I am helping a friend with a commitment as well, so no to tomorrow.  Really the only day I can is Thursday, but I said I could, absolutely and hey, I might be officially off the job market by the end of the week.

I sure hope so.

It would be really nice to have it wrapped up and not have any questions moving forward.

It would also let me give my current employers a really fat notice and maybe, just maybe I’ll schedule myself a little down time in between jobs, take a week off.

Celebrate the end of the semester and the beginning of a New Year.

Not counting my chickens until they hatch.

But.

Man.

It felt really, really good, and I really like the mom.

I could have a new job lined up.

Soon.

I’ll keep you posted!

Believe it.

Advertisements

Hipster’s Don’t Wear Glitter

October 23, 2015

I protested over some of the best sushi I have had in recent memory.

My friend looked at the waitress and asked her, “does she look like a hipster to you?”

The Japanese waitress looked at me, smiled, looked at my friend smiled, “she looks like a hipster.”

Damn it man.

My friend was joking, poking fun at me, but I do have some tell-tale signs of hipsterdom.

I work for tech.

Although I do not work in tech.

My family is a tech family, no getting around it, just none.

I work in the Mission District of San Francisco.

San Francisco is already up there on the hipster list, but the Mission?

Please.

It is über hipster.

And that’s not because there are so many Uber drivers in the bicycle lane waiting to pick up their fares from Tacolicious or Mosto or Dosa or Bar Tartine or dropping them off in front of Rhea’s Deli to get that one sandwich that goes so god damn good with that tall boy of Pabst Blue Ribbon that was drank at Mission Dolores Park that one day last week when the weather was so good.

“Come on!” My friend exclaimed, “you ride a fixie!”

Granted.

Yes.

I do.

“You worked at a bicycle company in the Mission!”

Yes.

I did that too.

I remember when I posted a photograph on Instagram, before everyone fucking knew what Instagram was (my Paris friend was shocked that I had been on Instagram so long, nearly four years, she hadn’t realized that the app has been around that long, but yeah, I got on the bandwagon awhile ago–the app just celebrated five years or publishing the selfie, remember what that used to be?  Literally, a self-portrait, I did a few of those before Instagram, in pencil) of my bicycle and one of the dad’s I used to nanny for commented:

“The hipster just got more hip, is that possible?”

The mom of the play date at work asked me on Tuesday night if I knew so and so, “you know, she’s really cool, and hip, like you.”

I don’t know the person she was referring to, but I can infer the compliment.

“Oh, we are going to be the envy of the neighborhood,” a mom who I ended up leaving after a really uncomfortable week of being overly micro managed, said as I agreed to be her nanny.

“We got our own hipster nanny!” She exclaimed and gave me a hug.

Note to self, if they hug you that much before the job is yours they might be neurotic.

I didn’t even know there was a candidate for nanny that was hipster, must be a subculture.

Speaking of.

Here’s a great definition for hipster courtesy of Wikipedia:

The hipster subculture is one of affluent or middle class young Bohemians who reside in gentrifying neighborhoods,[1][2] broadly associated with indie and alternative music, a varied non-mainstream fashion sensibility (including vintage and thrift store-bought clothes), generally progressive political views, organicand artisanal foods, and alternative lifestyles.[3][4][5] The subculture typically consists of white millennials living in urban areas.[6][7] It has been described as a “mutating, trans-Atlantic melting pot of styles, tastes and behavior”.[8]

Hmm.

Let’s see.

I like subculture.

Ok, I can see that, ok, fine, a little hipstery there.

Affluent or middle class?

Nope.

Nope.

Nope.

But then again, better off than I have ever been and were I living in the mid west I would be considered middle class.

Of course, I wouldn’t be making half of what I make here in the San Francisco as a nanny.

No way.

No how.

And in San Francisco I am not middle class and certainly not affluent.

Bohemian?

Sure.

I will go with that, although I think I am more of a sparkle pony than a Bohemian, but I have some of the trappings, I like art, I like music that doesn’t play on the top 40 radio stations.

When, in fact, was the last time I listened to the radio?

Oh.

Ha.

Yesterday, in the car with the mom on the way to the boys appointment to get their annual flu shot.

I got mine too.

I remember listening to the lyrics of the song that was playing and wondering, who the fuck writes this?

Awfulness.

But I love art and that is very Bohemian.

So ok, a couple of points on the hipster scale and I have tattoos and yes, I do have a one speed custom bicycle, but not because I am affluent, but because I worked in a bicycle shop and not because I had some rabid interest in bicycles, it sort of fell in my lap, my friend was the General Manager and really wanted me to come and work for him.

So I did.

And I built a bike.

But my bike, despite having hipster tendencies–one speed, custom paint job, Italian drop bars, steel frame–is so not a hipster ride.

The aesthetics are totally skewed.

Hello.

I have a deep midnight blue paint job with Rock Star Sparkle top coat.

Not one coat.

But two.

No hipster in their right mind has a whip with glitter.

Or a leather seat with embossed roses from Italy.

Just me.

What else?

Oh yeah, gentrifying neighborhoods.

Yeah.

I used to live in the Mission, but no longer.

I lived at 20th and York, paid $650 for my room with its own bath in a five bedroom house with four other girls.

I bet now that rent for my room would be $3,000.

I lived at 22nd and Alabama with a woman from Northern Italy who had rent control from having lived in the top of this Victorian forever and paid $500 for a huge room with everything included.

I also lived in an enormous Victorian on 23rd and Capp before it was gentrified, thank you very much, for $450 a month plus utilities.

God.

I have people question why the hell I moved out, but if you knew who my room-mate was you probably wouldn’t have moved in.

The last place I lived in the Mission was a tiny in-law at 22nd and Folsom and I paid $750 including all utilities.

That was about two and a half, three years ago, right as it was getting crazy.

Now.

Well.

Fuck.

Whatever.

Everybody know how expensive it is to rent in San Francisco, and now I live in the Outer Sunset, where I am very happy and content to live.

Although it too is getting a little on the hipster side.

I’m definitely progressive, I definitely eat a lot of organic food, ok, sigh, I am looking more like a hipster every word I type.

Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.

I wear glasses with oversized wood frames.

I listen to alternative music.

Ever hear of jazz?

Yeah, like that.

But there’s a lot of music that I listen to that is definitely not mainstream, is underground, and is alternative.

Fuck.

I guess I am a hipster.

Wait.

Millennials.

Nope.

Fuck that.

I am so not a Millennial.

Not by a long shot.

I’m way too old.

Gen X thank you very much.

There.

See.

Not a hipster.

Well.

I guess I have some characteristics.

(Wrecking Ball coffee in my cupboard from Washington State)

Converse on my feet.

Fixie in the garage.

Yes I did own a vintage Vespa, well, I thought it was a Vespa.

But.

I protest.

I am still to glittery to be hip.

And I eschew cigarettes, tall boys, tech talk, Tinder, festival clothes, floppy hats, jean shorts (unless I’m rocking some funky tights), happy hour in the Mission, and snobbery.

See.

I’m too nice to be a hipster.

So there.

“I’m just joking!” My friend laughed at me, “you know I’m just joking.”

I do.

I do, I know.

I am willing to admit that I am often mistaken for a hipster but as soon as I wave my hand and give you a hug the truth comes out.

Oh!

Your’s so nice.

You must be from the Midwest!

Yup.

I’m not hipster.

I’m a Sconnie.


%d bloggers like this: