Entry #687264, added on 02-12-10 @ 10:32 am EST
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| I prefer tea. | Entry #687264 |
My facilitator at school gave me a list of possible interview questions which she wants me to study in preparation for my return to the job market. Question 25: Do you know how to make good coffee? I kid you not. I mean, what the hell is that about? So, I asked her if it was a serious question, and she smiled and said yes, that it is something which might be asked, and I tried not to smirk, but I know I did. The thing is, after studying human resource management for the past couple weeks, I know that you can't legally ask things like 'Do you have a car?', 'Do you have children?', 'How old are you?', which, as a former employer, seem like relevant questions. I get why these questions shouldn't be asked though, because they are discriminatory, and even if they seem like harmless, personal-interest questions, they have the potential to shut out a great portion of potential candidates due to lack of desirability. There are laws about things like this, but let's be honest, a lot of people find ways around them. If you have a choice between the thirty-year-old who is childless and drives a car and a fifty-year-old who doesn't drive, chances are the employer is going to go for the younger one because there's less of a concern over health issues and transportation issues. It isn't fair, but it's how it works. The coffee thing, though? It's insulting and stupid. Make your own damned coffee.
I can see how the job search might be a little tough for someone like me.
I'm also studying unions right now, and I have to say that I got a little Norma Rae in my seat. Fight for the people! Equal rights! Equal pay! I'm all over that, even though I used to be a manager. The thing is, in a broad sense, unions exist because of bad management, so my feeling is that if you need someone to fight for your rights, join a union. My Republican family in the south would want to slap me around for saying this. They already think that people like me are Socialists. To this I say 'and?', because in my opinion, there are worse things to be. I'd rather care about people, treat them with respect and show compassion then hide behind a gun and dither about how paying taxes in order to better the quality of life for the citizens of my country is tantamount to punishment. Please. Big bunch of selfish babies.
I digress.
My wee one is in love with 'The Golden Girls', particularly the little one, Sophia. I am so glad she likes it because it gives me a chance to watch it again. M. hates the show, thinks it's moronic and pointless, but he just doesn't get it. He asked why they all live together, these four aging women, and why they can't make it on their own, and I said 'listen to the theme song, eejit', because that's all one really needs to do. I don't understand why I have to explain these things to him. He's supposed to be smart. The wee one says that Rose reminds her of my mother, which I find hilarious as well as on the money. I can't wait to tell my mother this, except instead of a kind, simple Rose, my mother is the evil, twisted Rose, the Rose who drinks Coke by the bucket and feigns a bad memory when it suits her.
I guess I'm in a mood about my mother, mostly because she said something I didn't like the other day. She told me that if my father ever dies on her (meaning, before her, because I think the possibility of him actually dying on her is remote, given that she told me that they don't do that anymore), she will never be with another man because they're all useless pains-in-the-ass. I was momentarily stunned, primarily because she said these words with such contempt and certainty, like she's been thinking about it. I responded with 'Well, you haven't done too badly by dad. He's been a good husband to you.' To which she issued a flippant 'Yeah', before going on about how men are all the same, that they only want one thing and that they want to be mothered when the sex is done. To say I wanted to pour bleach in my ears is an understatement. Instead of taking it further, I switched the topic. Safer. Wiser. My mother hasn't yet turned sixty. If my father were to ever leave her, either willingly or unwillingly, there's a chance that she'd have a good many years left in her. It's not that I'd want her to find someone else to replace my dad. No, it's not that. It's more to do with the fact that if she were single, she'd most definitely become more reliant on her children, and this is not a pleasant thought. Also, I don't like to think of my dad dying. Sure, it's going to happen at some point, but he's my reasonable, likeable parent. I need my dad, and I don't think he's a useless pain-in-the-ass. I think my mother is a horrible person at times, and when she says things like that, it only strengthens the notion.
My sister is going to find out if her baby is going to be a boy or a girl today. She's hoping for a girl, but says she will be content with whatever sex it is. I know her fingers are crossed, though. I know she's dreaming of pink ribbons and purple butterflies. She asked me to suggest some names for her to mull over, and I told her that I love the name 'Meara', because I find it delicately pretty, the kind of name that is endearing on a child and strong on a woman. She liked it, too, but said she's really leaning toward Maguire for a girl. Maguire? Maggie?, I said. No, she said, I won't allow Maggie. Good luck with that, I said. She'll be a Maggie for her entire life. I just hope the baby is healthy, given the last two miscarriages. I'm sure things are going to be fine, but one never knows. I can't deny a tiny twinge of longing in the baby department, now that my baby is officially not a baby, anymore. I don't miss the hemorrhoids, the heartburn, the extra weight and the worry over a sleeping newborn, but I do miss the sensation of a baby's kicks in the womb, the way holding an infant fills me with peace, the connection between the eyes of a baby and his or her mother. I also miss how a baby smells. They smell great.
I can't think about that, now. It won't amount to anything good and I'll just end up weepy. I am not even sure I want to have another baby, ever, but I'm getting closer to forty, and it seems like something I should be worrying about. Part of the woman's code, and all that.
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