Crossing My Legs on the Tappan Zee Bridge:
Job Seeking in “Post-Recession” America
by Bernie Libster

The morning of June 23, the very day I was driving to a job interview at Reader’s Digest, a man threatened to jump off the Tappan Zee Bridge, bringing traffic to a complete standstill for several hours. The 44-mile drive from Hasbrouck Heights took me 3-1/4 hours. It was probably a harbinger.

While I was stuck, I played a tape I’d made of notes I’d taken at various Job Seekers meetings about posture, comportment, letting the interviewers take the lead. For me, an extrovert with experience in the spotlight as a professional storyteller, this wasn’t easy. But the interview went well, I thought, leavened by jokes about bridge jumpers. I did my best to divert attention away from my 40 years of experience. When asked by the HR person why I wanted to go back to staff work after freelancing for ten years — one of those “loaded” questions about which I’d been warned — I answered solemnly, “My wife supported me while I was chasing a dream and it’s now my turn to support her.” It was an honest, and in truth a carefully considered, response; it might have fallen into the category of telling more than you were asked, but so be it. Besides, I wouldn’t even learn the sage advice about not telling more than you were asked for another week.

The HR person, a woman with a clear sense of proper interview skills, replied that this was a perfectly fine response. Nevertheless, I was plagued by the nagging notion that I and my gray hair were too old, made young people uncomfortable, was too honest for my own good. When I got home, seriously wired from the ordeal, I proceeded to write my “thank you” e-mails, which is also part of the standard job hunting protocol. They seemed terribly insincere. Then I waited.

A few days afterward, partly to diffuse the anxiety, I attended a meeting of Back to Work, a job counseling service run by the United Way of Bergen County. I met a bunch of folks in all stages of life, even some in mine, and all of us in the same pickle. From one of the pickle-ees I learned about a temp agency called AppleOne and made an appointment for an interview to prove to myself how serious I was. Upon arriving, I received a handout with a set of behavioral guidelines that must be like advice nuns give Catholic schoolgirls before their first date: cross your legs, don’t wear patent leather shoes, don’t look anyone in the eye, and for heaven’s sake show no signs that you’re alive, that you feel, that you have desires. I took the handout home and added it to my collection.

After a week of intense waiting, I called Reader’s Digest. No, I was not the winning candidate, I learned, though I was assured that my interviewing skills were just fine. Still, it seems odd that my 40 years of copy experience weren’t up to inventing new ways to sell home improvement books without relying on sweepstakes, which is what I would have been doing.

A brief digression: One morning Marian tells me about a dream she had. About me. In this dream I’m on an interview, and although I’m still me, my name is “Norm.” I suspect this means I’m behaving very much like this thick pile of documents I’ve accumulated tells me I should. “Sorry,” the dream interviewer says, “we’re looking for someone like Bernie.” I don’t think the message could be any clearer.

What I learned in job seeking groups
Here are some of the inspiring quotes I’ve acquired from various support groups and helpful documents. Feel free to use them as you see fit:

“In war it’s not the number of soldiers a general has, it’s how he lays out the battle plan.”
“Dig your well before you’re thirsty.”
“Stand up, you’ll sound more professional.” (This is advice on how to conduct yourself during a telephone interview.)
“Tell people you’re in transition.” (To explain why you have unaccounted periods in your life when you may have reached for something that transcends the everyday work world.) “Tell people you’re not looking for work, you’d just like a referral.” (This in theory avoids putting someone on the spot.)

Some of this is sensible, some is nonsense, and all of it is grounded in fear. I am tired of feeling afraid, I realize. Lucky for me, around Easter, the time for resurrection, something happened that led me to find a hypnotist. Not to cure a bad smoking habit or to help me deal with nervousness during interviews. No, I wanted a past-life regression.

For those not on intimate terms with reincarnation, here’s how a past-life regression works. You go to a hypnotist, take off your shoes and lie down. The hypnotist induces a trance state. Details may vary, but mine took me to a place with lots of doors. All the doors were made of light and behind every door was one of my past lives.

I went through several of the doors. Behind one was a life as a rich young man in medieval Italy with a splendid horse upon whose broad back I rode into battle wearing golden armor. I didn’t learn my fate, but I learned that my horse has returned as my cat in this life. (It’s a good thing he didn’t come back as a horse or we couldn’t have kept him on our 40 x 100 lot.) He’s a very big cat, with a strong personality. I feel more bonded with him than with any other animal I’ve ever known. Now I know why.

Behind another door I discovered a life as the son of a rich, powerful, Catholic couple in Spain some centuries ago. Rich, powerful and miserable. They refused to let me marry my peasant sweetheart, so I ran away and ended up taking care of a shrine to the Virgin Mary and Her son. Every day for years I swept the shrine with a broom I’d made from thorn bushes and was told by the lady Herself that I was doing a good job sweeping, which would have amused my wife in this life. I lived on food people brought me and died penniless but incomparably peaceful. I also learned that my rich, miserable parents had returned as my wretchedly poor Russian Jewish parents in this life. They were just as miserable as when they were rich, powerful Spanish Catholics. Go figure.

Finally, I learned that I had been a British soldier in World War I, a tank driver. I didn’t want to go to war and hurt people. I wanted to stay home and carry my baby daughter in my arms out to the fields to show her the wildflowers. But I was too cowardly to refuse. And so I drove my tank over people, crying all the way, and then my tank was hit by explosives, caught fire and burned, taking me with it. In this life, I deal with my cowardice by telling antiwar stories, which isn’t a very popular activity. Perhaps the stories have given me some courage.

After the regression, something hit me: This life is presumably just one of an endless string of lives, yet I’d been acting like I was as good as dead. If I’ll be alive always, I reason, why not act like I’m alive now.

Networking does work
For the first time since I started going to all these Job Seekers groups I began to not only act but even feel alive. I called a friend and asked her if she knew of anyone looking for a writer (networking is statistically the best way to get a job, all the handouts say). She gave me a company name and told me they’d just acquired the perfect account for a guy with gray hair, and no, it’s not Grecian Formula. I followed up as though I were alive. I got a call to come in. I initiated conversations. I let my little light shine. I was seen as a living, breathing human being with some life force, not a terrified old fart armed with slogans from printouts.
By the time you read this I’ll have been at my new job for several months. Or if I’m not, I’ll be somewhere else. And laughing. Meanwhile, my collection of articles with titles like “Facing Your Fears at Fifty,” “25 Ways to Reinvent Yourself,” “Tactics Available to Seniors” and “How to Make Age Irrelevant in Your Job Search” will be in the recycling center.

This could be my last Adtalk column. But if you e-mail me at — bernielibster@optonline.net— I’ll be glad to send you the URLs of my favorite job hunting websites. Actually, though, I’d rather send you the name of my hypnotist.