Career Advice from the Big Screen

You can learn a lot by watching movies, even how to deal with a career crisis!  Some of my favorite films feature protagonists who are unhappy with their jobs.  Let’s see what advice they have to offer...

Working Girl (1988)
Steal your boss’s identity and develop a romantic relationship with a big-shot in the industry

Jerry Maguire (1996)
Write a 27-page mission statement detailing everything that is wrong with your industry, and when you're subsequently fired, don’t forget to steal the office goldfish

Office Space (1999)
Try occupational hypnotherapy, embrace insubordination, take your boss’s parking spot, beat up the fax machine, and embezzle $300,000

American Beauty (1999)
Blackmail your boss for $60,000 and blow the money on your dream car, then spend your days smoking pot and flipping burgers

Forgetting Sarah Marshall (2008)
Wear the same Costco-brand sweatpants for a week straight while you wallow in hilarious self-loathing

Role Models (2008)
Engage in destructive behavior while on the job, get arrested, and work through your issues in the world of live-action role playing

(500) Days of Summer (2008)
Go to work hungover, give a long-winded speech about everything that is wrong with your industry, and quit in order to pursue your dream job for which you are completely unqualified

Julie & Julia (2009)
Start a blog and hope for fame and fortune

Jami the Journalist in Jacksonville

People sometimes ask me what I do all day and how I manage to survive without a job to pass the time.  What, have you not heard of Google or Wikipedia?

The other day, I spent the better part of an hour Googling “how to be successful.”   Somehow I ended up reading an academic paper by Pelham, Mirenberg, and Jones entitled “Why Susie Sells Seashells by the Seashore: Implicit Egotism and Major Life Decisions.”  The paper explores the name-letter effect, or the idea that people have positive associations with their own name and are more likely to choose name-resembling spouses, occupations, and places of residence.  For example, since my name is Jami, I’m more likely to marry John, become a journalist, and move to Jacksonville than I am to marry Dave, become a doctor, and move to Detroit.

It sounds kind of silly, but I did marry a guy with a J-name, so I couldn’t help but wonder what occupations I might be subconsciously drawn to...

Journalist
Judge
Jet pilot
Janitor
Jackhammerer
Jailer
Jewel thief
Jester
Jockey
Jehovah's witness
Jesus Camp counselor
Joke writer
Juggler

Huh.  Well, I suspect jet pilots are discouraged from taking Xanax to combat a fear of flying, so I’ll go ahead and cross that one off.  I can’t be a jockey unless I magically shrink a foot and a half.  And although I do enjoy judging others, I could never compete with Judge Judy – she's more popular than Oprah!  At the moment, I’m leaning toward joke writer in Jamaica.  No, wait, I’ve got it… I’m a job-hopper!  Wow, this explains so much.

Crappy Job #3: Gas Station Attendant

Waitress.  Shoe saleswoman.  Gas station attendant.  Clearly, I was a woman of ambition.

I purposely avoided working for one of those deluxe gas stations that also sold hot dogs, Slurpees, and lottery tickets.  I could only be bothered to sell gas and cigarettes.

My father initially objected to his 18-year-old daughter working the night shift by herself, until he found out that the owner of the gas station was the son of Johnny Unitas, one of the greatest NFL quarterbacks of all time.  Apparently, free oil changes from the offspring of a football legend were worth the risk that his only child would be slain in a robbery.

Despite the obvious risk involved, it was probably the best minimum-wage job I ever had.  Look, the pros almost outweigh the cons!

PROS

• My shift began at 4am and ended at 11am, so work never interfered with anything except for sleep.  At the time, I had a very demanding social schedule, so I needed to be available both day and night for spontaneous get-togethers.

• There was a lot of downtime.  I would lay my head on the counter and “rest my eyes” until a customer came in.

• By the end of the summer, I could name at least 40 brands of cigarettes!  Whenever my friends and I played Kings, it was my go-to category.

CONS

• There was no bulletproof glass.  Just me and a cash register.  When I wasn’t sleeping on the job, I was constantly on the lookout for men in ski masks.

• At the beginning of every shift, I had to count all of the cigarette packs.  It was supposed to deter employee theft.  The next time you’re sleep-deprived, try counting to 400 without losing track.

• When questioned about my unusual sleep schedule, I would tell people that I worked the night shift.  Little did I know, Night Shift was the name of a strip club in nearby Baltimore.  I got the occasional strange look and had no idea why.  You can imagine my surprise when someone finally asked, “Oh, are you a stripper?”

Crappy Job #2: Payless

I'm on a mission to decide if all of my prior jobs have been horribly flawed or if I just don't like working.  In a previous post, I reminisced about being a waitress.  Today, I’m tackling the fun-filled summer I spent working in retail.  Payless ShoeSource, to be exact.

Don’t ask me why I wanted to work in a shoe store.  Having inherited my mother’s freakishly large feet, shopping for shoes ranks somewhere between getting a root canal and filing my tax return on the list of things I enjoy.  At the time of my employment, Payless was the only store in a 50-mile radius that carried my size, and the selection was terrible.  Think elderly churchgoer.  I would’ve looked just as stylish had I duct-taped the shoe boxes to my feet.

Interesting Fact of the Day: My high heel is exactly the size of a standard wine bottle.

Anyway, here is my assessment of working at Payless ShoeSource...

PROS

• Using my discount, I was able to save a whopping 75-cents on my oversized high heels.  

• I managed to amuse myself by channeling Al Bundy from Married with Children.  “I sell shoes.  Envy me.”

 
CONS

• Big corporations love annoying procedures and unnecessary paperwork.  I had to take a drug test, fill out one of those Briggs-Meyer personality profiles, and undergo formal training, all for the humiliation of working at the local mall.  As a testament to their lengthy screening process, I was offered ecstasy by another sales associate on my first day of work.

• Participation in the employee suggestive selling competition was mandatory.  I got stuck promoting deodorizing shoe balls to smelly-footed customers and easily secured last place.

• I had planned to use this opportunity to meet other fabulous women with size 12 feet, but the only regular customer who purchased shoes in my size was a cross-dressing man.

• I quickly discovered that most adults are too lazy or too dumb to put a shoe back where it belongs.  They prefer to cram it into the wrong box, possibly in a different aisle.  Um, yeah, thanks for making my minimum-wage job more challenging.

That wine bottle is calling my name.  Next time, I will reflect on my time spent as a gas station attendant.

Quitting with Flair

Since I’m both bitter and creative, I’ve always been tempted to quit my job in some hilarious way: on a cake, in a Mac alert, or by ripping my shirt open and having “Do What You Love” tattooed across my chest.

Resigning gracefully requires an incredible amount of willpower, especially when you loathe your superiors.  I once worked for a blatantly sexist guy who ironically carried a purse.  I also worked for a guy who routinely told off his employees, his clients, his waiters, and even his wife’s gynecologist.  And at one point, I worked for my husband, who often implied that his employee was lazy.  But as tempted as I've been to resign a job with a legendary "screw you" statement, I never so much as gave the finger on my way out the door.  My father always told me to "never burn bridges."  I know it’s just a saying, but the world really is a frighteningly small place.  Awkward run-ins are inevitable.

Case in point:  At age sixteen, I decided to spend the summer working full-time for the government.  Five minutes after I clocked in on the first day, I realized that I had made a terrible mistake.  I wanted to tell my boss that his office smelled weird and that he could take his data entry and shove it, but my parents convinced me it was a bad idea.  I stayed the entire ten weeks, and on my last day of work, I presented my boss with a thank you note attached to a giant bag of Pull-N-Peel Twizzlers.  Six years later, I randomly ended up sitting next to that same guy on a flight back from London.  He immediately remembered the Twizzlers, gave me his business card, and offered to help me with my career in any way he could.

This story is part of the reason I have yet to quit a job with any style or flair.  It’s a good thing, too, because several of my former bosses have popped up in future situations, including a job interview.  And I run into my husband all the time.

So if you’re considering quitting your job, I suggest sticking with the traditional resignation letter and venting your frustration in other ways.  Like, say, an anonymous blog!

Inspiring Friend #2: Julia

After graduate school, I took a job at a financial consulting company in New York.  Coincidentally, my friend Julia landed an internship with a fashion magazine in the same building.  While I was pricing power plants and analyzing interest rate curves, Julia was attending photo shoots and hanging out in the sample closet.  For three years, I pretty much lived vicariously through her.  During our daily Starbucks runs, she would regale me with her exciting adventures in the fashion industry.  This was before The Devil Wears Prada hit theatres, so it was all very mysterious to me.

I was jealous of course, but her job was not without its drawbacks.  Starting at the bottom can be a humbling experience.  As a lowly intern, her duties included appearing in the magazine’s Figure Fixers spread as “the girl with the big butt.”

And it was months before she was allowed to write anything.  When she finally did write her first article – which was read by her father and her grandmother and everyone else she knew – the assigned topic was sex toys.

Eventually, Julia was writing articles on all sorts of topics, and she blossomed into a full-fledged fashionista.  One day, I even spotted her face on the MSN homepage.  I myself am style-impaired, but I was probably more fashionable just being in her presence.  She would always fill me in on the upcoming apparel and accessories trends.  I was the first to know that skinny jeans were making a comeback (I was horrified).

After a few years, we both moved on to other jobs, but whenever I step inside a Starbucks, I’m reminded of her inspiring rise from big-butt intern to glamorous fashion writer.  Perhaps there’s still hope for me.  I just need a foot in the door and a few years of hard work and persistence.

And the Award for Strong Female Protagonist Goes To...

I’ve been in a bad mood all afternoon.  It’s dark and rainy, my annoying neighbor has been pounding away on her piano for hours, and the “simple and tasteful” bridesmaid shoes that I ordered online just arrived inexplicably covered in glitter.

I was in the middle of complaining about how everything sucks when I received some unexpected good news.  My comedy script, BEST WISHES, NICE KNOWING YOU, was named a quarterfinalist in the Cynosure Screenwriting Awards.  Okay, so Cynosure isn't as well-known as the Nicholl Fellowship, but I consider it a great compliment since their mission is to reward scripts with compelling female protagonists – in other words, women who aren’t constantly bursting into tears and who face bigger problems than not having a boyfriend.  My protagonist is an exaggerated version of myself, so naturally she’s a strong and independent woman without any of the annoying, stereotypical traits.  (Oops, I was just whining about my shoe purchase.  That was an aberration, I swear.)

I think I’ll put on my glittery shoes, grab an umbrella, and go out to celebrate.

Crappy Job #1: Waitress at Big Peckers

Since I’m currently in Ocean City, Maryland for a bachelorette party, I thought I would dedicate this post to my waitressing career, which began (and ended) right here at Big Pecker's Bar & Grill.

I decided to work at Big Pecker's because I’d always dreamed of serving up greasy burgers while wearing a super short tennis skirt and a t-shirt with a giant cartoon rooster on it.  Okay, no, I wanted to spend the summer at the beach while saving money for my junior year abroad in London.  I only budgeted about $50 a month for rent, so I shared a lovely pink garden shed with three other girls.  Seriously, here's a picture...

In addition to waiting on tables, my duties included mandatory karaoke performances by the wait staff; chasing after mullet-sporting rednecks who skipped out on the bill; and squeegeeing the glass around the perimeter of the restaurant in my obscenely short skirt, eliciting car horns from the drunken senior weekers cruising down Coastal Highway.  It was an interesting summer, to say the least.

After I leave a job, I always assess the pros and cons in the hope that I will choose more wisely next time.  The following is my analysis of waitressing at Big Peckers:

PROS

• I did manage to save an impressive sum of money, which I blew on alcohol and bumming around Europe.
• It was my easiest job interview to date.  The manager looked me up and down and handed me the infamous tennis skirt.
• I discovered my talent for carrying extremely heavy trays on my fingertips.
• I am now an excellent tipper.
• I think everyone should be yelled at and belittled by an irate customer at least once in their life.  It builds character.

CONS

• I can’t even tell you how many times I was forced to sing Donna Summer’s “We Work Hard for the Money.”  Did I mention I’m a terrible singer?
• I can no longer eat ranch dressing, after making buckets of it from scratch.  The secret recipe: combine one tub of extra heavy mayonnaise, one giant carton of fatty buttermilk, and a teeny-tiny packet of seasoning.
• I left the beach paler than when I arrived – the result of working 12-hour shifts, 6 days a week.
• My fellow students at the London School of Economics had all spent their summers interning at investment banks.  I had to say I worked at a prestigious company called B.P. Incorporated.

Now I shall have a beer in honor of waiters and waitresses everywhere…  Happy Labor Day weekend!

25 Things I'm Terrible At

A few weeks ago, I compiled a list of 25 Things I’m Awesome At.  In the process, I thought of hundreds of things I’m not so awesome at.  I didn’t want to overwhelm you with my shortcomings, so I cut it down to 25.

1.) Dancing
2.) Walking in high heels
3.) Looking on the bright side
4.) Making presentations
5.) Playing basketball
6.) Remaining calm on airplanes
7.) Keeping secrets
8.) Waking up early
9.) Touching my toes
10.) Answering trivia
11.) Having a sense of style
12.) Acting my age
13.) Climbing ropes and/or doing push-ups
14.) Managing my 401k
15.) Feigning excitement
16.) Making small talk
17.) Handling rejection
18.) Remembering names
19.) Being patient
20.) Singing
21.) Driving
22.) Avoiding sunburns
23.) Making a good first impression
24.) Using my time wisely
25.) Getting blog followers

The Countdown

Every couple months, I’ll point out a cute kid and remind my husband that I’d like to be pregnant in two years.  It’s been "two years" for about three years now.  When I recently revised it to one year and ten months, he freaked out and said, “What happened to two years?”

I understand his hesitation.  Whenever I see a frustrated mother dragging around a screaming child, I immediately break into a cold sweat.  Given my own personality and that of my husband, I suspect our kid will be especially prone to whining and throwing tantrums.

Nonetheless, I really do want to be a mother... eventually.  My reasons are as follows:

1.) I refuse to let these twin-bearing hips go to waste.

2.) As illustrated in the movie Idiocracy, I feel compelled to pass on our genes.  Our kids will no doubt be uncoordinated, allergic to everything, and have giant feet, but at least they’ll be intelligent.

3.) As illustrated in the show Toddlers & Tiaras, there’s a lot of bad parenting going on.  I’m confident that I will be able to avoid the major pitfalls and make only minor mistakes, like guilt-tripping my kids for ruining my social life.

4.) I have a phobia of becoming a lonely old person.  When your kids get older, they’re obligated to call you on a regular basis and invite you over for holidays.


Since motherhood is looming, my career crisis needs to be resolved ASAP.  It’s hard enough for a new mother to maintain an existing career, let alone jump-start a new one.  I will also admit that I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a stay-at-home mom.  I think I’ll be a better mother if I have at least a part-time job to escape to.  Maybe I’ll feel differently once I have my own child.  I’m basing this theory purely on other people’s children.

Bottom line: I'm feeling the time pressure.  The back of my mind keeps repeating, “Must have thriving career in two years.  Must have thriving career in two years...”  Oh wait, one year and ten months.  Crap.