Cordless

CORDLESS
CAROLYN CORDLESS LIVED A LIFE of complete misery: that is to say, she could not find a job. Not even once. During her younger years–-in high school and even in college--it didn’t bother her so much. She came from a family that, though not wealthy by the day’s standards, could nevertheless support her through college. But then, with the completion of her degree--in which she graduated somewhere in the middle of her class--she watched with alarm as her friends--and her friends’ friends--one by one, each got their jobs and began to settle into careers. Carolyn Cordless did not settle into a career. She just kept looking for work.
At first--those first few months--after having applied for positions in her field, she would almost always get a phone call right away: the receptionist from a desirous firm wanting to schedule an appointment with her the following week. Carolyn would often buy a new outfit for the interview; and afterwards she would come away from the meeting with a sense of confidence, would even treat herself to lunch on her way home. But she never made the final cut; she was never offered the job. She was always a runner-up to somebody else.
After awhile, she stopped getting interviews at all. Instead, she’d receive in the mail the polite form letter with the company’s logo at the top telling her how impressed the initial screeners had been with her qualifications, but that she didn’t fit into the organization’s needs "at the present time." But to please-feel-free-to-apply-again.
Which she did. For awhile.
But for some reason, they were not interested in her as an employee. No one seemed to be interested in her as an employee. She began to get discouraged. Her friends were not only getting jobs, but promotions as well; they were moving away, buying new cars and homes, settling down into careers--into life. Carolyn Cordless was not settling down into a career--or into life–-or into anything. And she couldn’t understand why. She decided to take a break from her job hunting and to just relax for awhile and think things through. Maybe, she thought to herself, I picked the wrong major. Maybe, she continued to think, I’m not qualified for the jobs in my discipline. Maybe, she said aloud--now gaining back her confidence--maybe I should apply for jobs in other fields–-in related fields, but ones that are not quite so competitive, in fields where I might have a better chance of landing something.
She went to the Employment Center and explained her situation. The staff there was extremely helpful–-and encouraging. As a result, she got a whole new round of interviews, and for the next two weeks she went busily about meeting prospective employers. Then she’d return home and wait by the phone.
But no one ever called.
She got discouraged again. Have I wasted four years of my life on an education that will prove pointless? She began to wonder what depression felt like--if it was anything like what she was currently feeling, which was beginning to feel like something much more serious and permanent than her earlier discouragement. For a week Carolyn Cordless did not leave her apartment. Her family was still supporting her. They were not rich, but they did what they could. Still, she began to feel guilty–-or anyway, she began to feel bad--bad about herself, bad about the world, bad about life.
She decided to change her strategy. She decided to be less particular and to apply for jobs that were probably a notch or two below what she had originally planned and had hoped for, ones that might prove to be stepping stones for those more prestigious positions later on. Occasionally, she’d get a call for an interview. She’d get dressed up and go, once again think that she had performed well, walk out of the meeting feeling confident, but the follow-up phone call giving her the good news never came. Never.
It was frustrating; everyone can get a job, she told herself. Even complete idiots work somewhere. What’s the matter with me?
But she didn’t give up. Not yet. She applied for lesser jobs still, ones that she was clearly overqualified for–-ones that she knew she could not be turned down for. But again, for reasons she could not understand, no one would hire her. No one. She began to apply for anything--unskilled work even. No luck. She began walking the streets, looking for "HELP WANTED" signs in storefront windows. She’d walk in, ask for an application, carefully fill it out right there in the store, make sure to talk to the person in charge, and then walk out the door and go home and wait for the telephone call.
But the telephone call never came.
She went to fast food restaurants, where she had heard that anyone can get a job. The staff was warm and friendly--encouraging. They told her that they really needed help, that management was planning to hire in the next two weeks.
Again, no luck.
She even tried to find volunteer work, but each place she went to-–each charity, whether government or private or religious--turned her away. "We’ve got too many people as it is," they told her. "You know, the economy."
She knew.
She went down to the military recruiting offices--each one: the Army, the Navy, Air Force, and Marines–-to see if she could help in the war effort. But nothing. She couldn’t pass the physical exam: fallen arches.
In desperation, she moved back in with her parents. She–-and her parents, who were not wealthy–-could no longer afford this charade of a life.
For ten years Carolyn Cordless tried to find work–-employment–-a job. And for ten years she failed. Her greatest fears had been realized.
She spent more and more time now out in the backyard, digging little holes in the ground with the little red trowel that her mother had bought for her. And then she’d fill the holes back up. And start all over again.
One day, as was bound to happen, her luck changed. The news came unexpectedly, like most terminal illnesses. The doctors said that if they treated the cancer, she could expect to live for perhaps two years. Without treatment, she’d be dead in six months. Carolyn Cordless chose life. But even with the chemotherapy and the radiation and the other drugs, she died at a year’s time. That was the bad part. The good part was that she had few good friends, few acquaintances, a small family, no spouse or children; and so there were few people–-relatively speaking–-who were saddened by her death.