Because I don’t think I want to spend the rest of my life teaching precalculus to students who can’t compute 5*0 without a calculator, and because the local colleges don’t seem intent on letting me do that anyway, and because a temporary lapse of self-awareness made me completely forget the “independent to a fault, don’t need nothin’ from nobody” aspect of my character, I decided to pay a visit to a career counsellor.
Summary: big, fat waste of time. Upon reflection, I think the biggest problem is that I’d assumed, incorrectly, that an employment counsellor was an expert on jobs. It turns out that an employment counsellor’s expertise is actually a step removed from, and hence a step less useful than, that: mine clearly specialized in the “job-seeking process”.
Which meant that when I came in with a list of my skills, interests, and possible employers that I’d like to research (this last one is non-trivial, as there are confidentiality issues involved with the employers I’m interested in; I’m not going to go into details), he couldn’t help me with that.
He could, however, refer me to a “career exploration program”, where I’d be able to “explore my strengths and weaknesses”, “discover my interests” and other somesuch; this would be explained in greater detail in the pamphlet he gave me. Leafing through it, I noticed that the first day of the three-week program would be devoted to discovering my Myers-Briggs personality type.
“INTJ,” I told him. “And I know what my interests and strengths and weaknesses are. I’m a highly analytical, independent worker with no patience for small talk and routine. I have some types of careers in mind; I need more specialized direction than this.”
From the look on his face, I gathered that no one had ever made such a request before.
That wasn’t the only problem. The meeting, actually, started going poorly even before I shook hands with the man: I arrived on time, and spent the next thirty-five minutes in the waiting room while the counsellor was “almost done, really, we’re sorry about this.” At the stroke of n-thirty, he finally emerged from his office and presented himself to the (newly-hired) secretary, and proceeded to admonish her gently for booking half hour appointments instead of full-hour appointments. He needed a full hour, he explained, for new clients.
Somehow this didn’t translate into my own consultation lasting for more than twenty-three minutes, or involving the counsellor doing things like actually reading the resume I’d been instructed to print out, but I was ready to leave after twenty-three minutes (see above) anyway, so I wasn’t about to object.
Once in the room, he took a minute, literally, to scan the form I’d filled out in the waiting room. Like all government forms I’ve ever filled out, this one contained an optional section in which one can identify oneself as belonging to one or more of various groups; like all government forms I’d ever filled out, I opted to leave this part blank. Noticing that I am severe-featured and dark-skinned, the employment counsellor quickly proceeded to engage me in a variant of Twenty Questions that I swear to God I play every other month:
“So, where are you from?”
“You were…born there?”
“Where were your parents born?”
Just his luck, I’m third-generation, so he reluctantly abandoned that line. But seriously, I understand why there’s an ethnicity field on these sorts of forms, but I understand even more so why filling out such a section is optional, and I resent it when people who really should know better try to coax such information out of me. Am I the first person who has ever chosen not to fill in a few optional fields on a government form? Shee.
(Aside: every now and again someone asks me, point-blank, “What is your ethnicity?” I’ve had bad luck answering honestly, as my experience has been that more people fancy themselves experts on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict than is warranted, and a lot of them are just dying to give their input on the matter. Finding out that the bloodline of their interlocutor intersects with that of some folks who live in that region, by the way, apparently constitutes a capital opportunity to do so.
So when the Swedish hosts of a B&B on Denman Island posed the question, I responded in my preferred way: by selecting, at random, a country that lies roughly on the line joining Warsaw to Bombay, and claiming ancestry. “I’m half Turkish,” I lied, and the Swedish wife turned to the husband and said something rushed and excited that had the cadence of I told you, didn’t I tell you? and the husband turned to me and smiled weakly, as though to say, No she didn’t, but what can I do?)
Back to the meeting: the best I could say about it is that unlike almost all of the academic types who have counselled me on employment, Employment Counsellor was not of the mind that I’d never get anywhere without a Ph.D. Alas, he opted for the other extreme, and wrote off my education altogether: “Oh, I see you can use a computer,” he remarked approvingly, as he glanced at my resume, skipping over things like the title of my thesis (understandable), my Dean’s List placement at my alma mater (less so), and a description of the ceramic dinner set I’d been commissioned to make (ok, fine). And, yes, I can use a computer to a degree that puts me in direct competition with only three quarters of the youth in my province, rather than all of them, but, my lord.
Like many members of my demographic – gifted kids of professionals, who were directed to seek scholarship, rather than employment, in their studies, and who were never given much guidance with regards to the latter – I am finding myself suspended between two distinct groups that are, for opposite reasons, ill-suited to help me.
On the one hand are the intellectuals who can’t fathom a universe outside the academy, and hence cannot help me find my way in that world; on the other, the folks who never studied a subject as abstract and as technical as mathematics beyond the high school level, and consequently can’t provide the specialized direction I need to apply my own abstract and technical interests and skills outside the academy.
Frustrating, because I know that there are math folks employed in statistics and in finance and in the military and elsewhere, and they didn’t hatch ready-made inside their cubicles.