I pushed the door open and stepped into the restaurant hopeful. I needed this job desperately. My unemployment from my job at the medical school in Ohio was about to run out, and this tavern was the closest thing to the cabin in a very desolate, remote area.
Built like a large cabin, the room was warm and rustic. Red's intense blue eyes met mine, and he immediately made me nervous. The back of his black t-shirt said, "Hard work beats talent when talent doesn't work hard." Quick on his feet, he began showing me where jars of mayonnaise were kept, how he made a Long Island, how to do prep work. He hired me on the spot. Before I knew it, I'd made $50 in tips.
But just then, the eastern U.P. decided upon a fluke heatwave, with temperatures soaring to nearly 50 degrees in December. The snow melted rapidly, and along with it, the snowmobilers disappeared. And so, almost as quickly as I found myself employed, I found myself unemployed. Without snowmobilers, there is no economy in the winter in Deer Park.
I was back to square one.
6.7 % of the workforce in Ohio is unemployed as of December 2012. In Michigan, at the same time period, it was 8.9%, putting it in the top seven out of all 50 states.
I dabbled in freelance articles about obscure topics such as "How to raise a pet mongoose" for $25 an article. I sold some of my photography on etsy. I helped at my friends' Tasha and Ed Stielstra's kennel hooking dog teams for tours with eager and bright-eyed tourists from Indiana. I stopped into a cutesy tourist shop to sell some of my artwork on consignment; the owner humored me, but then said they didn't sell much photography. I checked the Ace Hardware in town, as well as the two grocery stores, the feed store, the hospital, the health department and a handful of gas stations. No one was hiring.
Gradually, my means of survival narrowed.
One Friday night, while sitting at the bar commiserating with my also-unemployed friend, Mike Betz, I noticed Larry, the owner of the Pine Stump and Robert, his pizza cook, eying me from the other end of the bar. Betz and I had frequented the Stump regularly all season, and had come to know Larry, Robert, the 19 year old server, Marissa, and her mother, Debra who was also a server quite well (there will be other stories about the Stump and my adventures with Betz soon).
If there is one thing I am, it's persistent. I had become known as "that girl who wants a job" to Larry and the crew who ran the Stump. My number was tacked above the bar. I asked him nearly every time Betz and I went there to hire me. Finally, one night, he succumbed.
The night I sat there with Betz, the Stump was crawling with half-drunk snowmobilers, the sounds of their revelry a constant drone that swelled occasionally with laughter and the clank of their beer steins. Larry and Robert continued to talk and look over at me. Finally Larry approached me.
"What are you doing tomorrow?" he asked. I smiled triumphantly.
"What do you want me to be doing tomorrow?" I responded with a smirk.
"Can you be here at 1?"
But of course.
I rolled into the parking lot of the Stump in a way that would likely seem off-putting to a non-Yooper but which seemed perfectly appropriate for Deer Park. The bed of my truck was half-full of firewood, half-full of snow, and there was frozen deer pelt at the end of the bed. Betz had hit it with his Jeep a month prior, killing it instantly (and doing significant damage to his Jeep) and brought it to me for dog food, the fresh, young buck still warm. He'd taught me how to hang and gut the deer, and we stripped it of its soft cape that was just thickening up for winter. The cape lie frozen in the back of my truck.
I walked into the Stump, which was also built like a large log cabin, rustic and warm. While some found Larry intimidating, I felt at ease with him. He was tall and always donned a pair of black Wrangler jeans and a neat, button-down shirt and cowboy boots. His blue eyes were sharp but softened behind his glasses, and his brown hair fell in feathers on each side, and probably hadn't changed much since 1985. Larry didn't pull any punches, and I respected that. I went to work in the kitchen, stocking the cooler full of beer that seemed to disappear into the bellies of thirsty snowmobilers almost immediately. I also had the insurmountable task of washing dishes. By hand. For nine hours. On a standing-room-only day at the Stump.
After several hours, I left the mounting stack of plates to relieve myself, looking forward to the brief respite in the can. As I walked through the dining room, a snowmobiler grabbed my arm and pulled me next to him for a photo. He had stripped down to only his black winter bibs, the suspenders pressing softly against his salt-and-pepper colored chest hair. He smelled of Bud Light and pepperoni. I feigned a smile, then quickly headed to the bathroom.
I sat on the cold toilet seat and exhaled, relieved to be sitting for a moment even if only to pee. As I washed my hands at the sink, I startled at my reflection in the mirror. My own eyes searched to find the person behind them.
How did I get here? Interest grew daily on my student loan from eight years of college and a master's degree that seemed to garner nothing. An 11 year marriage to the father of my child had ended. My kids were back in Ohio, and I missed them with the most debilitating ache I'd ever known.
I brushed these brooding thoughts aside. I had to get back to work.
As I washed dishes and chopped onions, I talked to Debra, who was 49 years old, but looked older. She had a cigarette-stained voice and a cackling laugh. She gave me Advil when my back hurt from standing on concrete bending over a sink for hours, and a can of Keeweenaw "Pick Axe Blonde" beer to ease the pain. She was shocked to learn I had a master's degree.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Trying to make a living," I said, referring to washing dishes, although I knew the "here" she was referring to was Deer Park, Michigan.
That night at the Stump, I made $80 washing dishes for 9 1/2 hours and received free beer and dinner from Larry. I also sold the deer pelt for $20 to the fry cook, who used it to bait for coyotes. And I was extremely grateful for it all.
******************************************************************************
After living in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan - where jobs are even more scarce than other places in the country - I finally had to throw in the towel and crawl back to Ohio, penniless. I've been on four interviews in the last week, and have sent my resume out to half dozen or more potential employers.
This week, I met with a staffing agency. The lady at the staffing agency glanced at my resume, then looked up at me as if in disbelief.
"I can get you a job in a rubber factory for minimum wage," she said. "But it's dirty. Your resume is quite impressive. I wonder why you're not getting anything in your field?"
Because my "field," which is full of like-minded, talented aficionados of creativity - Writers/Photographers/Multimedia Specialists/Public Speakers/Educators/Marketing Communications Specialists/Event Planners - is completely saturated. The last two jobs in my field I interviewed for, I was one of 500 candidates.
My friend Meg said it best: "The challenge for people like you and I (creative individuals with multiple skills and talents) is to figure out how to plug in to a world of very 'defined' positions."
I recently had two interviews in the service industry, and was offered a job at a popular coffee house chain 45 minutes from my house. I was offered a whopping $7.85 an hour.
It only took me a quick minute to calculate the math: driving a V8 truck 45 minutes to said coffee house would cost me roughly $11.80 a day. I was offered 30 hours a week, which is about $280 before taxes. Subtract from that $50 in gasoline to and from, as well as probably $75 in taxes, and voila! I'm bringing home a whopping $110 a week.
Seriously?
Hank Williams said it best (and thus, is the title of this blog): my bucket's got a hole in it.
"Well, there ain't no use - of me workin' so hard..."
No thanks. I think I'll keep pounding the proverbial virtual pavement for a job in my field.
Shannon Miller is a freelance writer and photographer from northeast Ohio. Her professional resume for those who might have a job that pays more than minimum wage is here: www.linkedin.com/pub/shannon-miller/30/a23/306/
I wish you could move to Minnesota, where the unemployment rate is a little rosier! And we could hang out!
ReplyDelete