The Job Search: Pt. 1

With my December graduation date getting ever-closer, I’ve been searching for a job the past couple of weeks. And the prospects, or shall I say lack thereof, are depressing. Not having an income for three months and not knowing if I will have a job in about a month makes spending any money very hard.

The remedy: not going out much on weekends, and sometimes job searching instead.

My Friday routine involves getting back to the apartment at 4 p.m. and then hunkering down on the couch with my laptop to watch the episodes of The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, and Project Runway from the night before. After those shows are over, it’s back to Netflix browsing.

This is what my Friday nights looked like back in Iowa, except my boyfriend would be the one running the remote control.

I can’t say it doesn’t bother me that I haven’t gone out much and I’ve been in Chicago for over eight weeks. Isn’t nightlife supposed to be a big draw to the city? Isn’t that one of the reasons why I wanted to live here – so I would have something to do on the weekends?

I’m surrounded by restaurants, bars, pubs and coffee shops. And, of course, I can’t forget about the fashion – the infamous shopping district. I walk down Michigan Avenue to get to work. Looking at the beautiful clothes one moment and knowing I can’t afford them the next has become a daily ritual for me.

I just wish the media would stop reporting about the “dismal employment prospects” and stop asking, “Is college worth it?” I had that question answered a long time ago, thank you very much.

But I was talking to my mom the other day about some of these things, and I said, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life.” Then, she said, “At least you have a place to live.”

Now, I thought she meant right now. Right now, I have a place to live. So I started thinking, “Yeah, it’s good that I have an apartment. I have a roof over my head. I’m not homeless and out on the street.”

My mom meant, in December, I have a place to live, a room in my parent’s basement in rural Iowa…

Thanks, Mom and Dad.

– Alyssa Hoogendoorn

Occupy Chicago: Until I Get a Job

On Sunday afternoon, I set out to find Occupy Chicago [occupychi.org], a spinoff of Occupy Wall Street. I checked the latest news on the social movement to make sure it’s safe, unlike New York where an NYPD officer used pepper spray on a couple of women protestors. [http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2043308/NYPD-cop-Anthony-Bologna-pepper-sprays-Occupy-Wall-Street-protesters-video.html]. I didn’t find anything like that coming out of Chicago and decided the Windy City must be more civilized than our East Coast friends (… just don’t check any of today’s articles and you can keep believing that).

Occupy Chicago set up camp in a strategic location: right in front of the Federal Reserve Bank building. This was supposed to make some grand statement about the people’s fight against corporate abuse, or something.

When I was in London last summer, peace protestors set up camp in Parliament Square and the gathering soon gained the name Democracy Village. The latest social movement sweeping through major cities in the United States reminded me of that.

Like the London Parliament Square squatters, the Chicagoan occupants claim to be peaceful protestors, part of a non-violent social movement, supporting who knows what – so I’m like, what the heck, why not go check it out?

So I look up directions to the location, Google map it, and this is what it says:

Go to Clark/Division.

Take the Red Line Subway towards 95th.

Get off at Monroe.

Head west on W Monroe St. toward S Dearborn St.

Turn right on S LaSalle St.

Arrive at 231 N LaSalle St.

I see Monroe and think, I know Monroe – that’s the stop I take to get to the Chicago Semester offices. I should be fine. I write down the directions and assume it’s foolproof to follow. So I’m walking along, thinking I totally know where I’m going. Then, I take that right onto S LaSalle St. and never arrive to where I’m supposed to be.

With hardly any people in sight, I keep walking down LaSalle Street, filling the eerie silence with the sound of my heels hitting the pavement. Few cars. No sirens. Is it safe?

These are the sights and sounds of the Chicago business district on a Sunday afternoon.

I end up at the corner of Randolph and LaSalle. I walked the wrong way. I look down Randolph Street and see Hotel Allegro, the place I called home for my first week in Chicago. With familiar sights surrounding me again, I walk towards the nearest bus stop that will take me back to my apartment.

If it’s a serious social movement, Occupy Chicago will be somewhere in the city tomorrow and the days after that until we see results … or violence.

Living off of Little and Learning to Love ... or Finding Happiness in a Bowl of Noodles

Driving into the west side of my hometown, the welcome sign says, “Place of opportunities.” That’s the tagline of the community I come from. This past summer, I checked job listings in the local newspaper every week.

Here’s what I found: unless I suddenly gained superwoman strength to lift 70 pounds or had cattle-herding skills and a truck driver’s license, I need not apply. My only other viable option for making a living seemed to be settling down as a hog farmer’s housewife. And for that, I only have one word: pass.

I come from a small town in a rural area known for its farming and manufacturing communities. That sign on the west side of town mocks me.

And that’s one reason why I left. One reason why I’m here.

Hello, Chicago.

***

After three weeks in the city, I can say it would be easy to complain about the food and clothes I can’t afford. And it would be easy to complain about the “cozy” apartment, public transportation, and the internet and cable company that took two weeks to show up.

But I didn’t come to Chicago to have an easy time. I came to be challenged in ways that only a place as diverse as the third largest city in the country can afford. I came to discover a place where opportunities and my desires align, a place where my talents can fill a need that reaches far beyond me.

I came to live the dream, and nothing about that is easy or as glamorous as you think it should be, especially when you’re trying to live off of something called a broke student’s budget.

Little about city-living is as glamorous as it appears on TV. But sometimes it’s fun to pretend, if only for awhile, before reality sinks in.

***

As I was window shopping on Michigan Avenue the other day, I walked into Chicago’s newly opened Topshop, which is London’s leading clothing store. I love British fashion, but the prices make me feel poor … That is, until I step outside the shop doors and see a homeless man on the street corner begging for a dollar. I don’t know the meaning of poor.

The sights of the city change in an instant.

At the end of the day, I might not be wearing the latest fashion trends or dining at a top-rated Chicago restaurant, but I know where my next meal is coming from – even if it is Ramen noodles.

Appreciating the little things means not getting overwhelmed by designer label clothing stores like Louis Vuitton, Burberry and Michael Kors that I see on my way to work.

Living off of little and learning to love what you have is a matter of city survival. And who’s to say I can’t find happiness in a bowl of noodles?

Ironically, I came here to escape the simplicity of small-town life, but I have seldom lived so plainly or cheaply ever before. It’s all about perspective and what you’re willing to accept as a way of life.

I don’t know about you, but I choose Ramen over the role of hog farmer’s housewife. And for that, I’m happy, and no one can take that away.

–Alyssa Hoogendoorn