For a long time, I thought that Facebook’s sole purpose was to have me waste endless hours. But this was before my friend Flo introduced me to Facebook’s coolest feature: a secret group for women working in human rights. Let’s call it Zorro (its actual name is even cooler).
Zorro has 1,576 members. All women. All fond believers in women empowerment. Their CV sometimes includes a PHD, often fellowships at ICC in the Hague, always a few years in underground and exotic war zones. The group is a kind of salon, and you get invited to participate to seminars on domestic violences in Ukraine, or to do drinks in Lesotho, or to answer dashing job offers in Bangladesh. Very much like the fellowship of the ring, except more striking.
I ended up doing drinks with Zorro in New York.
20 girls, including me, had apparently decided to do some wild job hunting. We were threateningly circling the two girls who did have a job and just wanted to have a drink (poor them). Talk about empowerment if you wish, life is a freaking food pyramid.
You decide to take your fat body to a UN conference on women’s right. It’s a subject you have always been interested in, it’s free, and your friend Greg says that a bunch of super-interesting people are attending and you have to start working on your network woman.
When you get there, it is exactly 8 AM. You are hungry, and you have huge concerns about your breath. So you breathe through your nose as much as possible, and you make sure to avoid talking to anyone (note to self: always carry chewing gums when wanting to network).
You notice that only women are attending. Only women are speaking. Everyone is nodding at alarming statistics everyone presumably already knows. Everyone warmly applauds the speech on implementation of women’s rights. You do too, and you are sincere. But you restrain a sigh of relief when you hear that men are not only rivals.
The authors of the quotes are tremendously diverse. Poets from the Philippins, and right after that, a quote by Margaret Thatcher (received with the same warmth).
After a while, you start wondering how on earth this type of conferences could be useful as everybody is already working in women’s rights, so I hope everybody is already convinced that violence against women is a bad thing.
Greg says that you have it all wrong. This is mostly the occasion to fundraise and network. Basically, no one cares about the content of the conference.
You cannot get the Disney Song “Rescue Aid Society” out of your head.
Between two conferences, you run to buy muffins and chewing gums to overcome the epic fight with your breath (and your stomach).
You come back heartened, stiff as a bird of prey, with that powerful “gimme your f**ing business card” look. But before you have managed to plunge at anyone, a pretty girl starts talking to you. After a while, you feel like laughing because it looks like she is trying the “bird of prey” tactics on you. Wrong number girl. She gives you her business card, and you take it. Behind it, it says “Currently studying Politics, English and Theatre Studies; Passionate about women’s rights, particularly within sport and allowing equal opportunities for both men and women; Striving for gender equality”. She talks and talks, and lets you go. She looks slightly disappointed because you haven’t given her your own business card – truth is, you don’t have one any more.
It is 4 PM, you have to go get the girls.
You have taken noone else’s business card.
But you have attended a UN conference on women’s rights.
Your phone stops working for one whole week. When at last, you manage to get it fixed, you are super-excited because somebody might have called to set up an interview.
Turns out there is a sole message that says “hi, X Daycare speaking. Everything is fine, but Charlotte needs diapers, she ran out of them”.
You wake up one morning and you realize you’re going to have to create a linkedin account.
You hate the idea, you just HATE to give away so many data because you are a real Snowden fan – you even gave Facebook a false birthday so the big bad Web does not your birthday, yep, you are a true rebel.
But you want the money and the financial autonomy more than you want to be unknown on the internet. So you decide to sign a pact with the devil, basically copy-pasting your resume and sending invites to everyone you know. And you wait.
After one week, nothing happens, except you pretentiously divide your linkedin-friends into type-profiles. (more…)
Between two lazy job searches on Idealist, you mollusquely look at pictures of cats endlessly running in Ikea stores, wondering where the world is going.
Yep. Being unemployed is a real job.