©Illustration by Sofía Alvarez
A year of living with four messy roommates – I’m talking pasta-clogged kitchen sinks and rubbish bins capable of supporting independent ecosystems – will drive any reasonably tidy person to live alone. At least, that’s what happened to me after my first year at university. But when I frantically booked my single-room student housing for the following fall semester, little did I know that independent living comes at a cost. Suddenly, after 12 months of unemployment, it was time for me to find another job. This was a task that I knew from my friends was about as close to impossible as unicorn discovery. Only a lucky few managed to find work, and none of it was reasonable.
One of my close friends even began working at a pizza shop from the beginning of the evening into the early morning of the next day in a desperate attempt to make some money. She served hundreds of intoxicated students throughout the night without pause and would return home with stories of drunken fights and other absurd behavior. Memorably, on her first week of the job, her new coworker proudly showed her security camera footage of him dealing with a difficult customer who then proceeded to stab him in the neck. My friend has since quit said job.
With my options looking bleak and my savings running low, I dove into applications. On top of starting school and with my seasonal affective disorder rearing its ugly head, it goes without saying that I wasn’t in the best place to deal with the inevitable rejection of job hunting. The first couple of times I skimmed job listings, I was immediately discouraged by the lack of jobs I could actually apply to. Whether it was a lack of qualifications, conflicting hours, or the distance from the job itself, I had few prospects.
For the first set of applications I sent, I knew response times were likely to be slow, but I still had blind hope that I could snag an interview if I answered the listing quickly enough. I soon discovered this was not the case when I received several rejections within a matter of days. Ego only slightly bruised, I continued looking. If I was completely honest with myself, I hadn’t felt like I was the best fit for most of the jobs I was rejected from.
This changed when I found a listing for an arts and crafts store. I thought I had this job no question. Equipped with previous work experience in a bookstore and a creative set of hobbies, I blew through that application like an absolute menace. I answered questions passionately, emphasizing the qualities that only I could bring to the Art & Hobby team! Just somewhat delusional, I sent the application in with a renewed sense of hope.
"Applying for a job is an extremely vulnerable thing to do"
This was quickly dashed when I received the message I had, in fact, not been selected. First, I reloaded the page several times in a desperate attempt to change the little red message that had appeared over my application. When that didn’t work, I stared despondently at the screen for a good five minutes before I felt the familiar weight of self-doubt settle on my shoulders. If I couldn’t get a job that I was both qualified for and passionate about, why should I even bother?
When I reflect back on it, applying for a job is an extremely vulnerable thing to do. I voluntarily put myself in a position in which I would be judged on certain aspects of my character, personality, and work ethic. In hindsight, I’m proud that I tried. At the time, I spiraled a little bit. There were lots of feelings of self-doubt and discouragement, and my confidence was considerably shaken. These were strong emotions and it took time to remind myself that there was a reason for this.
"My rejection wasn't personal"
Maybe getting a job during the depths of an academically intense semester while in the throes of a depressive episode wouldn’t have been what I needed. Sure enough, before the holiday break I found myself at an incredibly low place mentally. Had I been hired, I can’t imagine how much harder finishing the semester would have been. Not only this, but my rejection from Art & Hobby wasn’t personal. Maybe what they needed was a college graduate who majored in art history and happened to be a distant relative of Picasso. Or maybe they just needed someone who could work Mondays. None of these things rendered my accomplishments anything less than what they were. Accomplishments.
A few months later, still jobless but focusing mainly on bettering my mental health, I started perusing job listings again. To my surprise, there it was. Art & Hobby, once more looking for a retail assistant. Forgetting all my growth and fueled by the fact that I could now work Mondays, I tore through the application just as before. I’d learned from my mistakes. I knew to make my answers even more appealing and to paint myself as the most committed team player that ever lived. A few days later, I got a message. Again, I was rejected. Again, I reloaded the page and stared at the screen despondently.
However, once those five minutes were up and I braced for my shame spiral, I found that I felt almost satisfied with this rejection. Maybe it was because I had gone through this exact situation twice, but I now had the mindset I needed to accept my failures and believe in my ability to bounce back. The situation was hardly ideal, but I felt productive for even sending an application after over a month of mental health difficulties. I came to the same state of acceptance I had come to months ago when I was first rejected. And I had skipped the shame spiral! Yay!
The point is, I needed to go through every emotion that comes with being rejected in order to better cope with them in the future. Rejection is inevitable and can even be frequent, but the more times it is experienced, the better equipped you are to face it.
Although, do keep in mind that this advice comes from a second-year, unemployed college student whose quickest rejection was sixteen seconds after submitting an application. That is not an exaggeration and if my hometown movie theatre is reading this: I will never forgive and I will never forget.
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