At the Jewish New Year's Eve party I went to, some guy asked me what I do (Surprise, surprise -- imagine someone asking that at an NYC party) . I told the guy the truth:
He laughed. "Ha. Me neither," and we toasted.
Of course, I imagine that he, unlike me, has a hefty trust fund that allows him to "do nothing" quite comfortably. That, or he already retired at age 29 from some cush job left to him by his father. In other words, to him this status report was a declaration of purpose; a compliment to self. To me it was but a disguised admittance of failure.
Fast forward to now. I have received a promotion. My status has changed. While I am still most certainly unemployed, I am no longer doing nothing. Now I am a professional interviewer. I try to fit in 2 or 3 a week - even got a job offer, which I kindly declined (well, after working there for one day). I started my NYC adventure as an amateur interviewing candidate -- displaying all of the tell-tale signs of such: desperation, anxiety and shyness. Following the aforementioned promotion, I have gained the confidence necessary to walk into a corporate office, snub the interviewer and pretend like I could care less whether I get the job. Sure, this is all an act, but it seems to be working well.
For instance, today I had an interview with a magazine in Brooklyn. Quite the hike, by the way. The position I interviewed for was Editor-in-Chief, but the publication isn't one that I would otherwise read and the pay package isn't very impressive. I'd rather take the job I interviewed for on Monday. The publisher asked me when I could start. I told him I was waiting to hear back from another place so I could weigh the options (them: yes, you: no), but Monday would be fine if I do, in fact, accept the job.
"But you will have a lot more fun here. I interviewed Bill Clinton, Ariel Sharon, Mayor Giuliani, [etc...] We go to parties. Look at these invitations. Next week you can go too..." His plea continued like so.
"Can I bring my boyfriend?" I inquired because a) I don't give a fuck; and b) D will be in town.
"Well, I will be your boyfriend that night."
"Oh, that's okay. I don't mind having two boyfriends."
As he walked me out, he pointed out the pictures of him and a plethora of celebrity/politico figureheads in a "this could be you" fashion. I assured him that I'd be in touch.
I think that interviewing works the same way as snagging a boyfriend: Act as though you're not interested and they are so putty in your hands.