To survive joblessness, embrace compromise
and contacts

By Lisa A. Pacitto, Globe Correspondent, 10/6/02

One year after the economic downturn, crashing stock prices, and Sept. 11, everything has changed.

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We're now suspicious of corporate leaders, we're on constant guard for terrorist attacks, and, as a nation, we're generally much more introspective. The only thing that hasn't changed is the job market -- it's still dismal, and the forecast for the future is slightly better than dismal.

But take heart; there are ways to survive joblessness. First you'll have to learn how to compromise -- a lot. Then you'll have to adjust your self-image from someone who was on top of the world to someone who's trying to beat back the world. Finally, you'll have to resign yourself to watching as your once-robust savings account slims down one withdrawal at a time.

Once you face the facts, however, you can persevere and survive -- maybe not with your bank account intact, but at least with your dignity. Here's how I've managed to muddle through what I seriously believed was going to be just a three-month blip on the prosperity radar screen. Instead, I've been out of ''real'' work for a year and a half and have lived to write about it.

I feel it's only right to confess that I'm not the victim of a layoff or company closing. My jobless status was my own doing. I had this crazy idea: ''Gee, wouldn't it be great if I could stay home every day and work in my pajamas.'' So I quit my job at an ad agency and decided to write freelance.

At first it was great. I'd roll out of bed at 9 a.m., skip the shower, skip the commute, and go right to work at my computer (in my pajamas). Most days quitting time was 4 p.m. (in time to watch ''Oprah''), and then I'd hang out or meet friends for dinner (sometimes clothes over pajamas). My bliss ended abruptly when the economy seemed to take a strong disliking to people who slouched around in their pajamas all day.

Projects were put on hold. My clients couldn't keep their full-time people busy, let alone a freelancer. So I sat tight, caught up on my reading, and waited for the smoke to clear. And waited. And waited.

That little voice in my head that had cajoled me into quitting my job was now chastising me. My bank account was badly bruised from all the hits it took at the ATM. Being self-employed, I couldn't collect unemployment. Panic set in.

Against my natural inclination, I decided to get practical for once and seriously assess my situation -- no work, no prospects for work, and no money.

I sat down with a piece of paper, and folded it into three columns. I headed the first column People to call for a job and then proceeded to list the names and telephone numbers of family, friends, and business contacts who could offer me a job or at least give me a referral.

The second column, headed People to call for moral support, was a short list of friends who were willing to let me complain about my troubles for up to 20 minutes before hanging up the phone.

I headed the third column, People who will feed me. (A girl's gotta eat.) This list included my mom, who still cooks as if all her kids were living at home, my friend Cheri whose live-in ex-boyfriend is a chef, and a handful of friends who didn't mind sharing their table scraps with an out-of-work writer.

Armed with my list, I began calling or e-mailing all the people in my networking column. Most of them couldn't directly help me with work but offered to keep their eyes and ears open for opportunities to send my way.

Initially, my definition of ''opportunities'' was full-time employment in an advertising, marketing, or PR firm. That definition was quickly downgraded to any job or freelance work that involved writing, which eventually ended up meaning anything I could do to make money and still keep my dignity.

The first person on my networking list to come through with work was my sister. She desperately needed a reliable baby sitter and figured she'd rather pay me and be assured the kids were in good hands rather than someone she barely knew.

After the first full day of baby-sitting, I felt like I had been working 60-hour weeks for three months. Now I understood why my sister would occasionally look at me wistfully and say, ''Don't knock being single.'' I also learned never to trust a 3-year-old who tells you he doesn't have to go pee before you leave the house, and that hair, according to my 5-year-old niece, can be a great place to put your gum when you're not chewing it.

Another contact got me a last-minute job waiting tables at an overbooked, understaffed ''haute cuisine'' restaurant. Luckily the patrons didn't seem to mind my glaring lack of training as long as I kept their champagne glasses overflowing. Despite the fact that I hadn't waited tables since college, I made over $200 in tips and finagled a free meal by discreetly downing an array of French hors d'oeuvres that I probably couldn't afford even when I was working. Actually, I really made about $196.50 if you subtract for the bottle of Tums I had to buy on the way home.

The most interesting job I had during my 18 months of unemployment has been at a medical research firm. A contact from my networking list was kind enough to offer me a part-time job there. So I've gone from sitting at home in my pajamas, to fielding calls from research patients who assume that I'm a registered nurse simply because I answer the phone.

While I have no medical background, I'm quite sure the Hippocratic oath clearly states ''do no harm.'' Therefore, about 10 minutes into every conversation I have to tell the patient, ''Hey, I have no idea what you're talking about, I'm just an out-of-work writer!''

Usually there's dead silence on the other end of the phone, but occasionally a few people are curious enough to ask what kind of writing I do. After I tell them, they go on for a few minutes about how much they've always wanted to write, to which I reply, ''Take it from me, don't quit your day job!''

On the up side, I'm happy to report that recently some freelance work that's more in-line with my first definition of ''opportunities'' has come my way. The work paid enough to elicit a faint sigh of relief from my bank account, but not enough to allow me to relinquish my stint at the medical research firm.

Whatever the future holds, I feel secure knowing that I can count on my list of family and friends to stand by me -- that is if they haven't already switched to unlisted phone numbers.

Lisa A. Pacitto can be reached at lpacitto@juno.com.