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query
Okay, so I went into the office to apply for the newspaper job, and made the mistake of going in on a Friday (which was apparently a bad idea, considering that there was one person there; I'll go back Monday.)
Leading me to a question.
A million years ago (well, ten years ago) I actually worked at a paper, writing features and doing ad layouts. (With glue and clip art. It was a very small paper, in a very small town.)
But the point is twofold: (a) I have no references (because no one that worked there is still there) and (2) I still have all my clippings, I believe. (I worked there for nearly six months. They loved me.)
So what do I do? I have no work references at all - my last job was ... almost five years ago, and was a student job, which means that everyone concerned has undoubtedly graduated. Should I try and set up an appointment and polish up my resume and bring in a folder of clippings and pray? Because I know damn well I can do this, but I have no actual work references of any type.
God, I suck at this work thing. I hate that I allowed this to happen to myself. If Chris died tomorrow, I'd probably be living in a cardboard box. *dark mutters full of self-loathing, facepalm*
Leading me to a question.
A million years ago (well, ten years ago) I actually worked at a paper, writing features and doing ad layouts. (With glue and clip art. It was a very small paper, in a very small town.)
But the point is twofold: (a) I have no references (because no one that worked there is still there) and (2) I still have all my clippings, I believe. (I worked there for nearly six months. They loved me.)
So what do I do? I have no work references at all - my last job was ... almost five years ago, and was a student job, which means that everyone concerned has undoubtedly graduated. Should I try and set up an appointment and polish up my resume and bring in a folder of clippings and pray? Because I know damn well I can do this, but I have no actual work references of any type.
God, I suck at this work thing. I hate that I allowed this to happen to myself. If Chris died tomorrow, I'd probably be living in a cardboard box. *dark mutters full of self-loathing, facepalm*