Confessions of an unemployed Diva
I got dumped by capitalism. I tell this to every encounter on any occasion, be it a barista or a financial adviser. It’s something that happens once in a lifetime. Or less.
As a Diva, I never related to ordinary people’s problems before. How could I possibly be fired from my own show? But here we are. Hashtag Open to be Fabulous next to a smiling headshot. Don’t ask me how I ended up among 1.2 billion of the most boring people on the planet. They call it LinkedIn, I call it audacity meets desperation.
I’ll tell anyway. I paid 10 grand to a career coach just to learn I’m… irrelevant.
“What’s your value proposition, Salanta?” she asked the very moment I made the transfer. That’s how I learned I was trapped. I would have walked away immediately. The problem is she doesn’t do refunds. I should never have mixed bubbles with bills. Lesson learned, Barbara. “Congratulations! You just flushed your indulgence fund down the corporate toilet,” she said. Or it was something else…
Now, with champagne budget exhausted, yes, even a Diva like me has limits, I have no other choice but to accept the challenge.
“When will I get a return on the investment?” I say.
“Now we are speaking!” says Barbara and hands me a manuscript.
She calls it a career roadmap. I call it conceptual art: doesn’t make any sense, overpriced. If I pin it at the gallery wall, it could go for an installation. Untitled.docx, I’d call it.
Barbara doesn’t let me expand further and kicks me out of her office. 24/7 support goes at extra cost.
So you don’t think poorly of Barbara, she is an award-winning career coach. Her bio says she successfully led 2000 people to the loss of purpose. Or it was something else…
Barbara is normcore-iconic. According to her, the corporate T-shirt is the new black in this season of mass layoffs and desperate job hunting. Leave Chanel for the poor. Upgrade to Amazon’s cotton T. It’s a 2-trillion-dollar company that you want to belong to, not an awkward fashion brand with a shady reputation.
She doesn’t flinch trashing my sequined jacket. Balmain! Really?
“Dress for the position”, says Barbara.
According to my career coach, Diva is not the position. Disagree! But then I retreat, and leave the premises before she has a chance to invoice me for extras. I know she’ll do it anyway, though.
Now I’m determined to prove her wrong more than ever! Barbara handed me the list of jobs she considers me a fit for. At no extra cost, I hope. She says she delivers on every cent. I say all these titles sound Chinese to me.
I thought a recession shed everything excessive, like the Happiness Manager position from my vacancies list. Little did I know. If anyone told me before that two hundred people in suits are forced to block out two hours for drawing mandalas, I would have laughed in their face. But here we are, managing happiness as if it were a tangible asset.
Then comes Customer Success: philosophical concepts wrapped in spreadsheets. And Scrum Master. Sounds like a spell to me. Whatever.
Nothing can stop me from getting back my champagne money. They say job requirements. I say no one can dim my greatness.
A week later I’m strutting into Barbara’s office, victorious, and eager to celebrate. But Barbara looks away when I tell her I burned a contract and spread ashes on the CEO. I blame it on her perfectionism. Next time I’m offered an 8-hour shift with one 15-minute break I’ll call press and throw a fire show. Human rights should be properly celebrated.
Then I pull out my wild card. I’m positive, this will make any career coach proud. I told a chairman that in five years I see myself firing him for bad taste. Good shot, right? But Barbara reaches for water and gulps it as if she were about to have a panic attack. I don’t understand…
I’m about to tell how I won a French cursing contest with five cofounders of a luxury hotel chain when Barbara rushes out of the room.
She’s gone for good. My email returned an auto-response she’s out of office, her agency and mind until further notice. Her secretary says she’s at the silent retreat, healing her inner child. Or it was something else… She blames it on me. I don’t understand… Should I send champagne for her inner kid or is it illegal?
Anyway, my corporate career is over. Barbara’s too.
