A laugh-out-loud debut novel about the minefield that is unemployment, the pursuit of the ultimate career, and the annoying habit of falling in love at inconvenient times.
Sarah Pelletier is unemployed and in a very bad mood. Her film company has tanked—right before Christmas, no less—leaving her with one lousy swivel chair and a lifetime supply of paper clips. Her headhunter is a fool who can’t pronounce her name; her irritatingly gorgeous roommate’s idea of a fun time is to drag her to pink-slip parties; and, to top it all off, her last twelve bucks are trapped in a Metro Card. Something has got to give.
So begins one smart twentysomething’s quest for the right job in New York City. After extricating herself from a morass of self-pity strewn with candy bar wrappers and wine bottles, Sarah turns to the all-important task of padding her résumé—while artfully dodging her parents’ attempts to bribe her into law school. Of course, padding your résumé puts you in jeopardy of being construed as over-qualified. In which case you might try unpadding your résumé, which then puts you in danger of being labeled inexperienced. Which leaves you with the option of stalking your ex-boss in the hope that she’ll drag you along in her ascent to greatness in another company. Unless she stabs you in the back first. Meanwhile, when a temp job saddles her with a massive crush on a Brooklyn-dwelling dreamboat named Jake, Sarah’s already full plate is crowded with lust, jealousy, and mild obsession, just when she’s trying to be professional.
This hilarious first novel from a confident new voice in women’s fiction offers a pitch-perfect take on the dignity-whittling survival game of job hunting—starring a lovably neurotic heroine whose problems ring refreshingly true.
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|Title of eBook: Pounding the Pavement|
|Release Date: 06-28-2005|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Crown Publishing Group|
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|Parent title||Pounding the Pavement|
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Pounding the Pavement
A certain nostalgia comes with having to revisit a resume. I long for the days when I was straight out of college, when padding a resume was the sort of challenge that fostered a liberating sense of artistic expression. In a field I once dubbed "Related Experience" (as opposed to my now dreaded "Work Experience") I could haughtily appoint myself such glamorous distinctions as the director of student films, an editor of the school newspaper, a writer for the campus literary magazine.
My resume, as it stands now, is nothing but a testament to dashed dreams and aspirations. And sadly, to make room for one disappointing failure after another, I've had to remove the silly tributes to my former glories as a director, an editor, and a writer.
The latest version of this curriculum vitae of mine currently lies faceup on the gray Formica desk in front of me, yet I cannot bring myself to meet its eye. It embarrasses me how my name leaps off the page, so cocky and bold. Yet despite my resume's seemingly desperate pleas for attention, Mark Shapiro, the stocky, bald-headed man who sits across the desk from me, pays no heed to it at all. Instead he fixes me with a steady, penetrating stare and an eager smile I find rather unnerving.
Mark Shapiro is my last hope. He's a headhunter.
Now, I don't really put much faith in recruiters, staffing agents, or any other slick hustler looking to pimp me out as a two-bit work whore, when really I'd much prefer to think of myself as a classy, full-service, employment escort. But my steady stream of interviews has recently dwindled to a minor trickle, and the tedium of having spent the last six mont