“I’m sorry. But you’ve got no experience. No training. And regardless… we simply can’t hire someone who’s not legally allowed to work.” She had a look of pity on her face. She no doubt guessed from my pleading expression of desperation that I’d heard this dozens of times before.
I lifted myself up from the chair, thanked her for her time, and left.
Over the last month, I’d written, printed, and sent hundreds of resumes to as many businesses. I’d called every one of them several times. A fraction of them had agreed to interview me. But every time, the response was the same. “Sorry…”
Even the restaurants wouldn’t hire me.
As I stood on that cobblestone street in the scorching Andalusian sun, I thought, “I can’t do this anymore. No one is ever going to hire me.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the receipt from the ATM.
Balance: $436
Not even enough to buy a plane ticket home. I’d have to ask my parents for help. And of course they would help. But the shame and embarrassment… the feeling of failure…
What the fuck was I thinking, anyway? What? Did I think that I was just going to stay in Spain (illegally), send out a couple resumes, and within a couple days have a nice, stable job? I was a fucking idiot.
I opened the door to the tiny single-room apartment I’d rented. Julieta was there standing over the little two-burner stove preparing lunch.
As we sat at the small two-person table eating lunch, I stared through the one and only window, looking at nothing.
“I’m going to have to leave,” I said. “Nobody’s going to hire me. I’m never going to get a job.” I paused for a moment. “And I’m out of money.”
I wanted desperately to stay. Julieta was beautiful and incredibly intelligent. She was kind, and warm, and passionate. And we shared a deep appreciation for flamenco.
I was in love with her. I had tried so hard.
But now I was broke with only a few hundred dollars to my name. I had no income; no way to earn money. And no one was ever going to hire me.
“Who says you need a job?” she said.
“Um… If I don’t have a job, I won’t have any money,” I responded. “And if I don’t have any money, how the hell am I going to pay the rent here? How am I going to buy food?”
“A job isn’t the only way to make money.”
She proceeded to describe an idea.
“Everybody here wants to learn English. And they want to learn from a native English speaker. You could print flyers that advertise an English tutoring service. And you could post those flyers all over town.”
Well… I’d spent the last month walking up and down the streets of Granada trying and failing to get a job. I could surely endure another couple days walking up and down the streets of Granada taping flyers illegally to the sides of buildings.
I sat down at a computer in the web café. I had 5€, enough to buy me 30 minutes of time and to print one copy of my flyer.
Aprende inglés
Tutor nativoLlama a David
667.938.461
Learn English. Native-speaking tutor. Call David at 667-938-461
I walked down the street to the printer and made 100 copies. Then I took my 100 copies and a roll of tape and started walking.
Two days later, I got a phone call.
“Hello, is this David?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“I’m calling about the English tutoring.”
Sometimes, because a particular solution to a problem is all that we've known, we blind ourselves to alternatives. Sometimes, it's worthwhile to let your imagination run wild and ask, "What other crazy and unorthodox solutions might be possible?" Then, give some of them a try.