The Lemon Life | online magazine offering a fresh perspective on post-grad life.

Words by: Lizzy Karp

Image by: Kessyie

In times of personal transition advice is everywhere. Billboards offer tag-line solutions, magazines issue glossy unemployment tips, and my mother’s daily motivation comes like a fortune cookie via text message.

I sought professionals for advice and went to the career center of my university, but was given lackluster career tips and sent on my way with a pocket full of links to websites. The Internet itself is home to heaps of instruction on how to succeed in life after graduation. Blogging know-it-alls defend their personal choices to live out of a backpack or peruse a PHD in Russian Studies and manipulate it into advice. Corporate career sites offer help but just want to eat up my resume. Most of the information floating around is like soft serve ice cream – sloppy, dished out in large servings and devoid of any real value. My confusion may be soothed for a moment but after the sugar high most advice gives me, I crash, remaining puzzled and uncertain.

Still walking the shaky bridge between school and success, my own transition time has brought me back to my old profession, watching children for money.  With a Craigslist posting and a lot of luck I found a remarkable family to work with and now spend my evenings with three wonderfully imaginative kids. An hour into one Monday dinner, eleven-year old Hershel asked me what I wanted to do with my life as he seemed sure that serving him rice and kale was not my lifelong ambition. I thought that question only lived in bars, shrink’s offices and on the steps of university libraries. But here I was explaining myself to inquisitive and optimistic eyes.

“I, uh, well – I’m interested in doing lots of things but …”

Hershel’s younger sister Neshema, inventing a game from my uncertainty, interrupted my scattered and pathetic answer. She announced I was to be in her office in five for an interview. Wasn’t the attraction to childcare the absence of a traditional workplace?

I arrived, on time, and faked the familiar nervousness and posturing of any other interview. Neshema sat across the kitchen table sipping hot chocolate as if it were a cup of coffee. Her wild curls fell into her eyes and she was fully engrossed in her part. Dressed in her father’s blazer she passed me her coveted Obama pencil and insisted I use it for good luck.

“What is your full name and why do you want to work here?”

“Elizabeth Heximer Pearl Karp and I need to pay my rent.”

Neshema scribbled my response on loose papers, announced that the question portion of the interview was over and it was time to listen to her interview tips. Her first suggestion was to have a nice appearance and she reminded me that it is important not to look crazy or dress like a goth. She also stressed the merits of showering and the importance of always eating lunch.

After my hygiene tutorial we moved onto vocabulary lessons. “Use big words” the tiny wonder demanded, and to illustrate her point she replaced the word ‘responsibility’ with ‘obligation’ in a sentence.

“Now did you see what I just did there? It’s like a trick.” Neshama said as if letting me in on a secret.

I am told that using bigger words to sound smarter is easy and just takes practice the way that someone who is bad at math can memorize their times tables.

Then all the job and interview advice I ever needed continued to tumble out of her mouth. She reminded me to always “be sneaky like a lawyer” and “ask questions you know the answer to”. I should never forget to bring my hefty resume.

Neshama continued. “Never say someone is wrong. Agree with them to their face and then write it down. Never let them see your paper. Never waste time.” I ate up each piece of advice like fresh fruit. Play made it authentic, partly because I was in character but everything she said was whimsical, naive and true. It lacked the heavy, manipulative and authoritative tone that I expected to hear when asking for help while revealing the absurdity in the whole process. Why should I ever second-guess myself when all I really needed was the confidence and imagination I had in grade four?

Our interview ended and I was sent out of the room with a “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.”

Later as I tucked the blankets up to her chin, Neshema sleepily revealed,

“When we were playing interview I had no idea what I was talking about. I don’t even know what a resume is.” When it comes to words of wisdom these were some of the best I have ever received, and as I left that chilly evening the two strongest followed me home; people love to give advice and nobody really knows anything.

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