stop! in the name of love

If you do a lot of driving... or walking... or going outside, you have probably seen hundreds of stop signs in your lifetime. Maybe even thousands. They are everywhere. They stand silently, doing their job of regulating traffic. Sometimes they are used for non-traffic applications, like keeping you from entering an exit door or making sure you don't proceed to the next page of a test before given the "go ahead" signal by the teacher. But no one really takes an interest in stop signs. They are just there, like trash cans or utility poles or that thing that holds the roll of toilet paper in your bathroom.

Well, stop right there.

My wife belongs to a Facebook group that concerns itself with events and happenings around our small community of Elkins Park, Pennsylvania. I don't belong to the group because anything I need to know about my neighborhood, I can find out by going outside and looking as far as my field of vision will allow. Or by not paying my property taxes. I'm sure I will find out exactly what's going on if I fail to do that just once. If, by chance, I really want to know how my neighbors feel about people who don't pick up after their dog or whether the nearby ice cream store is really gonna close for good this time or if I need a solid recommendation for a reliable electrician, I'll just ask Mrs. Pincus for the latest dope on the Elkins Park Facebook page. (and from what I have seen on a few "over the shoulder" scans of the page, the word "dope" truly applies.) In all honesty, none of those scenarios have come up yet, so I can see no need to actually join. Mrs. P will remain my liaison until I think things have gotten desperate.

At your service!

Between heated discussions concerning dog shit protocol and speculation about a proposed business opening in a neighborhood five-and-a-half miles away, a frequent topic on the Elkins Park Facebook page is the regular damage inflicted upon a single stop sign that stands at an intersection on a street that isn't even a real street. For a couple of years now, posts about this stop sign have been showing up on the Facebook page with some regularity. The stop sign's jurisdiction is a non-municipal thruway that serves as an access to a shopping center, as well as to a bigger highway on the other side of the parking lot of said center. Sure, there are other, less convenient routes to the highway, but this little thoroughfare is a shortcut and has become so well-traveled that it actually shows up in Waze directions when plotting out a route to the Pennsylvania Turnpike from our house. The street — imaginatively named "Shoppers Lane" — is policed at one point near the rear receiving dock of a Target — by this stop sign. By the looks of posted photos and gut-wrenching descriptions, it is a dangerous area for the likes of one little stop sign. It seems that the massive 18-wheeler delivery truck drivers have some difficulty backing their rigs up to the docks in the narrow space as determined by the poor placement of the Target building. After a futile series of forward-reverse-forward-reverse maneuvers, drivers wishing to maintain a schedule throw caution to the wind and, mostly likely accompanied by an inaudible "fuck it!," proceed to plow backwards into the stop sign in an effort to align with the dock and keep to a company-enforced delivery timetable. Poor "Stoppy" has been banged and dented and jolted and bumped more times than a demolition derby jalopy.

Oh yeah.... the members of the Facebook group have taken to call this scrappy little stop sign "Stoppy."

And ol' Stoppy has since garnered a fan base that rivals professional sports teams or the latest K-Pop darlings. Suddenly, information about when the next scheduled trash pick-up (interrupted by a Monday holiday) or where a dependable plumber can be had has taken a backseat to concern for the well-being of a three-foot metal sign. On any given day, there can be up to a dozen photos of Stoppy along with a few lines of sentiment for the now-beloved traffic fixture. Once, someone posted a picture of Stoppy with a necktie knotted nattily around its... its... um, well it isn't exactly a neck. Let's say stanchion, because that's what it is. But to Stoppy's followers and supporters, it's his neck.

Poor, poor pitiful me.

Stoppy has been photographed in various states of injury. He's been bent. He's been scraped. He's had half of his face torn off. His bright red paint has been scratched and pitted and dinged. His post, despite being wrapped in some thick protective padding, has been pulled down to a 45° angle, making poor Stoppy look like he's on his last legs... well, maybe not legs..... oh, you know what I mean.

During the throes of the pandemic, Stoppy was made into a symbol of hope and endurance for a number of members of the Elkins Park Facebook page. Their one-time informational and documentational posts had now taken on a spiritual tone. Stoppy was a symbol of faith, of redemption filled with promise... promise of a life pulled from the ashes of despair and rising up to restore us to a life we once knew.... or some such bullshit. Some folks were serious about this. Really serious. But, not everyone...

Mrs. Pincus is one of the nicest people I know — if not the nicest. However in the nearly 40 years we have known each other, a bit of the cynicism that is "Josh Pincus" has, unfortunately, tarnished her otherwise sunny disposition. She is still very sweet and kind, but this underlying acerbity that I so readily exhibit, has crept in to her personality like a weed — a sarcastic little weed (which, by the way, was my nickname in high school). Mrs. Pincus has posted her own photos of Stoppy, along with snarky captions right out of the Josh Pincus playbook. Although she gets her fair share of "likes" and "thumbs ups," there are those who don't find her comments the least bit humorous. Of course, in the world of comedy, that's when something funny becomes even funnier.

Just this past week, Mrs. Pincus was contacted by a reporter from the Philadelphia Inquirer, the once-mighty daily newspaper serving the once-fourth largest city in the country. The reporter explained to my wife hat she was doing a story on Stoppy and, in her research, Mrs. P's name came up. A lot. (Doing a story on Stoppy? Jeez, no wonder no one reads newspapers anymore!) Mrs. Pincus was, of course, flattered when the reporter started asking a barrage of questions, but soon turned leery when the inquiries leaned towards Stoppy's place as a spiritual representative for the Elkins Park community.

Whoa! Whoa! And whoa!

Mrs. Pincus politely interrupted to say that she didn't feel that way at all. The whole "Stoppy" thing was just a fun little distraction. If the reporter was looking for a divine awakening from a metal traffic governor, she should look elsewhere. The reporter continued along with her prepared questions, all answered with a palpable sardonic attitude by my wife. She pressed her angle, but Mrs. Pincus stood firm on her position, refusing to be swayed. The reporter thanked my wife for her participation and told her she'd let her know when the article was to scheduled to appear in both print and online.

When I left for work on Friday, I found a torn page from the newspaper laying on our front porch. I picked it up and immediately recocognzed a color photograph of good old Stoppy. I skimmed the article as I went back into the house to wake my wife and alert her of her pending fame. I noticed that she was only quoted once and her statement is more informational fact than her opinion of the whole "Stoppy" phenomena. It was fun to see her name in print — even for something as silly as a lengthy story about the metaphysical properties of a stop sign. Throughout the day, Mrs. P received plenty of accolades from friends and acquaintances regarding her fifteen minutes of fame. And then the day went on with attention rightfully directed towards more important matters. And that would be pretty much anything.

But, this shows no signs of stopping.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

strange days indeed

In May 2020, I joined the thousands and thousands of people across the country who lost their jobs due to the global COVID-19 pandemic. Losing a job is tough to begin with, but under these circumstances, a bad situation has been made more complicated. First, with businesses closing left and right, who is hiring? Second, what are the logistics of starting a job, what with the majority of the workforce who have managed to keep their jobs working from home. Am I really comfortable going into an office environment at this time? Add that to the fact that I am approaching my 60th year among folks charged with doing the hiring that weren't yet born when I took my first job. Well, let's just say that the stars aren't exactly aligning in my favor.

I have many, many years of experience in all aspects of graphic design, marketing, publishing and a few other fields whose technical description would just bore those unfamiliar. The problem is the process for finding a job has changed drastically since I was knocking on doors and passing around my then-sparse resume. Everything is done through the cold, faceless, impersonal internet. You upload your resume. You fill out a brief, identifying form and then you wait. And wait. And wait. Hoping that one of these offers will contact you for an interview. I have had a handful of interviews since May — some via Zoom and others on the good old-fashioned telephone. I have sent my resume to literally hundreds of posted job offers with only a few replies.

Just a few weeks ago, I saw an ad for a graphic designer at a local printing company. The abbreviated description of the position was very similar to positions I had held in the past. I sent my resume and, surprisingly, I got a response the next day. Via email, we arranged for and confirmed a time to speak on the phone. The agreed-upon time came and went. No call.

I emailed this "prospective employer." In my most polite manner, I sheepishly apologized  (as though I was my fault) for not being able to speak and asked if there was time that was more convenient to his schedule. This is his reply:

Please excuse me if I was difficult to get hold of. I've been swamped with applications, while at the same time needing to keep up with my customers and preparing for a changeover with my outgoing, very capable associate.

Have I viewed your portfolio? Do you have a website or a social media site which I can refer to? Have you visited our website? If you want to write me a short story as to what type of position you're looking for, and your present status, that would be one way for us to keep in touch. 

Any chance that we could talk this evening, around 6:30? 

Of course I was agreeable, despite 6:30 on his suggested evening was right smack in the middle of my wife and I attending to "guests" getting their curbside pickup at the pandemic version of our annual "Night Before Thanksgiving" dessert party. But, securing a job takes priority in my book, so I planned to sneak away for a bit, while Mrs. Pincus attended to our guests. I sent this "prospective employer" a link to my online design portfolio (as is done in these times) and told him I was anxious to speak at 6:30 that evening. He replied with this somewhat odd email:

Checked out your website. Interesting. Can I trouble you to please call me at 630 - 215.725.XXXX. I'm relaxing at that time after dinner, and I don't usually think about business matters. I might just forget. But on the other hand, I'll be happy to chat with you when you call.

Please take a look at our website beforehand, so you'll see what we do.

I visited his website. It appeared that he had merely filled in a supplied template with information pertaining to his specific business. It was minimally informative, but, honestly, nothing special. While I perused his website, he sent me another email. In this one, he noted the high school from which I graduated and asked if I grew up in Northeast Philadelphia. I found that to be an odd inquiry, but I replied that I did, but I now reside in a suburb just outside of the city limits.

At 6:30 that evening, I slipped away to the quiet second floor of my house and dialed this "prospective employer" at the number he supplied. After a few electronic rings, he answered. I introduced myself. He asked if I went to his website and I replied that I did. "So, whaja think?," he spat out, with a tinge of indignancy in his tone. I explained that he appeared to be a commercial printer and I have dealt with and worked for commercial printers over the past thirty years of my career. He interrupted me with a gruff correction. "We are a print broker." (A print broker is sort-of a "middle man." He does not own or operate an actual printing company. Rather, he uses actual printers to supply his orders, selling them to his own customers at a price marked up from the wholesale price he receives from the printer. A print broker is a glorified salesperson.) I happily expounded on my understanding of the "print broker" concept as well as my experience in design and project management. He interrupted me again. This time, he pressed the previously undisclosed "sales" aspect of the position. I flatly told him that I was not a sales person and that I would not be comfortable in a sales position.

He was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke.

"The real reason I wanted to speak to you, " he began, "was I when saw your last name, I figured you were Jewish. I am getting up in years and was hoping to sell my business. Jews are very entrepreneurial. Maybe you'd be interested in buying my business?"

I looked down to see that my jaw had fallen and was now laying of the floor between my feet. I was speechless. Speechless. Thoughts scrambled in my head. 

"I am not interested in buying a business at this time." I managed to get those eleven words out of my mouth.

"Okay." he laughed. "I have been swamped with applications. I wonder why so many artists are out of work and can't keep a job?" I surmised that this was a rhetorical question. He ended with "I'll be in touch. Send me some references." I said goodbye and he said goodbye.

I haven't heard from him and he hasn't heard from me, either.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

preaching and a-cryin', tellin' me I'm lyin' about a job

Once again, much to my shock and surprise, I found myself back on the job market. The last time I had to look for a job was approximately fifteen years ago. The methods for seeking employment had changed considerably since 2003 — and it was a bit daunting. 

First of all — and this was the scariest aspect of the whole procedure — fifteen years ago, I wasn't 56. Looking for a job when you are within ten years of retirement age is tough.  The reality is: the current world of graphic design is a young(er) person's world. And the actual process does not lend itself favorably to those of us with — shall we say — "experience." You see, there is no longer the opportunity to call a prospective employer and set up a face-to-face interview. Hell, you can't even drop by an office and present your resume because that office is on the fortieth floor of an office building and the lobby of that building is patrolled by uniformed guards that won't let you past the reception desk unless you actually know someone up in those lofty heights. Thanks Mohamed Atta, you motherfucker.

So, the preferred avenue at which potential employment is sought is now — ta daa! — the internet. Yep, websites like Monster and Indeed and Glassdoor and ZipRecruiter and LinkedIn are the way to go. A bunch of impersonal, electronic equivalents of the newspaper want ads or that bulletin board down at the  local supermarket. Every morning (I was still waking up at the same time I did when I was working), I'd diligently check each one of these websites and apply to each and every applicable position — and even a few that were slightly outside of my realm of expertise. I posted a reworked, streamlined version of my Curriculum Vitae, featuring only bulleted lists of my four most recent positions, edited down from a thirty-five year career of graphic design, illustration, publishing, advertising, printing.... I should probably turn this into a bulleted list. Once a job is applied for electronically, the next step is waiting. And waiting. And waiting. You see, there is literally no contact with those nameless, faceless folks who are offering jobs. There is no room for follow-up. There's no "hey, did you get my resume and can we discuss my qualifications?" There's no way of knowing if there even is a job available or if these folks are just testing the waters. Or worse... something more malevolent.

Nope.

On the final day of my tenure with my most recent employer, I received an email from one of the many companies to which I electronically sent my resume. The person identified herself as a recruiter from Tesla Motors. I vaguely remember applying for a graphic designer opening offered by an ad on one of the many online job boards. The recruiter, Sarah, invited me to an interview via Google Hangouts, a mode of communication with which I was unfamiliar. I figured it's some new technology that "the kids" use, so I better learn fast, lest I appear out of touch with current technology. Some quick research  and a bit of "trial-and-error" revealed that, once I was logged in to my Google account, I had access to Google Hangouts. I'm pretty savvy with other forms of social media, so I was able to figure out Google Hangouts in no time. I contacted Sarah at the appointed time and we began what looked like a Facebook Messenger session (or the old AOL IM, for those of you closer to my age). I thought it was a bit odd that Sarah was using a "GMail" account and not an official "Tesla Motors" email address, but when the chat turned to real graphic design questions, I changed my focus to the more important subject at hand. I was asked about my past design experience and the interviewer soon posed questions related to logo design and the entire creative process, using terms that were specific to the industry. Next, I was briefly informed that this was a "work-from-home" position and would require me to outfit a home office, then the conversation quickly turned to comfortable salary and benefits. After nearly an hour online, Sarah said she would present a transcript of our conversation to the hiring manager and I should "stand-by." And "stand-by" I did. For twenty minutes... while I was in the train station waiting for a train. (That's right, I participated in this entire interview on my cellphone!) Finally, Sarah returned to our "chat" and told me I had been hired by Tesla Motors. Then, she immediately sent me a lengthy list of everything that I would be required to purchase for my home office, including a Mac Pro and software, a Wacom tablet, a high-resolution flatbed scanner, a color laser printer and sundry other items that amounted to the contents of the average Staples store. I asked if I could have a phone number to speak to someone regarding this rather large purchase and eventual reimbursement. She assured me I would be speaking to someone soon, but failed to supply a phone number of any kind, instead, opting to supplement her list of essential equipment. I waited for a pause in the texts, quickly interjecting that I didn't think this was the job for me. She only replied "Okay" and disconnected from our conversation without inquiring about a reason for my change of heart. I was honestly confused and I second guessed my decision. Did I just turn down a job? But, the more I thought about it, the less sense the whole thing made.

A few weeks later, after sending countless (and I do mean countless!) applications to more employment offers than I can remember, I received an email from one "Michelle Technow," a recruiter from TSC Apparel. TSC was one of the many companies that was advertising for a graphic designer on several of the job-seeking websites. In the email, Michelle indicated that she wished to conduct an interview via Google Hangouts. I immediately became suspicious. Again, she was using a GMail email address instead of one from the company with whom she claimed to be associated. 

This time, I did a little pre-interview investigating. I went to the TSC website. They are indeed a legitimate company that supplies clothing to businesses on a wholesale level. I navigated to the "Careers" page of their website, where I was greeted by this message...

Holy shit! This is unbelievable! I took a screenshot of the message and quickly opened a Google Hangouts window to let Michelle Technow that I was ready to proceed with my interview. And I played dumb.

 

I waited a minute, then I sent the screen shot to her, along with a question about it.

And, again, I waited for a reply from Michelle Technow.... or whoever the fuck was on the other end of this bogus chat. I got nothing. As a matter of fact, the bright and colorful avatar of her (alleged) face went dim. I noticed that my message failed to send.

What on earth is this bullshit? Have people really sunk this low? Scamming some poor sap who is trying to find a job? Really? Really?? That's on the same level as kicking a puppy or cursing at a baby (and we certainly know that people do that!). Makes me lose my faith in humanity. Wait a second.... I have no faith in humanity. I haven't for a long time.

Anyway, after a long, tedious and very discouraging period of job hunting, I am now, once again, employed.

And I'm staying away from Google Hangouts.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com