Tapping into the Entrepreneurial Spirit

In September, the unemployment rate for the state of California reached 12.2%. In the Bay Area, it is at 10.4%. Even though there were slight up-turns on wall-street, the unemployment rate is continued to rise until the middle of next year. That being said, finding a job in the Bay Area for a recent graduate pretty much sucks ass.

I've been hearing a lot of talk on different forums about how people need to create their own jobs instead of waiting for one and other people sharing entrepreneurial examples. Seems like just talk, considering that it is harder to get a loan these days. Despite the contradiction, I have decided to switch my brain into the entrepreneurial spirit mode and came up with two different money making schemes.

Hear me out:

Scenario 1:
I'm just about to bottle my first homebrew - the darkest and smelliest hefeweizen I've ever seen/smelt. I was thinking that I should set up a home brew shop for the homeless that enjoy a good drink that surround my apartment. I haven't decided the pricing yet, as it has to be very low to compete with the crowd favorite, Hurricane High Gravity malt liquor in a can.

Here are some of the figures that are in the equation:
Equipment: ~$100
Ingredients: $30
The ingredients make about 5 gallons of brew. That is a little bit more than 53 bottles of beer. If I were to sell the bottles at $0.83 a beer, that would give me $43.99. That's a $14 profit on the ingredients.

I would also create a recycling incentive for my customers. Return or give me 5 bottles, I will give one free beer. There will be restrictions on this incentive, however, as I probably don't have enough room for all of the bottles that I would get flooded with. Also, I don't want it to eat too much into my profits, but this way I don't need to figure bottles into my costs.

Making only $14 profit on a batch isn't great, but when you consider the actual time spent making brew, about 3-4 hours spread out over days, it's not too bad. Plus, I love to brew beer. You know what they say, "The first million is the hardest to make."

So maybe this is illegal and immoral, but from what I've read in the newspapers lately, people have made billions operating their businesses upon these principles.

Scenario 2:
Step 1: Get a sex change operation -- male to female surgery

This is a huge start-up cost, but the payoff will dwarf it. Once I fully appear to be a woman, I will enter the nunnery (not the whorehouse variety). I will study the bible and all about the sisterhood while hiding the fact that I once was a man. After I am ordained, or whatever the process is called, I will spend a year or two living the celibate life - shouldn't be hard (double pun).

After this period in which I have established myself in the Catholic nun community, then I will come clean. I will come out of the confessional and tell everyone that I was once a man. No doubt this will cause my banishment from the sisterhood.

After I am banished, I will alert the media. A media tour will ensue where I will plug an autobiography that I conveniently wrote during my time in the nunnery. My target audience will be the Nancy Grace, Jane Velez-Mitchell, and E! Entertainment crowd.

The autobiography will bring in millions and by the time this endeavor is complete, the recession will be ending. I will finally get an entry-level job and continue my career, much richer.

So, what do you think? Feasible? Any other suggestions?

Anxiety, Elation, and Depression on the Job Trail

Thursday Morning:

It's a beautiful morning in the Bay Area and a particularly exciting one for me because I have a job interview in South San Francisco. There is nothing that I like more in my short experience of the Bay Area than driving over the Bay Bridge. The best part happens right after you drive over the hump of the span between Treasure Island and San Francisco. The view of cars and the bridge ahead of you gives way to a breath-taking, panoramic view of San Francisco. A heavy concentration of skyscrapers lie to your right; in front of you and to the left, houses sit on rolling hills like birds resting on ocean waves.

I get to my interview 30 minutes early, but I already know what I'm going to say, so I listen to the radio. I walk in 15 minutes early, definitely clicked with the interviewers, and get back on the road. My interview was at 11. I reach my parking spot at 11:45. I head to the coffee shop and apply for more jobs. I go home feeling great for my interview with a different employer tomorrow. The light at the end of the tunnel is beginning to emerge.

Friday afternoon:

I had an interview with a non-profit in the Berkeley Hills. It blew up in my face. The questions they asked me were not congruent with my ideas of what the job would actually entail. On top of that, the executive director was a real bitch, who was late for the start of the interview, played on her laptop during the interview, and did not know any details of my resume. I shook her hand and walked away knowing there was no way that I had the position, despite the fact that I did quite well on the skills test.

I spent the rest of my day in self-doubt and feeling like shit. Will I ever find a job? The good interview from Thursday had not contacted me yet, despite the fact that they told me they wanted to fill the position immediately. If I don't get that job, I'm back to square one with no interviews lined up. I'm completely broke.

I lay on my couch, turn on "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia," and eventually fall asleep on the couch in the middle of the day.

The Perils of a Distant Parking Spot

It's a Sunday afternoon and I have nothing to do. The conventional excuses that keep me out of the gym won't work on a day like today (e.g. no time, too tired, haven't had anything to eat). So Heather and I get ready to go work out.

I dig my basketball shorts out of the hamper, find a comfortable t-shirt, and dig out my shoes. Next, search for my iPod. It's not in the usual spots, which include counter tops, tables, the floor, under the couch, the coffee table, etc. Whenever this is the case, I know that Heather was picking up after me, and, her being a creature of organization, put it in her favorite spot, a desk drawer. Even though it is a very organized thing to do, ironically, it is the last place I usually check.

So I have my clothes and my iPod ready to go, now I just need to grab my backpack so I can safely stow my wallet, phone, and keys at the gym. That's when the deal breaker hit me.

"Shit," I say to Heather, "I don't have my gym lock. I remember seeing it my car the other day and thinking that I should bring it in, but it never happened."

"Well, what are you going to do?" Heather asks. I can feel my motivational rush start to wither down my spine - right into my ass.

"What can I do?" I say. I could walk to go get it. It's a long walk, but I mean, I going to work out anyways. What harm is there in a walk? Well, it is getting chilly out - that might suck. Plus, there are always bums on the street - I'd have to ignore them. Yup, I thought, I'm not going.

She gives me the look of disappointment. I tell myself to ignore this uncomfortable feeling - it will soon pass and then I can relax on the couch.

"I have an extra lock that you can use." Heather says, "It's right over here." She retrieves it from a well-thought out spot in her desk. She hands it to me and I look it over.

"I can't use this," I tell her.

"Why?"

"Because it is purple and pink. What will the guys in the locker room think?"

"Oh my God," she says.

"Think about it: if there is one place where the risk of homophobia runs high, it has to be in the men's locker room. I don't want to be put in that situation."

She is frustrated, but she won't say anything. She gathers her things and goes to the gym.

I sit on my trusty orange chair and kick my feet up onto the foot stool. Then I start to write a blog article. I comfort myself with the thought that atleast I'm doing something productive.