So far no luck has come of my job applications (the video game testing, though radiantly promising at first, has also fallen into the void of no response), and so I spent today sending out another volley of increasingly desperate cover letters and resumés.
After combing Indeed.ca and other online listings, I began to fall into the unavoidable misery that is applying for work in vast volumes. In person (perhaps because of the sheer adrenaline of it), I’m usually quite chipper and on a shakey high for the rest of the day. But something about clicking “Apply” on a personality-less search result, filling in a brief cover letter, uploading your CV, and pressing “Submit” leaves you feeling more drained and defeated than marching all day around town and hearing, “No” in person.
I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s because the confirmation email that arrives in your inbox declaring that, yes, you have successfully applied for this position, is the only response you’re ever going to get.
I’m not trying to be defeatist. But the lack of courtesy to even inform an applicant (who has, I might add, spent the time to read the list of requirements, craft a personalized cover letter explaining how those requirements are met by them, and then bravely sent a bit of themselves out into the Internet on the circuitry of hope) that no, actually, they’re not who the company is looking to hire, is straight up rude.
All you need is a once-written form letter and the ability to copy-paste. If a literary magazine is able to read through hundreds of story submissions and then email a rejection letter on top of it, surely this isn’t beyond the bounds of reason.
Instead, the unemployed person is met with silence. To say it’s demoralizing would be the understatement of the year.
Anyway, I was feeling frustrated and more than a little panicked about my financial situation, and ultimately decided that sitting in front of a computer was doing me no favours.
I wrapped up the last application and grabbed my bike to go for a ride. The mix of sunshine and physical exertion was exactly what I needed.
For the first while, I rode around the industrial sector of Chambly (read: where we have a McDonald’s, Tim Hortons, and Subway within fifty feet of each other) checking for “nous embauchons” signs (“we’re hiring”). I didn’t actually have any CV’s with me due to technical difficulties with my printer, so it was simply a relaxed scout of the local opportunities.
Once that was done, I continued my ride along the more scenic routes of Chambly. It occurred to me that I’m extraordinarily lucky to have such a nice series of bike paths in my town. So much so that I felt compelled to write about them here (although at the time I had planned less ranting about the job market and more gushing about the picturesque beauty of the town).
I went for a ride with Shiloh the other day. It takes about ten minutes from my house to make it onto the bike path. Here it is paved smoother than the roads themselves and lined with lovely landscaped gardens. It looks out over the basin across to the gentle humps of weathered hills tufted with new-budded forests. After spending so long in the UK, it’s strange to see a developed town surrounded by such comparative wilderness.
There’s no other word for it than beautiful.
Alas, that stretch only lasts so long, and so Shiloh and I continued our ride past the Fort, past the historical houses (hopefully a post or even some watercolours of those soon), and all the way to the main event: the waterfalls.
It’s manmade and therefore slightly less awe-inspiring, but the mist danced up from the churning foam and made rainbows in the sun which was good enough for us.
Strictly speaking, I’m not sure if it’s really allowed to go down on the riverbank – especially in the spring when the water level is higher from the melting snows – but we live on the wild side. Down to the rocks we went, bringing our snacks of gourmet olives, coconut macaroons, and a particular brand of Quebec cider that we bought for no other reason than it was called SMAC! (Definitely not allowed to be drinking that in public, but again: wild side).
As a happy side note, it ended up tasting not too different from one of my favourite UK ciders, Cloudy Apple. So going to hit up some SMAC! again soon.
Once we’d milked the cider for all the puns we could manage and were feeling adequately queasy from the combination of olive and coconut, we headed back: back through the quaint and pleasing scenery, rolling beside the still blue basin, pedalling the flat suburban roads.
It definitely is the best way I’ve found to unwind in Chambly, but even if I didn’t live here, I’d feel like it was a worthwhile destination as a cycling enthusiast. Indeed, I see many with their racing bikes and (extremely neon) aerodynamic outfits, both in groups and alone.
Hopefully on a day wherein I’m not pulling my hair out over joblessness I’ll be able to do a lengthy post about cycling in the area. It’s really worthwhile.
But for the meantime, I figured I’d give it a shout out.