Journalism in the 21st Century

Today has not been a red letter day. First, seeing that I was in need of a job I decided to apply to waitress locally. Yet I soon got a call and they asked if I could do office work. Then when I showed up to do office work, the rotund proprietor asked behind his messy desk: "How much can you lift?" Earlier, he had asked what I had been doing in England ("studying") and then asked if I had made any money writing or if it was (then he laughed) just, you know, a hobby. I left that interview thankful that at least I had a real job interview on Thursday, for a reporting position in New York. I had walked by the Nissan dealership and spoken to the young salesperson. "I won't buy a car til I get a job. This is my third interview so I feel I will probably get it." Then I got on to the computer just now and had received an e-mail from HR: "Sorry, Laurie, but Hector (not his real name) has decided to hire internally. We will retain your resume. Keep checkin...

When The New York Times published an article about the dour job prospects for women over 50, I rejoiced - not because I find such things worthy of celebration, but because I could relate. As I write this, it dawns on me that some will think it's sour grapes or there is something pathologically wrong with me. Maybe I get into job interviews and step on the interviewer's foot, show up late, smoke in the hallway or tell him all about how I like to make queer kitten sounds at the office Christmas soirée. But no, no, that's not me, and hasn't been me for all of the 23 or so job interviews I've had in this wonderful field we call journalism. What I have suffered from, though, is middle-aged woman syndrome. No longer taut, I find that projecting I can still be "taught" is tricky. Unless I'm interviewing with women my age or older, there is clear prejudice. Wait, back up, no it's not clear, it never is. I just lost out on a job I actually wasn't sur...