I Should've Known Better. . .

My husband will be the first to tell you that I don't deal with rejection very well. Whether it's bein' turned down for a romantic interlude, a bad review on my fan fiction, or bein' turned down for a job I applied/interviewed/tested for, when the rejection comes, depression kicks into overdrive.

Though I'm currently workin' part time at a job I enjoy 99.9% of the time, drawin' partial unemployment requires me to make three attempts to find full time employment each week. This doesn't just mean filin' an application. It means at least testin' or interviewin' with a potential employer. There is the potential for me to move to full time with current employer, but that's a time consumin' process, and I am strivin' to earn that priviledge. In the meantime, I follow the rules.

So imagine my surprise to get an email invite to an open house from an employer that I worked briefly for last year. The employer will remain nameless. Suffice it to say, the parting of ways wasn't pleasant and completely unexpected. Part of me thought it'd be better to stay away and not attend. But, the invtie came from the company's HR department. They'd know whether I was eligible for rehire with the company itself, right? After all, the department that was conductin' the open house/hiring event was the same one I'd worked for last year. No harm, no foul. Right?

WRONG!!!!!!!

So I get all spiffed up, print out a resume, and drive to the open house several hours before going to work for the day. Walk into the main entrance and register at the front desk for the open house. Get directed to have a seat in the nearby auditorium. Sit down and make self comfortable. A representative from the company's HR department and another from the department searchin' for workers stand in front of the assembled throng to welcome us, explain the process and what we can expect.

Suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder. Security is standing behind me.

"Please come with me and bring your belongings," the security guard intones ominously.

Despite the pronouncement to bring my stuff, my first thought is that someone's hit my car. It never occurs to me that the guard is there to remove me from the premises.

Curious onlookers gaze at us. There are whispers in the air. I try to act non chalant about the matter, stand up straight and follow the security guard from the auditorium. Once the doors close behind us, the guard advises me to leave the premises or be charged with trespass.

I pull out a copy of the email sent to me. "I'm not tresspassing, I was invited!"

"You can either leave on your own, or in police custody," the guard replies, refusing to look at the printed email in my hand.

The guard walks me out the door, and stands out front watching me make my way to the car, his cell phone in hand. He continues watching until my car is out on the street, then he walks back into the front entrance.

I pull the car over, shaking with fury. I'm pissed, and hurt. My fist punches the seat next to me, making the car rock. Passing vehicle drivers gaze inqusitively at me, wondering what is wrong with me. I halfway expect to see the local police pull up behind the car with their light bars flashing. I work to regain control of my anger, outrage, and hurt.

Once I feel under control, I start the car and pull away from the scene of my embarassment and head on to work. I still feel hurt and dejected, and the day doesn't get any better. I'm glad to see home and a safe emotional port.

My question to you, Mr. or Ms. HR Rep, is this: don't all y'all check your frackin' personnel files before sendin' out invites like that? Or do y'all get some kind of sick satisfaction in treatin' former employees like somethin' found on the bottom of your boots after walkin' through a cow pasture in the rain?

Frankly, I suspect the latter.

There's a sayin' about not bein' able to go back. I guess that's quite true. Just because you're invited doesn't necessarily mean you're wanted. From now on, those invites are goin' into the trash and/or spam folder.

Obviously, while a former employer may want help, they don't want my help. Even if they invite me.