Nevergirl’s

There’s a new trend in the U.S’ layoff-beleaguered economy, and it’s one that’s keeping plastic surgeons happy.

In the old days, people had cosmetics surgery to improve their looks, correct physical defects, or steal someone else’s identity and go on a thieving or bombing spree somewhere in Lithuania. Today, they’ve added one more to this eclectic string of reasons.

The new argument for revisional rhinoplasty and other means of going under the knife? Career advancement. The staunchest prophet of this new gospel? Donald Trump.

His Hairness argues that the average worker ant has an innate desire not just to be near good-looking people but to please them as well. For this reason, they work harder to please beautiful bosses and jump at the opportunity to impress. This is why football teams with handsome quarterbacks generally have more success than those that don’t. This also explains why better-looking people command higher entry rates and tend to be promoted faster than their average-looking counterparts.

You would think that in this day and age, The Donald’s arguments would get laughed out of cubicles everywhere. But no, worker ants are sitting up and taking notes. One U.S News and World Report write-up notes that better-looking bosses are more persuasive and are generally perceived as more credible. In his article, Looks: Why They Matter More Than You Ever Imagined, Gordon Patzer suggests several means for prolonging your workplace effectiveness: teeth whitening, eyelid surgery, hair transplant, Botox, and yes, revisional rhinoplasty.

Clearly, it’s not just the fashion industry that’s obsessed with beauty. The workplace is, too. And even though His Hairness ends his post with some conciliatory line about average-looking people also doing as good a job as ‘em good-looking ones, some people now look onto a nose job as the best way to fast-track their climb up the ladder.

Believe it or not, today, workplace go-getters buff up their appearance along with their resume. Ridiculous, is what it is, and you can bet your next paycheck we’re not putting “must be conventionally good-looking” on our hiring ads. Not this year, and not in this lifetime.

Vet talked me into signing up for an online HR community months back. No, it did not turn me into a walking, breathing repository of HR information. What it did is route at least 30 emails a day into my inbox. And because I seldom check my emails, thanks to Globelines’ horrendously slow connection, I get stuck with manual inbox clean-up which involves sifting through chunks and hunks of mail – 598 at one time – to delete the ones that don’t matter and sort the ones that do.

My mail habits are the stuff jokes are made of — to the husband, anyway. He tells me it’s good I don’t check my mail regularly; otherwise, inbox clean-up would turn into a full-time job.

Today, I had another go at those posts. And what do you know? I got 600+ in three weeks! One mail made me laugh, however. It discussed the funniest ways people unwittingly sabotage their own job applications and resumes. The list includes:

1) writing down “occasionally” in the part where applicants must indicate their Sex
2) actually putting this line in the cover letter: I’m 16, pregnant, and can do anything.
3) adding “bi-lingual in three languages” as a skill
4) printing out your resume in colored paper, with cute or wacky fonts
5) providing an email address that is just, well, too odd for comfort (and just so you know, I’m guilty of this, too. My email address is literally justalittleodd@gmail.com)

All these bloopers considered, what does a fail-safe, professional resume look like? The mail provides this sample from one Dan Neumeister. It’s dry, it’s concise, and it’s focused.

But just so we’re clear on this, I’d probably take one look at professionally done resumes like his and feel drowsy two paragraphs after. There’s no accounting for taste. I really, truly prefer the applications that go: You should hire me because I bring doughnuts to the office on Wednesdays.

I woke up five minutes before lunchtime to find Alex thrusting dibidis into my hands. She was grinning from ear to ear, proudly, as if she had done something stellar. “Tita Line left that for you. Ako ni-talk niya because you and Dad were sleeping.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Rember* Dad said he will be mad at me if I disturb you and Charlie while you’re sleeping?”

Ah yes, strict orders to let the pregnant woman sleep. The hub gave it, the doc gave it; but the pregnant woman has trouble following it because a) her stomach is so heavy she aches all over and it doesn’t matter whether she’s lying down, sitting, or standing; b) the bump has gotten so huge there’s no comfortable way to sleep at all; c) the neighbor – the one whose one-time win in a local singing contest has convinced her she’s the next Sarah Geronimo – just wouldn’t stop trilling, “You don’t have to say you love me just be close at hand.”

I wonder how other pregnant women sleep. It’s the one thing I’m having a lot of problems with. The bump has gotten so heavy it interferes with my gravitational center. No matter which way I turn, I hurt. My back hurts, my waist hurts, my neck hurts, my shoulders hurt. And it’s not just sleeping I’m having problems with. The weight I’m carrying has turned simple activities into mini-ordeals. Sitting down for lunch is painful and so is going up and down the stairs. The only activity I can do freely and easily is eat, and I’ve been having a go at it like it’s nobody’s business. Before lunch, you’d find me eating fruit and crackers. After lunch, I’d be happily lounging before the TV eating salad and qaurtered apples. I refuse to worry about the weight gain. Eating takes my mind off the boredom and the pain.

I will be happy to pop. I’ve been dreading the day because while I may have forgotten many things about getting pregnant the first time around, the pain is the one thing I vividly remember — and this recollection becomes increasingly clearer the nearer I get to D Day. Still, 15 pounds is a lot of weight to lug around. I need respite from all this weight-lifting, and I need it so bad I’ve actually taken to begging my doc and the hub to let me walk about. Walking counts as a strenuous activity for me and if I do it often enough, I’ll go into labor. In theory, anyway.

Here’s to turning 34 weeks tomorrow!

* Rember – Alex’s way of saying Remember
** Thanks Line for the Dark Angel DVDs.