Old Dogs Need New Tricks

While health enthusiasts tout 50 as “the new 40,” those over 50 who are looking for a job will tell you they feel every one of their years, and then some. We, who had never before considered ourselves “old dogs,” now seem to have to come up with some new “tricks” to get any traction at all in the job application process.

I’ve been looking for work for more than 18 months. A “headhunter” I respect tactfully, but emphatically, insisted I remove from my resume the year I graduated from college. She also recommended that I summarize the jobs and experience I had in the earlier years of my career (anything more than 10-15 years ago). Okay, I get it. At first blush it’ll look like I’m a decade or two younger than I am. But anyone who’s really reading a resume—and most people who hire usually do read resumes pretty closely—can do basic math. And lest they get the impression that I leapfrogged from one job to the next over a matter of months, they likely can figure I’ve been in the workforce for more than two decades.

So when did that get to be a liability? When I was in the position to hire staff, I looked for applicants who had experience that jibed with the job for which I was recruiting. Does experience “expire,” at some point, turning sour like dairy products past their prime? I think of myself as “seasoned,” infinitely better at what I do today than I was 10 or 20 years ago because of the experience I have. I bring keener judgment, more finely honed skills and a gravitas that engenders trust. Still, I am clearly not the applicant of choice, these days.

And so I was thinking, in an ideal world what new tricks might come up with to support myself (and my family) into my old(er) age? Driving down the road the other day I passed a group of day workers standing near a large home improvement center. Easy pickin’s for shoppers who need extra labor for their projects:  a clear relationship between the guys waiting for work as laborers and the store they chose to stand near.

Shortly thereafter, I hit a red light and while stopped, noticed a man holding a cardboard sign at the corner: “Need $ for food.” A very direct message.

“Me, too,” I thought.

And then another thought:  Wouldn’t it be a neat trick if there was that sort of defined, quick connection between work and sustenance. For instance, in an ideal world I might offer my services—in exchange for what I actually need to live—to the very purveyors I buy from. I could work a few days for PG&E in exchange for my electricity and heat; for my landlords to cover my monthly rent; for ARCO in exchange for gas for my car; and, perhaps, every couple of months for the woman who cuts my hair. A few hours every week at Petco would cover dog food, and another few hours for the vet to build a reserve to cover vaccines and sick-animal visits. A sort of modern-day barter system.

Of course, labor laws, tax laws, health laws, and myriad other regulations conspire to keep this idea a mere pipe dream. But the mere realization that I thought of it leaves me somewhat optimistic that this old dog might, at some point, come up with some other new “trick” that could render me employed, or in a position to generate an income.