Java Jan

A few years ago on a lazy Sunday laundry day, I couldn’t find any change for the machines. I ripped my purse and backpack apart, opened every pocket and tore my room apart. Nothing. How could this have been possible? I had taken out money from the ATM at the beginning of the week and hadn’t bought anything.

My housemate leant me some coins for the machine and as I sat babysitting my clothes, I wracked my brain to figure out where those crisp $20 bills had vanished. My answer came later that day when I went to take out the garbage and noticed the mountain of coffee cups with my name butchered a million different ways. How could I have become one of those people? When worked at Starbucks, I’d make fun of the customers who were so addicted their house would end up repossessed, but I too had gone to the dark roast side.

Coffee chronics like me are the reason why there are a plethora of crappy coffee memes with sayings like “Keep Calm and Brew Coffee” and “Sometimes I Like Coffee More Than I Like People”. I was thrilled when I found out that grocery carts now have cup holders, I buy gum in bulk so I can always avoid coffee breath and I have spent more time debating whether I should get a light or medium roast than planning for my retirement.

Don’t get me wrong, coffee is delicious and wonderful and absolutely deserves to be a staple in our daily diet, but I (and the rest of the world quite frankly) needed to take it down a notch.

The pure laziness of coffee drinkers is astounding. For a long time getting a coffee for the road was something that only tradespeople, nurses and doctors did to be alert for the 12-hour shift that lay ahead of them. Nowadays, someone with a cushy 9 to 5 desk job can’t even dream of heading to work without coffee, even though there’s a high-tech espresso machine in the office. People who have high-tech espresso machines in their own homes don’t have the strength to use them until they have a cup prepared for them from a cafe.

Now, let’s talk about the ridiculousness of cafes. In the beast that is the cafe line-up, you’ll gaze upon a chalkboard cluttered with every beverage but drip coffee. Instead, you’ll see lattes and cappuccinos with disgusting flavours. When will people realize that Pumpkin Spice tastes like microwaved cough syrup? I swear that the flavour combinations get more and more bizarre every time I go to a cafe. Before you know it Lemon ‘n’ Lamb lattes will become THE drink at Easter. When you do find the drip coffee, you’re then faced with the challenge of deciding which roast to get based upon their flavour profiles, which sound like they were either written by a gardener or a 5-year-old. Words like ‘balsam’, ‘earthy’ and ‘caramelly’ get thrown around. I mean cmon, who doesn’t want a piping hot cup of Christmas tree first thing in the morning? After deciding to go with the ‘smokey, balsam flavoured’ roast, you might make a decision that could overthrow all of your hard work: adding dairy or nondairy milk to your coffee. Who knows how long the milk carafes have been in front of that sunny window, or if the almond milk has passed the expiration date? Your $8.00 drink could be poisoned with just one splash.

Drinking coffee at work creates all kinds of craziness. After your first cup, the rest of your day is spent travelling back and forth from your desk to the lunchroom to get more. It’s a miracle you and your co-workers can find each other or make it to meetings on time. And coffee isn’t just consumed when you’re working. Some freaks drink it along with their lunches. I’m sorry, but whether it’s spaghetti and meatballs or butternut squash soup, coffee and certain flavours just don’t mix!

In addition to drinking it, coffee’s infiltrated every other aspect of our lives. Did you know that accepting a coffee during a job interview can negatively affect your chances of getting the position? The sounds of a coffee shop are now on ambient playlists to help people concentrate. I have seen countless Art Nouveau illustrations of chic women holding coffee cups on everything from tote bags to laptop covers. There are espresso scented candles and not only can you have coffee flowing through your body, but you can scrub it onto your body with bath products.

We have been drunk on java for too long and it’s time to slow down! Instead of drinking five cups of coffee a day, drink three; use the espresso machine your parents bought you four Christmases ago; and most importantly, take the time to sit and enjoy your coffee with your family during breakfast, or sip it slowly as you catch up with a friend.

Nowadays, I have plenty of laundry money. I (for the most part) only get coffee from a cafe when I’m sitting down to do work; I drink one small cup of coffee and one cup of tea a day; I’m not nearly as jumpy as I used to be; and I now think about my retirement plans way more than which roast I'm going to get.

But one thing remains the same: baristas still think my name is Jan.

Resumes of Fire

Congratulations! You have qualified to compete in the Olympics. The Job-Hunting Olympics, that is. Whether your contract has just ended, or you’ve been laid off, you’re about to enter one of the most challenging competitions on Earth. There are numerous events you’ll be competing in, so let’s get you in fighting shape.

The Opening Ceremony

Since no one has money anymore, your opening ceremony will consist of listening to a job-hunting playlist on Spotify or Apple Music.

Alright, time for your first event.

Long Distance Job Hunting

One of the most thrilling events involves the extensive search to find a job to apply for in the first place. Speed and endurance are of the essence as you’ll be pouring through every online listing you can find, and your fingers will need to keep good form to last the long hours of monotonous Googling and filling out temp agency applications. Even though you could end your job hunt by accepting that offer you got on LinkedIn from a shady insurance company, you must stay focused and not give in. After ripping your hair out and having recurring nightmares about being homeless, your hard work will pay off and you’ll find a position that’s perfect for you… And the application’s due tomorrow morning. This brings us to your second event: The Qualification Pentathlon.

The Qualification Pentathlon

Much like the pentathlon sporting event, the qualification pentathlon is filled with randomness. Why the hell someone thought that swimming and horse riding belonged in the same event is beyond me and when you read the job descriptions of some positions, you’ll wonder how certain requirements could possibly go together.

Since we live in a digital world, it’s no surprise that more and more jobs require certain digital skills; however, it’s pretty odd that a janitor needs to have custodial experience, be an HTML expert and know the Adobe Creative Suite. Are you fluent in multiple languages? Let’s hope to God you are. Whether you’re making lattes or curing cancer, chances are it would be “an asset” if you were fluent in English, French, Cantonese, Punjabi and/or Greek. It’s interesting this is so important to employers, though. The majority of people who are fluent in multiple languages are from different countries with non- Anglicized names, and recruiters have this weird habit of overlooking resumes with names they can’t pronounce.

Oh, and I almost forgot, even though you’re applying for an entry level job, it’s required that you have 4-5 years’ experience in a similar role. Since you juuust barely meet the requirements, you have got to be flexible, which leads us to your next competition.

Professional Experience Gymnastics

Stretching, twisting and contorting your actual experience level to look more qualified than you actually are must become second nature to you. You might not have a biology degree, but you could totally be a research assistant. I mean, you did win second place in your grade 11 science fair. Hell, with all the time you’ve spent Googling job listings, you’d be perfect for a search engine optimization position. And if you don’t have hard numbers to prove your achievements, no problem. Take the rhythmic gymnastics approach and make your resume look really pretty to impress the judges. Alright, the competition’s not over yet.

Synchronized Resume Writing

In order to keep your sanity, it’s best to get out of your cramped apartment and have a change of scenery when you’re writing resumes. For most people, this leads them to their local indie coffee shop or Starbucks. When you step inside, you’ll soon realize that everyone is there for the same reason you are. Once you’ve got your flat white and you’re all settled in, it’s time to begin the Dance of the Job-hunters.

Instead of flowered bathing caps and sparkly bathing suits, the outfit consists of thick-rimmed hipster glasses, a 90s inspired wardrobe and a MacBook Air. Your choreography will consist of the following movements:

1) Open the laptop.

2) Feverishly type.

3) Sip the coffee, then set it down.

4) Stare off into space, bored out of your skull.

5) Check Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, etc.

6) Glance at the time and realize you need to stop fucking around and get back to work.

7) Sheepishly ask the person next to you if they’ll watch your stuff as you go to the bathroom.

And repeat. You’ll be judged on your technical merit, artistic impression and the volume of work you accomplish in the time you’re there.

And eureka! You’ve just received an email requesting that you come in for an interview…tomorrow.

Group Interview Wrestling

You’ve got an interview with your potential new boss and are ready to suck up more than Jimmy Fallon does with late-night guests. But when you get there, you discover that you and five other people will be doing this at the same time. Not to worry. When your opponents give examples about how they handled a difficult customer, you’ll take them down with an even better story. When they confidently describe themselves as a team player, you’ll give a dazzling example that’ll put those bozos in a mental headlock. And when they blather on about what they’ll bring to the company, your response will be a grand amplitude throw of an answer and you will be on top, my friend. For a while, at least.

Emotional Weight-Lifting

Alright, you’ve made it to the finals! You think your interview went well, but days have passed and they said they would’ve contacted you by now. You don’t have any more interviews lined up, and your credit card was declined for a $0.91 bagel. Being able to carry the soul-crushing anxiety of unemployment and still be a somewhat pleasant person is undoubtedly the hardest event in the Job-Hunting Olympics. But even though you may feel like a spindly weakling, you have the strength of a huge Romanian and are capable of carrying on.

Crossing the Finish Line

And it’s a good thing you hung in there, because you got the gold: you got the job. Turns out one of your references was on vacation and your new employer just needed to hear back from them. You start in three days, so it’s time to rejoice and enjoy your last few days of freedom.

The Closing Ceremony

You deserve to let loose and celebrate. Buy a few organic groceries for yourself and of course you’ll have to go shopping to get new work clothes. Who cares if you charge it to your credit card? In four weeks’ time you’ll be raking in the dough (since payroll always screws up your first paycheck somehow).

Live it up in the off-season as much as you can because the Job-Hunting Olympics comes around every four months when your contract’s up.

Godspeed and good luck to you.

She Didn't Want to Wear an Itsy, Bitsy, Teeny, Weenie, Yellow Polka Dot Bikini

I love going to my local YMCA. The intimidation I usually feel at other gyms doesn’t exist at the Y. Whenever I’m there, I’m surrounded by old ladies trying to do beginner’s pilates, middle-aged guys panting on the stair masters and little kids staring off into space during karate classes. But the best part is the pool.

When I first got a tour of the place from the perky front desk attendant, I was immediately sold by the huge pool that would keep me cool during the brutally hot Toronto summers.

But when the disgusting heatwave arrived, I stayed on dry land. Yes, even though I had access to a refreshing swim everyday, I stayed in my boiling, un-air conditioned apartment that was so revolting I put my sheets and pillow cases in the freezer for a few hours before I went to sleep. You see, when I got my membership I forgot that a few years back I lost the most perfect bathing suit on the planet. And the only one I owned.

Big Red was a sporty red one piece I bought 12 years ago and no matter how much weight I gained, it fit me like a glove and looked brand new. It was like The Sisterhood of the Travelling Bathing Suit! So, why did I prefer to roast like a chicken instead of getting a new suit? Because there’s something far worse than being so hot you’re sweating behind your knees: bathing suit shopping.

Music cue: the theme to John Carpenter’s Halloween.

Every time I have shopped for a bathing suit, it’s been a nightmare. I can’t believe a tiny piece of fabric could cause so much misery. I highly doubt any guy has shuddered at the thought of buying swim trunks because the men’s section is ⅛ the size of the women’s. I get dizzy when I walk into the women’s swimwear section and see the racks jammed with every colour, shape and material on Earth. How do you know which items are part of the mix ‘n’ match sale? Which patterns are cultural appropriation? Why in hell would anyone want a bikini made of mohair? Why?!

After hours of deciding which items I should try on, I always end up in a changeroom that’s a claustrophobic hellhole. I have dealt with doors that creaked so loudly they belonged in a haunted house from Scooby-Doo, smashed my elbows into the walls as I struggled to put on a halter top and not once has there been a mirror INSIDE of the changeroom. I’ve always had to step out and look at myself in the public mirror in the changeroom area, and this usually happened on a day when I accidentally wore granny panties instead of a thong underneath the bathing suit I was trying on. I looked like I was wearing a diaper. And there’s always a weird 12-year-old boy waiting for his mom or a creepy old guy waiting for his wife when I’m in front of the public mirror. The last time I shopped for a swimsuit, I got locked out of my change room and waited in the cold for what seemed like an eternity.

Now, when I wear a bathing suit, I want to be covered. If I had my way, I would wear one of those old-timey bathing suits from the 1920s, but I also don’t want to wear so much fabric it feels like I’m in a wet blanket when I’m swimming. One pieces are usually my go-to, but they’re usually full of hideous colours, frills and tummy tamers. I mean, I want to cover up, but I want to look somewhat decent. After getting flustered and frustrated with the one-pieces, I’ll reluctantly move on to the bikinis and if there isn’t a problem with the top, there will be a problem with the bottom.

The abuse your knockers will go through while trying on bikini tops is awful. I’ve tried on tops that have squished them so close together, I worried I wouldn’t be able to separate them again. One top hoisted my cans so high it’s a miracle I didn’t suffocate. And some tops provided no support whatsoever. Oh, and I want thick, industrial strength straps to keep the girls in place, not flimsy decorative straps that are all the rage. When it comes to bikini bottoms, the Holy Grail is the boy short. These are a Godsend because they not only cover the enormous cafe-au-lait birthmark on my butt, but also, the majority of my butt, like a pair of shorts. But over the years this tried-and-true staple has become almost as skimpy as a thong. Even the high waisted or “full coverage” bottoms leave little to the imagination.

I seriously think bathing suit shopping could be used as a form of torture. The last time I went bathing suit shopping, I tried stuff on for almost five hours. My stomach was eating itself, nothing fit and that awkward kid was still in the hallway. Hell, I would’ve confessed to anything at that point. I wanted to give up so badly on that day 12 years ago, but even though I was going through hell, I kept going. In a huge pile of yet-to-be-tried-ons, Big Red shone bright. Reluctantly, I tried her on and it was like she’d been made for me. The girls were supported and I didn’t have cyclops cleavage! My butt was covered so well you’d never know that beneath it was a trip to sag city!

And now Big Red’s gone!

This summer has been the hottest on record and I give up. My fight against the bathing suit monster has come to an end, and I’ve been left with no choice but to embark on a journey to find this ridiculously complicated garment.

Maybe swimming and I just aren’t meant to be. Maybe I’m only meant to be a toe dipper or the person who stays with everyone’s stuff at the beach so it doesn’t get stolen, but I’m going to fight as hard as I can to cool off.

Even if I do find swimwear that’s half as good as Big Red, there’s going to be a new nightmare to deal with: the awkward boys and creepy old guys swimming next to me.