You can't kill the rooster

I had heard, through the grapevine, there was going to be a job opening up in the medical/dental clinic soon. I had been told there was a hygienist "leaving soon" by one of the dentists at the dental clinic back in July. I decided to circumvent the civilian employment office and took my resume to the dental clinic in person. There wasn't a dentist available to talk to, and no one at the front desk seemed to know anything about an opening or need for a hygienist. However, they were kind enough to get the head hygienist to talk to me. This is what I learned. At Spangdahlem air base there are only three hygienist positions, and they are designated for and are only to be filled by enlisted military hygienists. She assured me she needed and wanted more help, but there weren't the positions available. In my senior year of hygiene school I had a clinical rotation with the VA dental clinic in Spokane. The hygienist on base said that was a helpful thing, and I should gather up a packet of my credentials (transcript, copy of license, copy of diploma, ect) for her. Once I do that she can take the information to some higher ups. The chances of them "creating" a job for me is very small, but I may be able to "volunteer" doing other things around the clinic such as assisting or charting. Not at all what I wanted to hear. She did encourage me to try and find a job with a German dentist. She also suggested getting in contact with some dentists surrounding Ramstein air base (an hour away). Apparently there are quite a few American dentists who work off base in that area. So... what I learned was there is not a job for me at Spangdahlem and there probably won't ever be. Awesome.

I am just frustrated at the situation. I am sick of sitting around... the "break" I had was nice, and it was good to get oriented/situated... but I'm ready to go back to work - not just for the money, but for something to do. I never realized how much my self worth was attached to my working, my ability to contribute. It's a crappy feeling to know you are perfectly capable of working and to be sitting around the house instead. What frustrates me more than anything is I feel lied to. When I looked into my options for moving over here, I did a lot of research with the Department of Defense. On their website I found lots of information talking about working as a hygienists overseas on a military base. They sound as if they are crying, begging for hygienists to come over seas and work. Granted, there was not a hygienist position listed on Josh's base... At the base employment office they talk about spousal preference, which basically means if I apply for a job I get preference over a German or a civilian because Josh is the military... yet... there isn't anything available to me? I also am confused by the dentist I talked to on base. He told me there was a position available.... yet there isn't any positions for civilians? And he knew I was civilian.  I guess I just had false ideas of what it would be like to find a job over here. I had thought there would be a job for me and it wouldn't be too difficult to be hired. I guess I was wrong.

I am grateful for the information the hygienist did give me about seeking out employment off base. I don't have zero options, I just don't have the options I thought I would. I am going to focus on what I do have. I do have somewhere to go. I just am pissed right now. And I think I'm allowed to be.

In situations like this, one way I like to cheer myself up is to read a story called "You Can't Kill the Rooster" by David Sedaris. It may be too vulgar for some, but I find it funny. I often like to read it aloud to myself and make the appropriate voices for characters. I leave you with my favorite part of said story:
"My brother's voice, like my own, is high-pitched and girl-ish. Telephone solicitors frequently ask to speak to our husbands or request that we put our mommies on the line. The Raleigh accent is soft and beautifully cadenced, but my brother's is a more complex hybrid, informed by his professional relationships with marble-mouthed, deep-country work crews and his abiding love of hard-core rap music. He talks so fast that even his friends have a hard time understanding him. It's like listening to a foreigner and deciphering only shit, motherfucker, bitch, and the single phrase You can't kill the Rooster.
'The Rooster' is what Paul calls himself when he's feeling threatened. Asked how he came up with that name, he says only, 'Certain motherfuckers think they can fuck with my shit, but you can't kill the Rooster. You might can fuck him up sometimes, but, bitch, nobody kills the motherfucking Rooster. You know what I'm saying?'"