The Suitnoob Banker - Part III

Today marks one week since I began my slow rise towards actually doing my job. Had I the opportunity to work as long on the front lines serving clients as my fellow trainees, perhaps I would feel more confident in my abilities to perform the expansive myriad of daily tasks required to make me successful. The others have had a few weeks to learn the basics, but Due to technical hiccups however, tomorrow will mark only the first official week of part-time client serving. And what a week it has been.

My first week of on-the-job training has been severely bitter-sweet. It has thrust me into the public eye in a way I have never before experienced. Everything from angelic pre-teens to little old men with expectations of routine and sullen dispositions have marched through our doors. And how many have I had the opportunity to serve? All told, about eighteen. It’s been wonderful to learn, to have conversations with such a wide range of people, and to perform the duties I’m being paid to perform. But the unfortunate reality is, while my mentors are very good about guiding me while they are sitting with me, their first priority is to the clients. This is a great thing! But it lessons the amount of hands-on time I get learning the ins and outs of my job. And how I feel I need to learn. Clients are very patient nine times out of ten. But every once in a while a client comes along who wants his business conducted yesterday. That’s what my insecure sub-personality keeps telling me will happen anyway. While it’s true I haven’t run into that particular lady or gentleman yet, I know it’s only a matter of time.

By this point in my training, I am more or less comfortable doing basic deposits, withdrawals, dispensing and receiving of cash and bill payments. I feel like posting a sign at my wicket that says “training in progress, this way for basic transactions” or something to that affect. At least then I can get practice doing the basics while my mentor is otherwise engaged. Unfortunately I’m not yet permitted to handle even the most rudimentary transactions without supervision. And while intellectually and technically I understand the vast majority of what I’m doing, I realize that from a  visual standpoint I’m not yet ready to be on my own.

For one thing, people’s handwriting remains a serious obstacle. While I am slowly getting better about deciphering the layouts of cheques and bills, translating the squat and sprawling squiggles into a language my hampered eyes can actually interpret is very difficult. Their written numbers aren’t so bad so far. But their printed name, and the written-out numbers all cheques require are another matter entirely. I’ve found that by first reading the numbered digits and comparing them to their hand-written counterparts I can usually see that I’m looking at the same number. The numbers have to match too, otherwise there are steps that need to be taken to ensure the cheque is legit. By comparing the name on the account with that of the “payee to the order of” section, I can usually ensure the names are also the same. Reading signatures on the other hand is like trying to decipher words written by a child who’s never learned their alphabet.

Reading cash on the other hand usually ends up being pretty simple. I’m not very fast at it, but I’m usually accurate. That goes for Canadian money at any rate. Don’t even get me started on the nightmare that is American money. Sorry my dear American readers, but whoever designs your bills needs a serious lesson in the necessity of CONTRAST!

All in all, it hasn’t been a bad week. I believe I have a reasonable ability to interact with the clients. Most have been very understanding. One of them even shook my hand and called me by name, which was a nice gesture. I’m trying to train myself to focus on the client experience, rather than worrying about the speed with which I complete their transaction requests. Engage a client enough and they might not even realize you’re a snail. That’s what I keep telling myself at any rate. Everyone seems to say I’m doing a pretty good job. Barb, my trainer in New West has told two separate people that I am the best trainee she’s ever had. I think she’s just being nice. Maybe it’s because I talk more than most of them. Or perhaps she’s trying to give me a greater sense of personal security. Either way, it was nice to hear.

I have been able to install all the software I could possibly want in order to make my work station’s computer accessible however. There are many programs already available on RBC’s server which help me greatly. Unfortunately there’s an inordinate amount of beaurocracy to circumvent in order to get certain things installed. The decisions whether certain RBC programs are accessible by programs such as JAWS (A program which translates on-screen text into speech) and Zoomtext (which magnifies the computer screen to the point that even a blind man can see it) are made very high up. Certain programs are considered incompatible, even if I as a noob do not feel they are, or find ways to make them compatible. I’m sure that the people who make these decisions do the research and know what they’re talking about. But it’s hard to have others who have never experienced my eye condition for themselves make that decision for me. That said, I have a lot of access technology in place. My only hope is that I’ll be able to find a better way to read printed material. At this point that wonderful piece of hardware the Smart View works, but the closer I get to the screen the fuzzier the image seems to become. Perhaps it is due to the shadow I cast on the paper, but I really don’t know.

RBC continues to be a very nice place to work. If I can manage to find my way around (or dislodge) the personal and accessibility barriers that are impeding my progress, I think I will do alright here. After all, I’m not the only blind person doing this job. There are others, and one of them, a man named Michael has advanced to the point that he’s got a very corporate sounding name.

The Suitnoob Banker - Part I

In the autumn of 2004 I struck out on my own from Prince George and settled in the drippy city of Nanaimo. After a couple months I landed my first job, that as a technical support representative for Microsoft. It was a thankless job, and I worked it for nearly four years. There was laughter, frustration, learning, corporate poo-buttery,human silliness, tempermental computers and countless muted microphone rants. It inspired what many consider my most amusing story to date – careful, a little swearing – and I gained some valuable skills, chief among them patience and low-level computer upkeep. But all mediocre things must come to an end as they say in – oh heck, I just made that up. After nearly four years I got married, and a month later I was given the bronze handshake – laid off from NCO due “officially” to accessibility issues with new software.

For the last four years I’ve searched this squelchy port city for meaningful and long-term employment, with the desire to provide Chelsea and I with a comfortable life riding on my back like a lice-ridden monkey. Rejected from Shaw Communications twice, I sought less ambitious customer service employment opportunities for a long time. It was all I knew; all I felt qualified for. I dreamed of going a different direction, but I never honestly believed I’d have an opportunity to get out of such dead-end work.

 In the last two years I’ve had the opportunity – however fleeting of working with some wonderful individuals. I’ve gained experience in documentary and feature writing, narration, promotion and even audio transcription. I’ve discovered a love for audio design and have created two audio theatre pieces , the Noire inspired A Contract of Souls, and the alternate world fantasy Dreamlight. And I’ve discovered that while I have very little aptitude for it, I actually do have a little bit of talent in playing the piano and keyboard. But none of these experiences could have prepared me for the direction my professional life would take me. I said not long ago that no matter what happens this year, life wouldn’t be the same. How right I was.

Please indulge me while I create a little bit of context. Last summer I was visiting my local TD bank here at Beaufort Center, and on a whim I asked a teller one day just what sort of experience I would need in order to be considered to work there. At that point I was really willing to try almost anything besides prostitution and telemarketing. After briefly explaining the kind of work I’d done in the past, she highly suggested I apply, as they were hiring. And so I did the unthinkable in this day and age. I introduced myself and my disability to their manager, and I left her with a resume, completely bypassing the online process. I expected little, yet I was bolstered by a few positive references and a reasonably decent resume. I thought it would be perfect! I could help people, learn about the overwhelming yet essential world of finance, and walk to work every day.

 Chelsea was thrilled, and very supportive. She felt that while I wouldn’t get this job, it would lead me to something else in the near future. Even though I had an in, I still had to spend some time going through the online application process. Next came the phone interview, which was a step further than I’d gotten in a long time. and then it happened. The manager who I’d already introduced myself to called me in for an interview. Though I tried to maintain a calm exterior, secretly I was ecstatic.

 But the promising interview came and went, and in the end I was positively rejected. I say positively because though I wasn’t hired, it was one of the more optimistic rejections I’ve received. The manager passed my resume along to another division of TD, and after yet another promising interview for an IT position I wasn’t really comfortable with – or qualified for - I was once again turned down. Nevertheless everyone in the branch kept telling me to keep applying. For the first time I wasn’t as disheartened by a rejection. I’d never considered going into banking, but now that it was a thought in my mind, I found myself hard-pressed to let it go.

Fast forward to January 2012. Chelsea’s newly-found pregnancy turned our world upside down and stripped off all its what-ifs. Suddenly all those big decisions we kept putting off became of the utmost importance. How will we support ourselves? And where would we live? Would we stay in Nanaimo, or move to Ontario like we kept saying we’d do? At the time I was part of the Lime Connect program, which worked with participating businesses to reach out to potential employees with various disabilities. The thirteenth of January saw me attending an employment conference in Vancouver where I would have the opportunity to meet one-on-one with potential employers for informational interviews. And who was there? Not one, but three banks, one of which was TD. Perfect!

The conference went great. TD seemed overjoyed to see me again, and I was supposed to hear from them in the coming weeks. BMO seemed interested too, though I wasn’t sure what they really thought. The only bank which didn’t seem all that impressed with my credentials was RBC. They made it a point to explain that sales experience was a major asset, and while I’d done some up-selling and promotion, that’s one area of expertise I was sorely lacking. Nevertheless they liked me as a person.

After that, Chelsea and I decided to give Nanaimo until the beginning of may. If nothing came of this conference, or if I couldn’t find anything else, we’d migrate to theoretical bigger and better opportunities in Ontario. At least there we’d be closer to family.

Then we lost our little one, and as quick as that, everything changed again. Nevertheless we held to our plan.

Weeks passed, and I heard nothing from TD. But RBC, the one company who didn’t seem interested contacted me, and I found myself going through the same steps as before; online application, phone interview, and after many weeks, a real interview with real people. By this time I didn’t kid myself with any expectations. Yet I found myself working hard to research the company and its values. I felt the need to work harder than I ever had before. Perhaps it was my barely disguised apprehension of moving to Ontario. Or maybe I’d traveled so far down the rope of rejection that I’d finally come to the noose at its end. But I was determined to leave a good impression if nothing else; one last harrow as a testament of all I’d learned about job-seeking. And so I prepared for whatever would happen.

The interview went extremely well, but then most of them had, right? I was very up-front about who I was, what I was, and what I could do. I explained that I’ve always loved people, and that working in a financial institution would give me a great opportunity to teach others to take charge of their finances, and learn about them myself. I left the interview feeling really good, but not expecting anything to come of it. By then I had resigned myself to the impending move. Maybe I wasn’t looking forward to it exactly, but I was beginning to imagine the possibilities instead of dwelling on the trials.

The call came the next day. The moment I picked up the phone and heard my interviewer’s voice, I felt sure I’d be rejected. I even shook my head and mouthed “no” to Chelsea. I can’t see facial expressions, but I imagine my eye balls must have nearly dribbled out of their sockets when he said “we would like to offer you the job”.

I felt the world dim a little. I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right? I almost asked him to repeat himself. I couldn’t believe it! For the third time in less than five months I felt our lives shifting directions. All of a sudden our carefully laid plans, the downsizing, the cross-country research, all of it disappeared for me. All of a sudden I had hope. I was employed, and after four years of searching, it was long-term. And more. For the first time in my life, I had the inkling that I could find a place of employment where I could learn and grow, and where there was no glass ceiling beyond that which practicality might lay on my muddled eyes.

The weeks leading up to my first day of training were full of preliminary paperwork, accessibility assessments and deep, almost teenage boy relaxation. With no more job hunting being necessary, and no stress about what to do next, I was free to just enjoy the heck out of my various hobbies. And so I read, wrote, played video games, spent time with Chelsea and devoted a little more time to practicing the piano and keyboard, all without any guilt. And it was glorious!

Then, both too soon and after too long, my first day as an RBC suitnoob banker began. But that, my friends is for another entry.

Remy's rants - My job situation and those who complain about theirs

Hey everyone. Remy here. I’m in a really frustrated mood right now, and I feel the need to unload an enormous ranty blog all over this page!

We all know jobs are hard to come by in this day and age. Right now the job market sucks more than a flushing toilet And if you don’t know that then you’ve either won the lottery, managed to remain in the industry you started in, got extremely lucky, or you live off the government and don’t really care.

This brings me to my first point: I need a job. I need a job like a drowning person needs air because right now, I’m drowning in feelings of social and financial inadequacy. I feel … well to be honest I feel friggin disabled. I feel like a dog might feel after being neutered. Sure he’s still loved, sure he can still play and run and pee anywhere he wants …. But there’s something missing. He’s half a dog. And right now I feel like half a man … the bottom half. Every time the parents or the in-laws call , it’s the same old tired tale. “I’m still looking.” “I’ve got an interview.” “I just got rejected again.” Those are the three variants of “that” conversation.

“What, do you have a piano tied to your back cheeks or something? Get up and pound that pavement boy! When I was your age I was out there every day going door to door like a pretentious salesman spouting my resume at anyone who would take it. Finding a job IS a full time job! So forget yourself and work! Work! Work!”

Yeah yeah, I’ve heard variations on that old speech more times than I care to think about. Guess what? I AM trying! I am trying, and I’m sick of trying at the same time. No, I don’t apply to every single job that comes along in the hopes some compassionate soul will throw me a freekin bone – I already feel desperate enough! But I DO apply for jobs. Many many jobs! I do call and ask for information. I do research. I do put my all into a cover letter and a resume. And both are even pretty good! I have two professional reference letters, and three professional references all of whom would speak highly of me if ever contacted. I might not have the paperwork, but I do have a fair bit of transferable experience. And I am eager and willing to learn. Heck, I don’t even mind working collaboratively on a team! But is that enough? Noooooo! It seems nearly every effort is met either with silence or with “We’ve reviewed your resume, and you are not exactly what we’re looking for at this time. Soooo sorry, but do feel free to keep trying so we can send you the same form letter a few more times.” Although recently I have gotten a few emails and one interview which basically told me that “we really thought you were great, but we have someone who is just that much better. SO sorry, you were number 2, but we needed number 1”.

You want number Two? I’ll give you a friggin number two. And you can take that number two, and you can go suck it. You can suck it until it’s all gone!

I’d be a bloody great worker. The thing about having a disability is I KNOW how hard it is for people like me to get a job. People see someone blind and they wonder, and they scoff. Even if outwardly they are supportive, there’s usually uncertainty. So that’s why I would work all the harder. I know the trust that’s been given to me when I’m hired, and I know I have a lot to prove. And in the last few “jobs” I’ve received, I’ve done my best to make sure I do. And to the best of my knowledge, I have.

This brings me to my second point. People who can’t seem to figure out how to do the jobs they’ve been hired for, and people who piss and moan about how tragically terrible their jobs are. To them I curse a pox on all their household, and for them to be turned to living stone. That’s the kind of petrification where your body is fully transformed, but you remain completely aware of your surroundings, and the passage of time.

If you can’t at least attempt to do a job correctly, quit. Quit and leave the job for someone else who needs it. Now, everyone makes mistakes. We’re not perfect. But I swear, some people simply ARE mistakes. It’s like their spirits are trapped in the wrong body or something because they just can’t figure out the simplest of tasks, or they simply don’t care. I’m not talking about Fred Furball over there at the sales counter who fumbles with words, or with the cash register. I’m talking about those stupid bum darts who probably spent half their lives peeing on the toilet seat until someone told them to lift the lid before they start. These are people who consistently provide inaccurate information, or who have a work ethic and personality at constant odds with the very job they’ve been hired for. Case in point, a counselor without empathy or compassion. Or a doctor without a burning desire to see people healed. Basically, I’m talking about people who when you see them, you just can’t help wondering “how did someone like you end up working here?”

Now, those people who feel the need to constantly ejaculate verbal diarrhea about how terrible their jobs, their bosses and their work lives are …. Ooooh, please let me mentally punch them right in their gaping, flapping mouths! I realize we all have bad days. I myself have been known to complain at times about the stupidity of the work place. I’m talking to YOU, NCO! But the truth is, I was always thankful for my job. If you feel the need to complain about the bad day you’ve had at work every once in a while, great! We need amusing stories about the silliness that goes on at work. But when it’s time to go to work and all you can do is moan and groan like a hippo giving birth? That’s when I have a problem. If you hate your job THAT much, quit! Free the space up for someone who will at least appreciate it. I’m so incredibly sick of this. I swear it makes up a decent portion of the Facebook statuses and bus conversations I come across. You need to nut up and shut up, sit back and thank the good Lord, Allah, Buddha, Krishna, the eternal goddess moonbeams or your beloved Iphone that you even have a job at all!

We’re supposed to be moving soon. It’s been in the works off and on for a few years. It’s frustrating because it’s all up to me. Wherever I can find work, we’ll move. I feel under the weight of constant pressure. I know I’m being over-dramatic, but every time someone asks us when we’re moving, it’s like having a gentle punch in the testicles. You feel a tightening in your bowels, and a slight bout of nausea. It’s not enough to make you sick, but it’s enough to make you more than a little uncomfortable. Just once I want to be the barer of good news during such a conversation. But right now, I’m just feeling drained. After the constant prayers, government sponsored employment programs for people with disabilities and my own initiative, I just wish I could catch a break. Am I asking for too much? Am I not trying hard enough? I honestly just don’t know anymore. All I know for sure is after so many hard-working attempts have led only to rejection, It gets harder to give it your all.