SYDNEY, Australia — With strong will and determination in my step, I dragged my almost oversized luggage to the check-in desk and became excited about the 20-hour journey ahead of me. I had everything I needed: clothes, money, a camera and printed resumes to hand out for my future jobs.
Three months before, I visited the Australian government Web site to find out how to apply for the working holiday visa. To my amazement, the task was definitely doable and only took 30 minutes to complete and, 48 hours later, I had my golden ticket in my inbox.
Although the visa was an easy task to accomplish, little did I know the work I had cut out for me. The first week after we arrived my flat-mates and I handed out resumes to local businesses such as restaurants and cafes. We all lucked out by landing ourselves jobs within the first week, but soon two of us would be jobless and out on the streets again looking for anyone to hire us!
Bound and determined, I headed out on my own to pass out resumes and, to my dismay, was continously rejected. In the back of my mind, I kept telling myself that things will turn around and pictured myself as the female version of Donald Trump — only with better hair.
Most employers were looking for full-time staff at retail jobs. I did not fit the criteria because I was only on a one-year visa. So in order to find more job-friendly occupations for an immigrant, I again visited the Australian government Web site, as well as backpack traveler information sites.
The alternative I found was picking fruit! The first image that came to mind was becoming a dirty immigrant with flannel clothes and a straw hat that covered my sunburned face.
The image did not startle me enough because I began to harass the search engine on my laptop to find as much information as I could about picking fruit. An hour later, I realized that Sydney was too far away from the jobs that were hiring, and wished I were closer to Melbourne or Brisbane.
Sadly, my dream of becoming a fruit picker looked more like a distant reflection of what could have been — if only I did not move to Sydney and had chosen a more realistic place for a backpacker to get hired.
Not only would being a fruit picker gain me money and accommodation, but also if I ever wanted to prolong my stay in Australia, I could by being an extra farm hand.
Three rejections from McDonald’s later and a deflated ego, my search for a job in Australia remains the same — I’m still looking.
At least I can add getting a job Down Under to my list of “things to do before I die” and be more grateful when I do land a job in this barren economy.
Jenna Vande Kieft is a senior journalism major and a contributing writer for the Summer Forty-Niner.
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