The Jobless Recovery, or Why I Hate (This) Summer

Summertime and the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin' and the cotton is high
Oh, your daddy's rich and your ma is good lookin'
So hush little baby, don't you cry

(George Gershwin, "Summertime," from "Porgy and Bess," 1935)

For Americans, summer is a season deeply rooted in tradition and weird symbolism. The weekends revolve around the Great American Cookout, outdoor concerts, trips to the shore and parks, picnics, gardening, and, of course, the Great American Pastime: baseball. Many working people live miserly throughout the year just to make it to the summer and squander everything they saved on overpriced vacations. It's a time for Americans to rebel against the tyranny of the rat race and to sit back and "enjoy a cold one."

For the economy, this usually translates into numbers. Just take a look at the travel and airline industries, or even, for that matter, Anheuser-Busch. Corporations love this three-month orgy of excess, while the same people who spend the winter, spring and fall cursing the corporations facilitate this seasonal boom in the economy -- and really don't seem to notice or care. After all, summer is all about fun -- to the point that saying anything to the contrary usually draws a look of suspicion or even contempt.

I know this because I don't like summer; in fact, I loathe it. If I had my way, I'd skip right from May to September. It's not just a matter of climate and the often unbearable humidity in New York, where I live. It's also not just a matter of traffic. It's a matter of employment -- or lack thereof -- and the fact that as the whole country comes alive, people take anyone who doesn't enjoy it to be some deranged misanthrope -- in short, a freak.

This is not an irrational perception, however; as an adjunct professor, I am rendered unemployed twice a year -- one stretch lasts for just over a month, and the other, more horrible one, lasts three months, practically four. The longer stretch is a brutal period of financial destitution, and a test of endurance and will. I look down the barrel of this gun throughout the month of May. I know what is coming and I prepare to the best of my ability. As others are starting to go outside and garden, make vacation plans, and do spring cleaning, I spend my days on Craigslist, Monster.com, CareerBuilder.com and every other possible "job site."

This summer is a particularly hellish time. I've managed to get played for a rube by a Fijian courier looking for a personal assistant to run his "day-to-day operations in the States," "maintain his appointments" and "mail packages." After doing some research, I learned that another person got the same job and was scammed into sending illegal merchandise all over the United States. I've also managed to get signed up by the Census Bureau to take the wrong exam in the wrong district, thereby eliminating any chance of employment. (I had thought this was one job that would be a lock.) Of 35 job applications I filled out, I did not receive a single response, not even "Thank you for your interest." Many of these were entry-level retail positions and manual labor jobs, and yet . . . nothing.

Here's the deal: I teach philosophy at three universities. It's nearly impossible to get any course offerings in the summer. Most, if not all of the classes go to the full-time faculty, and by the last week of May I am for all practical purposes unemployed and left to fend for myself until the first round of checks are distributed in October. Filing for unemployment is not even an option, at least not in New York state. Because I have courses scheduled for the fall semester, they count that as "reasonable assurance" for employment. Alas, summer strikes again.

Obviously, I am not the only one in this position. There are more than 700,000 adjunct professors in the United States, many of whom are in the same rut. I also know that we're not the only unemployed people in America. Currently, 1 in 10 Americans is out of work, and not just for the summer. Optimists will quip that 9 in 10 Americans do have jobs. However, the half-full glass model doesn't work when yours is empty.

According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, there are approximately 15.3 million unemployed Americans. This figure doesn't even count those who are too ashamed or proud to admit they are jobless, and an often overlooked contingent is those who have turned to crime to support themselves or their family. You'll never know how many of these people there are.

We are living in desperate times, and it looks as if things are only getting worse -- except for a handful of bankers. I certainly didn't feel better about my prospects when the April employment statistics indicated that the economy added 290,000 new jobs, and that April was the third consecutive month for job growth. The question that came to my mind was "Where are these jobs?" Admittedly, it was never easy to find work during the summer, but it's never been this difficult. Despite the numbers, I don't see any type of recovery.

I'm filled with rage at the idea of having to begin my search all over again each day. I feel like Sisyphus, pushing that rock uphill only to have it roll back down again. When will it end? Are they even receiving these applications? Is anybody out there?

All I can say is, if you happen to hear somebody say, "I can't stand the summer," don't look at the person like some type of freak. And if you ask them why, you might hear something along the lines of what I've said here. The saddest part for those of us in this predicament is that you are forced to sit back and watch an American tradition slip away, right before your very eyes. It's as if you've been selected out of the summertime fun and tradition has become a luxury that you can't afford.

For most of us, it's all we can do to keep pushing that rock up the hill -- and hope one day we will make it to the top.