A few years ago I read Barbara Ehrenreich's wonderful book Nickle and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America. She explores the reality of America's working poor by taking a variety of low-paying jobs--hotel maid, fast food worker, Walmart associate, and others--and tries to live solely on her earnings. It's required reading for everyone who's ever said, "Those people on welfare should just get jobs."

Since N&D was so good, and in light of my current circumstances, I was eager to read her newest book Bait and Switch: The (Futile) Pursuit of the American Dream. In this one, Ehrenreich goes undercover as Barbara Alexander and gives herself ten months and $5,000 to find a PR job (the only white-collar job she considered herself qualified to pursue after a lifetime of freelance writing and academia) with benefits. To give herself some structure, she establishes three rules: She will be open to every form of help available (books, websites, networking contacts); she will be willing to travel for interviews and move for a new job and will let employers know this; and she will take the first job she is offered that meets her requirements as to benefits and a moderate salary.

I'm about 2/3 of the way through, and I can't stop reading. Many of her experiences, such as dreary powerpoint-driven "networking" sessions at suburban Shoneys restaurants, I fortunately can't relate to--yet, anyway. Others I can, such as trying to make sense of (and ultimately giving up and mocking) the meaningless buzzwords that have infiltrated corporate America.

For instance, this passage about her first telephone conference with a potential career coach is wonderful:

Our half hour is drawing to a close, I note with relief. She thinks I will need three months of coaching, meaning she will need $1,200. This will be a lot of work for me, she says, because she practices "co-active coaching," which is "very collaborative." "I want you to design me as your best coach," she says, perhaps forgetting that she has already been not only designed but "branded." If I were "designing" her, I'd throw in a major serotonin antagonist to damp down the perkiness, and maybe at some point I will find a tactful way to suggest that she chill. The session has left me drained and her more excited than ever: "We'll dance together here!" is her final promise.