Sugarcoat stepped forwards and rang the doorbell. The house she was standing in front of, waiting patiently for its occupant to answer, was about average in size but far above that in terms of opulence, with a well-manicured garden and elegant, modern architectural flourishes. Personally, she couldn't care less about how a house looked, given that they were supposed to be functional first and foremost, but realized that most people did.
Eventually, the door opened, and a perplexed, middle-aged woman peeked around the gap. "Hello?"
"Hi, Ms. Cinch," Sugarcoat said. "It's been a while."
The former principal's eyes widened. "Sugarcoat, is that you? It's been years! I almost didn't recognize you."
Sugarcoat smiled at that. "Yeah, well, you only ever saw me in uniform," she said, gesturing at the more casual blouse and slacks she now wore, though her hairstyle remained unchanged. "Still, I'm surprised you remember me at all."
"Of course I remember you!" Cinch exclaimed. "You were one of my top students, after all."
"Right. Can I come in?" she asked.
"Oh, by all means." Cinch pulled open the door the rest of the way, making way for Sugarcoat to step inside.
Before she did, though, Sugarcoat voiced her thoughts, as she was wont to do. "Really? Huh, I was thinking you might still be nursing a grudge."
Cinch averted her gaze. "At first, yes, I did. But I've put much thought into the events which transpired at the games and, upon reflection, they were largely my fault."
"That's good to hear. And I obviously wouldn't have come here if I hadn't also forgiven you. The whole 'magic being real' thing threw everyone for a loop," Sugarcoat noted. "Anyway..." she trailed off, looking past her and into the house.
"Yes, of course," Cinch finished, pivoting around.
Sugarcoat then followed her through a short foyer into a kitchen of polished marble and stainless steel. "Please, sit," Cinch insisted. "I'll make tea."
As Sugarcoat settled into place, Cinch let out a long sigh. "I so rarely get visitors these days. What brings you here?"
Resting her arms on the table, Sugarcoat returned with a sigh of her own. "Mostly to belt out an in-depth account of my problems at a sympathetic third party. I assumed you were free."
Ms. Cinch laughed bitterly. "Still not pulling punches, eh? But, well, you've assumed correctly." Here, she brought over the tea and sat down across from Sugarcoat. It was iced, poured from the fridge into crystal glasses.
Sugarcoat hummed as she took a sip. It was unsweetened. She cut right to the chase. "I can't find a job in my field."
Cinch furrowed her brow, a familiar motion. "Well, neither can I, but you aren't blacklisted. Moreover, you graduated from Crystal Prep. Even with Cadance at the helm, it's still the top ranked high school in the state."
Sugarcoat nodded. "Yes, that's all true. And I followed up with an engineering degree from CSGA. Plus an internship and some extracurricular lab research."
"Then what's the problem?" Cinch asked. "It seems to me you're quite qualified. Tech companies should be clawing over eachother to hire you."
"That's what I thought too, at first," Sugarcoat admitted, before frowning. "But then I encountered the cold, crushing reality that is the modern job market."
Cinch stared, uncomprehending as she drank some of her own tea.
Sugarcoat shut her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. "Ok, so, I'll start at the beginning. The first avenue I explored was the career fair. Everybody goes to those, so they have to be giving out plenty of opportunities, right? I practiced interviewing to make sure I was presenting the facts in the best light, honed my resume to perfection, and went. But every company was the same: they only wanted people with high GPAs."
"And yours wasn't?" she asked, now slightly shocked in addition to confused.
Sugarcoat groaned, rolling her eyes. "It's not my fault, it's those stupid professors that don't know how to teach. Crystal Prep had difficult material, sure, but the exams all actually tested for what was taught, not semi-relevant nonsense pulled out of nowhere."
Cinch pursed her lips. "I had no idea."
"The worst part, though, is that the strict cutoff used almost every time was a 3.0 GPA. Take a guess what mine was. Spoilers: 2.89."
She cringed at that. "I can see why that would be frustrating."
"I know, right?" Sugarcoat confirmed.
"But did they really not care that you went to top schools?"
"Not when every other person showing up also went to CSGA," she said, rubbing her temples.
Cinch gripped her chin in thought. "Ah."
When she didn't add anything more, Sugarcoat continued. "So, when that didn't work out, I took to the online job boards. You know, like Reignedin and Indubitably. Plus all the individual ones that larger companies use. There, I encountered a different set of problems. Apparently, I picked the wrong major, because nobody in HR wants to hire a Materials Science Engineer unless they have a Masters. And I can't get into a decent graduate school because of the same GPA issue."
Cinch let that sink in for a moment. "Materials Science is the study of the physical properties, manufacturing methods, and applications of all manner of solids used in engineering, correct? I was under the impression that was a lucrative and burgeoning industry. I'm no expert when it comes to college level education, but that Masters degree requirement just seems entirely unfair. And this is me talking."
Sugarcoat snorted. "Understatement of the year. Since that angle was a bust, I started applying to Mechanical Engineering positions, to leverage my internship experience instead of my degree. I recently figured out that I liked that sort of work more anyway. Being able to point out dumb mistakes or terrible ideas, then fix them to make products better or more cost-effective... would be quite satisfying."
"That does sound like you," she confirmed with a grin.
"And I've gotten this close more than once," Sugarcoat said, holding up two finders a hair's breadth apart. "But every time I got called for an interview, in person or otherwise, I was always passed up in the end, whether for a more local or more experienced candidate." Suddenly, she gasped, her frown deepening. "Oh, and I just remembered the most asinine part. Somehow, the vast majority of posted entry level jobs require applicants to have three years of work experience in the industry. How does that make any sense!?"
Cinch opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it, for she was rendered speechless.
Sugarcoat's rant, however, was far from over. She groaned, switching tracks. "I've gotten advice from everyone, tried everything, from cold emails and phone calls to recruiting agencies and actual paper letters, but no method besides nepotism seems to be reliable, and my network of contacts is on the small side, as I'm sure you've guessed."
She had indeed guessed as much. Sugarcoat's social skills had always been her one major weak point.
"Unfortunately, all my relatives are in other fields entirely: I'm the first engineer in the family," she continued. "And my friends are all also just starting out too, and don't have the clout to get me a position, even with a glowing referral.
"Twilight Sparkle did let me work at her new startup when I asked, but I just couldn't last for more than a few months. Sure, I'm far smarter than the average joe, but Twilight is a genius. I couldn't even tell what she was doing half the time, and she had me mainly doing grunt work. It was miserable; there's a reason I was her only employee."
Sugarcoat paused for breath, taking a few gulps of her tea. Cinch blinked, concerned and disbelieving. "When I was young, the job hunting process was nothing like this," she muttered to herself. "Surely you haven't given up yet, though?" she asked.
At this, Sugarcoat shook her head. "I've been cranking out applications for over a year and a half now. I haven't been keeping track of the exact number, but it must be around a thousand at this point. And with each failure, a tiny bit of my hope dies, replaced by the cold facts. If I've filed that many applications, and none of them worked, then that means the probability of any individual endeavor being successful is less than one in a thousand. As such, my efforts have been slowly waning of late. I can't muster much motivation knowing my time will almost certainly be wasted."
Sugarcoat crossed her arms, her stare wrenching down and to the side. "So, to answer your question, Ms. Cinch, I haven't given up. But it's still really hard to keep going."
Unable to look away from Sugarcoat's dour expression, Cinch found herself overcome with emotions her shriveled old heart rarely felt, truly empathizing with her plight. Tentatively, she reached across the table to rest a hand on Sugarcoat's shoulder before speaking. "You didn't merely choose to come to me because I was available. You wanted reassurance; a self-esteem boost."
Slowly turning to face her once more, Sugarcoat nodded. "Sometimes it seems like even my parents have given up on me, too," she admitted.
"Well, I won't give up on you," Cinch declared. "Once a Shadowbolt, always a Shadowbolt. And Shadowbolts are winners. Don't ever forget that."
This statement drew out a small, fleeting smile from Sugarcoat. "T-Thanks."
"No need," Cinch said, settling back into her seat. Then, she paused, aiming to add on some of her own wisdom. "I'm sure others have suggested that you settle for something less than ideal in the meantime, just for the paycheck. I would never do the same, as that would make me a hypocrite, now, wouldn't it?" Cinch posed.
"Heheh, I guess it would," Sugarcoat said. "But, yes, that's not the plan. Really, I can't come up with a good reason to pursue that option. I wouldn't mind something like a quality control job if it was at a great company and there was potential for upward mobility, but besides that? Even if it paid enough to move out, it's fulfillment I'm looking for, not money. If there's no chance of that, why should I bother?" Here, she shrugged. "I've been told having something more on my resume will help, but nothing else I've already done seems to have worked. A year or two of boredom, and I'd probably just end up right back where I started."
Cinch hummed in agreement. "I can understand that. In that case, what have you been up to these past weeks?"
Sugarcoat sighed. "Anything to distract from the unforgiving nature of my current situation, really. Reading, TV, sleeping, occasionally hanging out with old friends. If I'm not thinking about it, I can't get upset."
"That doesn't seem very healthy to me," Cinch said. "Ignoring your problems won't make them go away."
Sugarcoat planted her elbow onto the table and rested her cheek on her fist. "Obviously. But what else is there? Working for a miracle that'll never come? To these corporations, I'm just a set of numbers that doesn't meet their standards."
"Then don't keep interacting with the corporations," Cinch instructed. "Try the human approach. Eventually, some kindhearted soul is bound to pull through for you. All it takes is one success. And I, for one, will do what I can."
"Sure," she acknowledged, deadpan. "And I'm grateful. But it's not like literally every other person I've spoken with hasn't failed, or anything."
As Cinch frowned at Sugarcoat's continued negativity, she pushed her chair back and stood. "Thanks for listening, Ms. Cinch. You helped me reclaim a tiny bit of optimism. But I think I'm going to go now."
Without another word, Sugarcoat left, eyes downcast as she trudged back to the front door, her future uncertain.
Cinch could only watch, visibly saddened. "Take care..."
Author's Note
In case you haven't figured it out by now, Sugarcoat is me, and this story doubles as a desperate cry for help. I'm the unemployed engineer at his wit's end, and most of Sugarcoat's experience is a one-to-one retelling of my situation. Writing here is fun, and I'm going to keep at it regardless, but fanfiction sure doesn't pay. If anybody reading this works at a company that hires engineers in the US (design, quality, process, 3D modeling, R&D, etc.), or could refer me to someone who does, please let me know if you'd be willing to help, and I'll PM you my resume. Thanks in advance.
