Reality is freaking hilarious…
Years in retail took their toll. Back to school in May, Halloween in July, and Christmas in September, threw off my equilibrium. I wasn’t up to celebrating anything. Most people had another job lined up before they quit. Most people did.
I wanted something new and exciting that didn’t suck out my soul and provided a paycheck while allowing me to pursue the writing gig. I wanted to hit the lottery. When that didn’t pan out, I searched online job sites.
Boars, peccaries, and warthogs were all pigs by other names. Likewise, support generalist, consultive associate, and guest advisor were all retail workers. Creative names didn’t change that you folded, stocked, and rang purchases on nights, weekends, and holidays.
As a sandwich artist, would I sculpt Michelangelo’s David out of lunchmeat and condiments? Would I be expected to compromise scale if someone wanted cucumbers instead of olives?
Some job listings triggered an emphatic “hell no” response. Unarmed security guard? If I was to guard something, what would I do if someone tried to take it? Spit on them? Overnight cleaner at a fast food restaurant was every corner of Hell all in one job.
Phlebotomist had nothing to do with robots like I imagined. Google described phlebotomy as a procedure of blood letting. A glorified vampire seemed interesting, but it required you to use needles not fangs.
Snowplow driver had me excited. I could pimp out my truck. Mad Max meets Frosty. Parking wouldn’t be a problem after I cleared the streets.
I heard bartenders made good tips, but to me Manhattan was somewhere in New York and sex on the beach might be cool if you didn’t get caught. Phone sales were also a no-go. How would I make all those phone calls at dinnertime and be home to cook dinner?
Does a Chemical Operations Specialist work with dynamite? Would I get to blow things up? No one in their right mind would let me near explosives.
Flagger force started out at a decent wage. I wondered if they’d take into account my experience twirling flags with the band in high school? Working with the force meant I’d also get a light saber. But, again, no one in their right mind would give me something as powerful as a light saber.
Carpenter, plumber, and mechanic required expensive tools. One must also possess the aptitude to use them properly. To me a screwdriver and hammer were used to defrost the freezer. A large pipe wrench was great for pounding in garden stakes.
Grave writer for cemeteries caught my eye. The commission was negotiable. I was familiar with ghost writers, but what were grave writers? Even Google couldn’t help me.
The dictionary quoted the word grave as a noun meaning burial spot or an adjective meaning serious, sad. Would I have to look morose all the time and wear only black clothes?
As for the commission, who would I negotiate with? Wasn’t everyone in the cemetery dead? One slip of the pen and I could piss off a spirit. I’ve heard exorcisms were expensive and messy. I really didn’t think I could be grave.
Legoland Guest Experience Host, yes! Finally, a fun job. With moderate traffic, I could expect a four hour and forty-five minute drive, one way. Seriously, I searched a thirty mile radius.
Obviously, there were problems with my job selections. I’m not only under qualified, but also possess too much imagination to perform certain jobs safely.
Picture me as a brain surgeon or a rocket scientist. Dr. Frankenstein and the Manhattan Project may come to mind. The world already had more than its share of monsters and weapons of destruction.
The job selections available to me and the pay scale were laughable. What choice did I have, but to work for laughs.