So in an effort to be more regular around here, I’ve upped my fiber intake (thank you Jamie Lee Curtis) and instituted things like Monday’s Mail and today’s offering, Workless Wednesdays.
Don’t worry, the cutesy alliteration is making me just as nauseated as you, but it is what it is.
So, what is Workless Wednesday’s you might ask? Well, simply, it’s where I’ll post about jobs that I have applied for in my many years of unemployment and have been denied; oh and one where I’m pretty sure I delivered drugs. With some the denial was a bit harsher than others and some, let’s be honest, I had no business applying for in the first place.
I’ve never been one for saving the best for last so let’s start off with a bang.
In a particularly low moment, I opened the paper and found what seemed like a great employment opportunity. I would be outside, with other people, in one of the greatest places on earth, could stretch the situation and call myself a member of a great baseball team’s “organization”. Really the only downside to this job was, really, the job itself.
But I applied anyway. I needed a job. I needed an income. Wishes and hopes don’t buy toilet paper, or pay the water bill and without those two things, life sort of sucks.
Waited to hear back. Waited and waited and waited. Finally after a week or two of waiting, I gave the contact number a call. Introduced myself, said I was calling to check that they had received my application with resume attached and they said they had indeed received it. Of course at this point I was so desperate for gainful employment (let’s hearken back to the toilet paper) that what little adherence to etiquette I’d had before had pretty much disappeared so I figured while I had the guy on the phone I’d just go ahead and ask him what he thought my chances of actually getting the job were.
“Well I have to say, I don’t think we’ve ever had anyone include a resume when applying for this job before.”
“Oh no? Well I’m in a bit of a groove with applying for jobs so I probably just included it out of habit. So listen, thanks for considering me and I look forward to hearing from you soon.”
(I went ahead and used a period at the end of that sentence but in reality there was a definite lift at the end of soon that pretty much meant “for the love of god will you please give me at least a little hope, even if it is completely false?”)
The poor guy let out a long sigh and in the most apologetic voice said, “See here’s the thing, I really don’t think you are qualified for the job. That’s to say, I don’t know that you would really find fulfillment in the job. I’m sure there is another job out there that you are much more suited for than this one.”
I choked back my tears and heartache, all while quickly trying to calculate how much toilet paper I had left for the rest of the month and managed to eek out a “Oh, okay. Thanks so much. You’re right. Maybe scraping bird poop isn’t the best job for me right now.”
That’s right folks, the job was SCRAPING BIRD SHIT FROM SEATS!!!!
I applied for a job to scrap the copious amounts of bird shit from the seats and railings and basically every surface of a baseball stadium.
And I didn’t get the job.
Who knows what my life would look like now had I gotten that job? I think enough time has passed that I could conceivably be the head shit scraper. I could be entrenched in shit scraping middle management. Waking up every morning ready to face another day of shit.
But instead I sit here and write shit about my mail and jobs I didn’t get.
Apparently I’m qualified for that job.
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Bird-day, and other little quirks 