Yo, I think they like me!
Did you ever hear the two pieces of strategy for success on internet job boards? One: use key words in your resume so that it can be found in a search engine and two: update your resume frequently, because big time recruiters want only the freshest candidates. I decided that this was a super time to at least update my resume, since putting tons of "dynamic, resourceful, punctual, detail-oriented " esque words in my resume tends to makes my sentences spin. Besides, since most of my job hopes are in publishing, I have to make a valiant effort to blot my eyes, floss my tees, and pee on my queues.
Try as I might to attract nothing but the best, I did catch sight of some trolling lures trying for a gullible bottom-feeder, but this fish don't bite so fast! Let's see:
The Army wanted to hire me. You know, over 200 ways to serve the Army, 200 different ways of getting yelled at by some jerk and feel awkward around overly male men (and the occaisional Demi). Well, I'd like the gayest position the army can throw at me: Combat Button Design. Oh, Sarge! This will hold your collar snug and keep out all that gritty sand. Besides, it doubles as a torture device! Just pull it apart and, look, it snaps back together. You can pinch anyone anywhere with this black beauty, ow-wee! Don't use that on me, sir!
Also, a real winner of a corporation really got me excited. Horizon Foods, purveyors of overpriced gourmet foods, at least according to their website. Well, the problem for me, that kept me from even calling for information, was the mildly disturbing pictures of their employees. The Sales Manager looked like a conglomerate of so many divorced alcoholic golfers, so he's good for the Glenlivet but off in his game. Then, the Executive of some bullshit position looked like Cramer's (Kelsey Grammar) dad. Crap! What am I going to do when I meet these guys and they turn out to be less personable than the people they look like? I'm going to look so sad, and sad boys don't sell steaks. Besides, I got to thinking and I became sure that they'd make me invest my own money because otherwise I'd get the job, leave the job, and drive a pick-up full of steak, ice, and wine-in-a-box to Yale to celebrate my sister's almost graduation.
Finally, someone wanted me to move out to nowhere California for a sales job with a confidental company. Ooh, California Confidential! I can't wait to sell cookies to Girl Scouts, then sell Girl Scouts to Girl Scout Slave Traders! Then, get the Girl Scout Slave Traders hooked on special brand Horizon Foods Steaks! Well, at least I could have some fresh squeezed orange juice while sweating away in the Valley, I think that's how every seedy Californian lives with himself.
I did apply to 25 more jobs today, though. The more interesting ones were at Macy's, Scholastic (remember the books you forced your parents to buy, even though your school library had them already?), Random House (Bertlesmann Job Feed), Zurich Underwriting, and Sesame Street (Please GOD I want my Sesame sheets after all these years of asking, even though they'll have all these new characters that I'm not willing to accept. And there better be more than Elmo, the Machiavelli of cuteness.)
On the less interesting side, I applied for a bunch of paralegal jobs. In our old office building right next to the City Center Stage (where Doubt is playing) there was a huge law firm that occupied about twelve stories. I'd see the paralegals come and go, they seemed happy, normal, and chatty on a Friday. I even stalked one of them because I was certain that he was an old high school mate of mine, but then I found out that my old mate was in Michigan, likely to be laid off by a major auto company.
And, I should mention that one of those legal staffing firms called me last night. They had a few preliminary questions, two of which I answered in the negatory: Have you ever worked for a lawyer or in any legal profession, and Have you ever worked as a paralegal? Redundant, your honor! They still want me for an interview, which I'll go to before work tomorrow.
Your comment is needed right now! Should I give up my cush radio job for a grind job with some Big Shot lawyers for a measely few more grand, or should I keep trying to weasel my way into publishing or, if there is a God, TV? Cocktail parties were never the end all be all for me, were they? Was I just another pretty face, can't you think of me as anything more than a little traipse in a black dress?
Try as I might to attract nothing but the best, I did catch sight of some trolling lures trying for a gullible bottom-feeder, but this fish don't bite so fast! Let's see:
The Army wanted to hire me. You know, over 200 ways to serve the Army, 200 different ways of getting yelled at by some jerk and feel awkward around overly male men (and the occaisional Demi). Well, I'd like the gayest position the army can throw at me: Combat Button Design. Oh, Sarge! This will hold your collar snug and keep out all that gritty sand. Besides, it doubles as a torture device! Just pull it apart and, look, it snaps back together. You can pinch anyone anywhere with this black beauty, ow-wee! Don't use that on me, sir!
Also, a real winner of a corporation really got me excited. Horizon Foods, purveyors of overpriced gourmet foods, at least according to their website. Well, the problem for me, that kept me from even calling for information, was the mildly disturbing pictures of their employees. The Sales Manager looked like a conglomerate of so many divorced alcoholic golfers, so he's good for the Glenlivet but off in his game. Then, the Executive of some bullshit position looked like Cramer's (Kelsey Grammar) dad. Crap! What am I going to do when I meet these guys and they turn out to be less personable than the people they look like? I'm going to look so sad, and sad boys don't sell steaks. Besides, I got to thinking and I became sure that they'd make me invest my own money because otherwise I'd get the job, leave the job, and drive a pick-up full of steak, ice, and wine-in-a-box to Yale to celebrate my sister's almost graduation.
Finally, someone wanted me to move out to nowhere California for a sales job with a confidental company. Ooh, California Confidential! I can't wait to sell cookies to Girl Scouts, then sell Girl Scouts to Girl Scout Slave Traders! Then, get the Girl Scout Slave Traders hooked on special brand Horizon Foods Steaks! Well, at least I could have some fresh squeezed orange juice while sweating away in the Valley, I think that's how every seedy Californian lives with himself.
I did apply to 25 more jobs today, though. The more interesting ones were at Macy's, Scholastic (remember the books you forced your parents to buy, even though your school library had them already?), Random House (Bertlesmann Job Feed), Zurich Underwriting, and Sesame Street (Please GOD I want my Sesame sheets after all these years of asking, even though they'll have all these new characters that I'm not willing to accept. And there better be more than Elmo, the Machiavelli of cuteness.)
On the less interesting side, I applied for a bunch of paralegal jobs. In our old office building right next to the City Center Stage (where Doubt is playing) there was a huge law firm that occupied about twelve stories. I'd see the paralegals come and go, they seemed happy, normal, and chatty on a Friday. I even stalked one of them because I was certain that he was an old high school mate of mine, but then I found out that my old mate was in Michigan, likely to be laid off by a major auto company.
And, I should mention that one of those legal staffing firms called me last night. They had a few preliminary questions, two of which I answered in the negatory: Have you ever worked for a lawyer or in any legal profession, and Have you ever worked as a paralegal? Redundant, your honor! They still want me for an interview, which I'll go to before work tomorrow.
Your comment is needed right now! Should I give up my cush radio job for a grind job with some Big Shot lawyers for a measely few more grand, or should I keep trying to weasel my way into publishing or, if there is a God, TV? Cocktail parties were never the end all be all for me, were they? Was I just another pretty face, can't you think of me as anything more than a little traipse in a black dress?
posted by Wellsmus at
8:22 AM
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