Job Hunt 4

18 Aug

How does it feel to be employed?

Is it a warm feeling?

Does it quiet your restless heart when you find yourself abruptly awoken in those indistinguishable, late night hours by some mysterious sound or frightful dream?

Does it give you the ability to buy jeans?

I am currently unemployed. I feel like I spend a lot of time unemployed. Why?

“Why?” I ask JobGod (my computer when logged into Monster.com).

“Because your resume is so weak, you had to list a family pet as a character reference. You even gave it a phone number.”

“I meant to include a diagram of the cat phone.” I whisper–half to myself, half to my computer.

First Draft

After a few minutes and several more design drafts for the cat phone, I head to a local hotel to apply for jobs in person–the old fashioned way. I plan on making money the old fashioned way–by working.

I go to local hotel–a hotel my friend, Patrick, works at. He’s been working there for quite some time and I figure he can put a good word in for me. After applying with the hotel, I’m directed to meet with Ken Withers, manager of maintenance at the hotel.

“Well, you applied for a maintenance position, but you don’t seem to have any maintenance experience,” Ken Withers says to me.

“Listen,” I say, quietly folding my hands together. “What I lack in experience I more than make up for in drawing ability.” I smile and do a “raise the roof” gesture. “Art!” I say to a deafening silence. Ken sits at his desk, unmoved.

“Why would that matter in a maintenance job?” he asks.

I understand his confusion–I do. So, I lean back, my chin cradled in my hand. I look thoughtful. Then, it dawns on me. I lean forward, grabbing a pen from his desk. I draw him a picture of a Jedi knight stabbing the sun in its butt.

“I d–” he pauses, turning the paper in his hands to get a better view. I sit smugly in my chair. The job is mine.

“What do you think?” I ask him.

“I think you’re a man of considerable psychological distress. Why you would think that this drawing–or any drawing for that matter–would help you get a job as a maintenance man at a hotel is completely beyond me. I’m confused, I’m concerned, and I think I’d like you to leave, but I’m afraid of what you’ll do on your way out.” There’s a moment of silence as he begins to clarify. “There are children out there.”

I wink at Ken and get to my feet. “They say that children are our future.” I sigh. “Well, I hate kids nowadays. They’re all terrible people. So I hate the future. The future is going to suck. I’m going back to the future–because even chaos needs a sheriff.” I walk out of the room.

“Once again, that did not address my concern!” Ken calls, getting to his feet. “What the hell are you talking about?!”

I begin work the next day–volunteering at the hotel, refolding towels and following cleaning ladies into dirty rooms and laying on the unmade beds until they leave me alone.

The first thing I fix in every room is the misplaced screws everywhere. Some bozo has screwed a television set to the TV chest of drawers. I unscrew all of the TV’s, allowing visitors to turn them as they feel appropriate.

Next, I baby-proof the rooms–for our tiniest clients ;). I remove all the light bulbs (Because babies are naturally nocturnal and hate light), I open all the drawers and pull all the sheets back (Because babies are extremely suspicious of your motives and believe you could be hiding a gun anywhere.) Then, I remove all the TV’s. Televisions are pointy and have BET on them sometimes. Removal of the televisions is much easier with all the screws removed.

While carrying a TV down to the dumpster, I’m halted by a large, surly hotel security officer.

“Sir? Can I help you?”

I look him up and down, his gut hanging proudly over his belt. “I doubt it.” I begin to walk past him.

“No, sir. What are you doing with that television?”

“I’m getting it out of the rooms. I’m baby proofing the rooms–because, if these children out here are the future, the future is going to suck, and we’re going to need that next generation to be healthy enough to overthrow them. Don’t kids suck nowadays? I saw an 11 year-old with an iphone. Doesn’t that piss you off?”

The security guard raises his walkie to his mouth, holds it there, then lowers it slowly, an earnest smile stretching across his face. “Yes it does.”

I have made a friend.

Below is an artistic representation of what happens next.

The End.

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