For Hire (and lower)

“I no longer know what I am, nor what I am doing.”  Mozart

Are there many things in life as deflating as searching for a job? No. Not many. It takes a reserve of inner strength that is easily blown in one day’s foray. I would prefer outright rejection to silence and confused ramblings that leave a crack open for my nemesis hope to squeeze through. I am spent by the effort of presenting myself to the world as competent, cheery and energetic for a chance to sell cupcakes, carry plates, answer a phone, or babysit the children and adults who are needing a paid mommy at slave wages.  What I would really like is to go to an interview and answer the stupid questions with absolute honesty. It would amuse me and if my future employer has any sense of humor, or even plain sense, they will hire me on the spot. And we will get along famously. It will be wonderful. I look forward to getting up. I accomplish the tasks with alacrity, and then enjoy my lunch break. There I am unpacking my glasses, making my bed in the little apartment I will move to once I have a decent paycheck. Probably tiny. But no matter. Because I am competent and cheery and energetic, damn it. All my problems solved. Okay, more like one problem solved, but I’ll take it. I’m not greedy.

I finally have a cell phone again, so at least I can feel the small triumph (not of my own doing as the phone is a generous gift, but we must take our triumphs where we can) of having my own number to list on the applications. I got three messages today. Someone saw “my” ad, they are looking for a stripper for a party of 15 in February. Oh excellent. I’ll add that to my resume.


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