My glorious contract has come to an end. I completed what I was hired to do and have said farewell to my office with a door that closes. I was so successful that my contract ended. This leads me to wonder if I could of stayed there had a done a lousy job. It's probably best not to think too much about that.
And so now I have the opportunity of embarking on one of the most humiliating experiences in which one chooses to engage: the job hunt. I would perhaps get more fulfillment out of it if I were into S&M, another activity in which people willingly welcome pain. I, however, prefer my ego oversized and my demeanour conceited. This is how you start your job search. By the end, you're usually a jiggling little lump of blood and flesh that will do anything for a little bit of money.
Last night I dreamt that I was sent to work in Antarctica. It wasn't so bad there, you know. It was kind of like a giant underground shopping mall with nary a penguin in sight. The troubles began when I was swept away by raging floods and lost in an impenetrable, opaque fog. Just great. Add golobal warming to my list of nightmare-worthy immediate worries and mix it all around with job-hunting to make for one fun-filled night. Pass the SSRIs, please.
I have had bouts of unemployment in the past and can procrastinate like a university student a week before semester's end. There's MSN, there's email, there's an insidious computer game called Civilization III. I don't have a TV, so I'm spared that particular joyous brainmelt.
Another pastime, walking aimlessly all over the city with the excuse that I must get my thoughts in order and find a focus in order to zip through the next job interview with bells and whistles, has been curtailed by my neighbourhood's recent crime spree. There has been another fatal shooting in the area. Four people have been shot dead in as many weeks, all within a block of my apartment. I'll stay at home, thank you.
I have managed to send out a few CVs, despite my brain's best efforts to keep me otherwise unoccupied. I have only one more to send out today to meet my daily quota:
Cower in terror before my awesome might. Hire me or your days will be spent in agony, your nights in horrific torture. I am perfection itself and your brains will liquefy and dribble out your nose and ears should I be in the least dissatisfied with our communication. Eternal darkness is your future.
Please do not hesitate to contact me should you have any questions or to set up an interview.
Hire Me, Puny Mortal
August 16, 2005
posted by GreyGuy on 16.8.05 | Permalink |
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