How to Land a Job as a Classy Hooker or Someone Who Gets to Look at Eddie Vedder’s Butt
*I apologize in advance to the straight men who read this blog for the photos of attractive men that follow. This is post is not about attractive men. It’s just how the photos happened to work out. Ladies and gay men, you’re welcome.
I have to say, I’m a pretty lucky person.
I’m lucky because I have some pretty hilarious Facebook friends.
And in a world where it seems like people are consistently content to cut each other down, to take pleasure in others’ failures, and to get so caught up in the frantic climb to the top, like so many salmon swimming upstream, sometimes it’s just nice to have people who make me laugh.
Even if it’s at myself.
Especially if it’s at myself.
In a fit of frustrated self-pity yesterday at not being able to even get interviewed for jobs I don’t really want (Ding! Ding! Maybe that’s the problem.), I did something bad. I committed a Facebook faux pas. A Facebook party foul, if you will.
(A farty foul? A parbook foul? I’ll work on that.)
But the point is that it wasn’t good. It was like when you’re at a party, everyone’s having a fantastic time just chillin’, having a couple of drinks, perhaps discussing how it’s physically possible for Jared Leto to still look completely jumpable while wearing a spirit hood, and yet, beyond all reason or comprehension, he does… you know, the usual party stuff, and somehow you manage to knock over an entire pitcher of a tasty, alcoholic beverage and some jerk yells, “PARTY FOUL!” across the room and everybody boos.
As if you didn’t already feel awful enough.
Embarrassing fact: I just learned what a spirit hood is for the first time this morning thanks to laxsupermom’s comment on my post from yesterday. And I have to say, I see the appeal. Especially if it comes gratis with a Jared Leto attached. (Photo source.)
So what I did is I posted one of those, oh-I’m-so-bummed-and-emo-so-please-feel-sorry-for-me-even-though-I’m-making-a-joke-about-myself-under-the-guise-of-humor status updates. It said:
With “Hot Sauce Maker” and “Freelance Writer” as my last two positions held, I suppose I can understand why no one wants to interview me. :(
Yep. Complete with sad face emoticon.
Fortunately, my friends are not the types who would let this dampen their spirits. Nor will they play into my self-pity, because, let’s face it — that doesn’t help anyone.
Instead, they offered me several potentially lucrative job opportunities working for them that hadn’t even occurred to me:
- Part-time wearer outer of 1-year-old twin girls who gets paid in mashed bananas and limitless laughter (thanks, Jenn!);
- Roadie for a travelling masseuse to the stars, where my payment for strapping a massage table to my back and carrying around a bag of assorted lotions and lubes at rock concerts would be backstage passes to said rock concerts (thanks, Kathryn!);
- Professional traveling hippie/road trip partner-in-crime a la Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty in Kerouac’s On the Road, who gets paid with the freedom to do whatever I want, as long as it doesn’t cost any money. Because we wouldn’t have any (thanks, Ashley H!);
- Classy hooker, where there would be “no getting near the twig and berries,” and yet I would still get paid with “free dinners and Kentucky Derby races” (thanks again, Ashley H!); and
- One opportunity where I might actually get paid. Like with money. And I wouldn’t have to take off my clothes. (Thanks, Ashley L.!)
I’ll admit — some of those gigs actually sound kind of cool to me. I’ll leave it to you to figure out which ones those are.
“Okay, Mr. Vedder — would you please remove your shorts?”
And finally, there were the comments that weren’t job offers, but written solely to comfort and console me in my time of need. Comments like:
- “You forgot street-walker.” (Thanks, Kelly — I forgot I did that from 2003-2004. I’ll add that to the ol’ res. Maybe I’ll get some bites.)
- “I didn’t know you made hot sauce.” (Thanks, Heather — I was a regular hot sauce makin’ machine, during my time in Costa Rica last year. Sadly, my dreams of choking on capsaicin for the rest of my life were capped when I had to return to the real world.)
- “I’ll interview you if you just need to feel better about your experience. :)” (Thanks, Tim — Because I don’t actually want a job. I just want a fake interview that’s somehow supposed to make me feel better about my work experience even though you’re not “interviewing” me based on my work experience. But actually, when I think about it, that might work. So ignore my sarcasm.)
- “Yeah unless your last name is Tabasco?” (Thanks, John — I knew I should’ve married up. Of course, if I married someone from the Tabasco clan, I wouldn’t be making the sauce — I’d just be bathing in the money it procured.)
So there you have it. Nine bulleted reasons why I love my Facebook friends. Really! I do — for always making me laugh.
And, in case you’re wondering, I really do have Hot Sauce Producer and Freelance Writer on my resume. It’s a very particular set of skills, but combined with a winning attitude and a go-to personality, it just might make me the perfect match for a company that’s going places.
Big places.
Related post: Why You Should Either Pay Me to Collate or Contract Bird Flu. Or Both.
