The Sandinista!

So the job hunt is on.  Hmm… maybe ‘hunt’ isn’t the right word.  ‘Hunt’ sounds like something fun.  Something thrilling.  It evokes images of a great adventure spent tiptoeing through idyllic landscapes, waves of excitement surging through quivering bodies as you match wits with a formidable and worthy quarry.  It’s about testing the limits of your mettle; pursuing the impossible.  No, what I’m doing is quite different.  Applying for jobs feels like going for a meal at Taco Bell.  You enter through the swinging door in utter disbelief at where your car has just delivered you.  You stare a while at the overhead menu in disgust as you contemplate which form of heart failure is the nobler death.  Finally you give up, close your eyes and wave your finger in the general direction of the “hand-held” menu items.  Maybe you selected a Gordita.  Or a Soft Taco Supreme.  It doesn’t really matter – in the end your eyes glaze over and you barely notice your trembling fingers shoving landfills of grease and processed cheese down your gullet before your taste buds have time to object.  Maybe I’m burned out on working but I feel like the job hunt is nothing more than deciding between several highly unsatisfactory options.  And whatever your selection you are certain to end up crying in a bathroom.  Let’s face it – at this point a deal closer for me is an office remotely near the vending machines.   

But my resume is complete and I’m emailing like crazy.  I’ve even impressed myself with my proficiency at jazzing up past work experience.  Making copies for my d-bag boss - I’m a “collator specialist.”  Lifeguard at the community center – “aquatic coordinator.”  I wonder if prospective employers get fed up with this whole charade.  Wouldn’t they rather hear the truth: “Ambitionless dishrag seeking full-time position to escape domestic misery.”    

I wanted to post pics from last week’s Pride Festival – it was our bud’s birthday and we had ventured to the park for a much anticipated game of Ultimate Frisbee.  Alas, our camera broke when the celebrating young lad was plucked from the air by a rather burly gal and her tag-team partner as he went for a catch – they tore him asunder in a scene reminiscent of Discovery Channel’s ‘Shark Week.’  We tried to intervene but the onslaught was too swift - we were lucky to escape with our lives (and the Frisbee) intact.  Happy Birthday, indeed!          

Some of you took interest in my last post about internet security at my office.  Well, the rabbit hole runs deeper than you know.  It is not enough to block us from accessing our favorite websites.  Some sort of public humiliation is in order as well.  Once the “Access has been Blocked” screen appears on the monitor, a women’s voice screams at you through the computer speakers: 

access denied

This is an especially effective tool of embarrassment when, say, you’ve been listening to your Ipod at work and speakers are turned up to full listening volume.  Nothing breaks eerie morning office silences quite like the sound of you being reprimanded by someone’s mother.  It alerts cubicle neighbors and passer-by’s to your current activities, and probably confirms any suspicions they have about your personal indiscretions and character flaws.  At this point, I can only conclude that Gillian in Accounting thinks I split my workday between terrorist recruitment and Asian fetish websites.

Of course you don’t know what sites are blocked or not.  And the parameters seem to change daily so you are always on your toes.  A carefree stroll over to Wikipedia can quickly become a sleazy outing to GoatBlow.com in the eyes of your colleagues. 

The next step down from outright rejection is:  

Access to http://www.cnn.com has been blocked by WebMarshal™

Now you must choose your fate.  What happens if you click OK?  Who is watching?  Will you see that hilarious video of a Dalmatian peeing on an infant?  Or will a squadron of jungle commandos crash through the adjacent hallway window and drag you to your death?  And will Chuck Norris be leading that team of commandos?  If so, you may have seconds to live (less if he isn’t wearing sunglasses, thereby activating the laser cannons that shoot from his retinas).  This Orwellian approach to internet security is very effective – like house pets we gobble up the scraps our master’s throw us and fear the retribution that awaits our disobedience.      

I’ve already said too much - tell my story if I disappear.  Tell of the glorious roundhouse kick that cut short my life.