Let’s talk more about my job search for a second.
If I live another day sandwiched in a cubicle, it’ll be because I have lost the energy necessary to research foolproof self-death techniques. Boredom will do that to us sometimes.
At this very second, I am charged with stabbing in a main artery with a pencil those who regard Microsoft Word and PowerPoint templates as high art. Bullets, section numbering, italics, underlining—sometimes all done at the same time to one sentence. Free tip, and don’t ever say I’ve never given you anything: just because Word changes the next word after you hit the enter or return key to a capitalized word doesn’t mean that word should be capitalized. Word is a primitive word processing program that cannot think for itself. You can think for yourself. Release Bill Gates and free your mind, people. For God’s sake. Today.
I get these high art documents and I correct them. All. Day. Long. I give them graphic covers. I remove embedded (argh) images and resize them more appropriately. Image of a bolt and its accompanying nut? Doesn’t have to take up the entire page. Just saying. It is not a Pulitzer-winning photo just because you took it with your new digital camera. A few pixels should just about do it justice.
I encourage people to understand that grammar and punctuation rules, although not life-or-death, serve a purpose. And perhaps things have changed a little since Miss Hawkins’s fifth grade English class in 1952 when you were the star student. No more double spaces after a period. Under any circumstance. Stop arguing with me. If you use the word utilize, I will kill a puppy. It’s use. The word is use. While I’m at it: no more proceeding to go. Go. Just go. God. Prior to? Plain-old “before”. Prior to proceeding to go? Argh.
Hiring managers hire me for my writing skills which I’ve discovered means document correction skills. They love my communication coordinator’s experience on my resume which loosely translates into my not screaming in the break room at the stupid people. The not-for-profit organizations I’ve worked for like a slave tells them I wouldn’t know a decent salary if it fell into my credit union account.
I get into these relationships and, before I know it, I’m trapped by medical coverage and the promise of a more that never comes. Disillusioned, I start to cruise the singles bars known also as Career Builder and Monster, looking for the next johnny driving a big black Cadillac to rescue me with Blue Cross Blue Shield, premium bonus packages and clip art.
[four missing, dispirited comments]
