Morrissey - My Unexpected Lifecoach
"I was looking for a job, And then I found a job and heaven knows I'm miserable now." -- Morrissey
On the heels of a recent job interview, I began thinking this: what if I were offered this job, would I take it, and if so, would I be happy there?
Yes, they served Starbucks in the cafeteria and the salad bar boasted sunflower seeds, yet I still wasn't sure I could see myself there.
Before I had a chance to really examine all possible scenarios, I heard the voice of former Smiths front man and consummate poet of desperation, Morrissey, say sotto voce: "I was looking for a job, And then I found a job and heaven knows I'm miserable now." He crooned in a continuous loop until I had to bring in my secret weapon of head-clearing, the "Happy Days" theme song (try it, it really works!) to eradicate it. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that this might not be the right move for me. It would give me a reason to get dressed before noon, something I sorely need, but accepting it also meant I'd probably never nail all the moves to "Feel This Moment" on Just Dance 2014 and I'd already put in so much time and effort...
Now the pragmatist in me says, "Fool, if offered a job that pays you in anything other than gym socks (we're full up on those) how could you turn it down? Remember the man wandering aimlessly from room to room, unable to recall what brought him there in the first place? That's your husband and he's been out of work longer than you have." Then the Moonstruck-version of Cher comes in, slaps me hard across the face and barks, "Snap out of it!"
Let's face it, orthodontia for three is not going to pay for itself. Still, what if I'm not really qualified for this? At this point, I'm far more familiar with crude humor than crude oil. I don't want to make a mistake that could send me back to ground zero and into the arms of the oh-so-far-from-helpful darlings of the NJ Dept. of Labor's unemployment office. Or worse yet, what if I hated it so much I had to quit, thereby forfeiting the government handout that was keeping us in 5-gallon boxes of Merlot?
After reviewing the grueling test given during the interview, I fully expected my would-be boss to say, "Seriously, Liz, unless all the other applicants are killed simultaneously, don't wait by the phone," so perhaps this isn't even a bridge I will have to cross.
I think maybe I'm just not ready to relinquish the freedom and time I have to wonder what Elvis would look like if he were alive today. For now, I will strongly consider the haunting lyrics of Britain's long-suffering singer. As long as I can ignore him when he implores me to "Hang the DJ," I should be alright.
On the heels of a recent job interview, I began thinking this: what if I were offered this job, would I take it, and if so, would I be happy there?
Yes, they served Starbucks in the cafeteria and the salad bar boasted sunflower seeds, yet I still wasn't sure I could see myself there.
Before I had a chance to really examine all possible scenarios, I heard the voice of former Smiths front man and consummate poet of desperation, Morrissey, say sotto voce: "I was looking for a job, And then I found a job and heaven knows I'm miserable now." He crooned in a continuous loop until I had to bring in my secret weapon of head-clearing, the "Happy Days" theme song (try it, it really works!) to eradicate it. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that this might not be the right move for me. It would give me a reason to get dressed before noon, something I sorely need, but accepting it also meant I'd probably never nail all the moves to "Feel This Moment" on Just Dance 2014 and I'd already put in so much time and effort...
Now the pragmatist in me says, "Fool, if offered a job that pays you in anything other than gym socks (we're full up on those) how could you turn it down? Remember the man wandering aimlessly from room to room, unable to recall what brought him there in the first place? That's your husband and he's been out of work longer than you have." Then the Moonstruck-version of Cher comes in, slaps me hard across the face and barks, "Snap out of it!"
Let's face it, orthodontia for three is not going to pay for itself. Still, what if I'm not really qualified for this? At this point, I'm far more familiar with crude humor than crude oil. I don't want to make a mistake that could send me back to ground zero and into the arms of the oh-so-far-from-helpful darlings of the NJ Dept. of Labor's unemployment office. Or worse yet, what if I hated it so much I had to quit, thereby forfeiting the government handout that was keeping us in 5-gallon boxes of Merlot?
After reviewing the grueling test given during the interview, I fully expected my would-be boss to say, "Seriously, Liz, unless all the other applicants are killed simultaneously, don't wait by the phone," so perhaps this isn't even a bridge I will have to cross.
I think maybe I'm just not ready to relinquish the freedom and time I have to wonder what Elvis would look like if he were alive today. For now, I will strongly consider the haunting lyrics of Britain's long-suffering singer. As long as I can ignore him when he implores me to "Hang the DJ," I should be alright.
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