“Hi, my name is Evan Dodd. I’m a college student home for the summer, and I was wondering if you were —” SLAM! “— hiring.” This scenario, complete with slamming door action (batteries not included), has been repeated so many times that I’ve begun to develop a chronic fear of loud doors and scowling managers.
Summer has barely just begun and already I have been rejected by almost every employer within a twenty-mile radius. And sure, maybe a college student doesn’t always seem appealing to local businesses, but I’ve got plenty to offer! Like my ability to … work and stuff. And my … job skills.
Okay, so I have minimal experience, constraining time constraints and the awkward habit of repeating words within a single sentence.
Despite that, I still feel like I would be a valuable asset to any employer brave enough to hire me — but it appears that local employers feel differently.
At least, that was the case at my town diner, at which I was told that I wasn’t pretty enough to collect tip money. (By the way, I resent that assessment; I can make a “pity me, I’m a starving waiter” face like a champ.)
I had a similar experience at the sporting goods store down the street. Apparently skinny journalists are not seen as great salesmen of athletic equipment. Though in all honestly, this one might have been my fault, since the manager happened to see me struggling to lift a medicine ball. But in my defense, it felt like someone had glued it to the floor as a cruel joke to prospective employees.
But the biggest disappointment came at the site of my dream job. See, Anchorage residents may not be aware of the exciting lifestyle that my hometown Wasilla has to offer, so let me clue you in. We have a Llama Farm.
One more time for emphasis: We have a Llama Farm.
Now I’m not saying that it’s always been my dream to farm llamas (llami?) but I will say that I have had a lasso and spurs in my room for a good portion of my life now. So you could understand how devastating it was to hear that not only was I not the right candidate for the job, but that the title of “llama farmer” didn’t even exist.
Unfortunately the owner of the llamas was neither impressed at the demonstration of my llama herding abilities, nor was he sympathetic to my job hunt.
Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be told, “Son, if you don’t stop trying to ride my llamas in cowboy boots and a plastic sheriff’s badge, I’m going to have to call the police”?
Their loss, I guess. Now I’ll never realize my true potential as the Alaskan Clint Eastwood of llama herding.
See, I don’t feel like I’m overly desperate for work; I could easily survive for another day or two before bankruptcy sets in. My friends however, seem to be worried by my never-ending job hunt, given that they keep reminding me, “Evan, those street corners are not as welcoming as you think. Maybe you should try fast food.”
What they don’t understand is that I’m not ready to resort to fast food. I have dreams and aspirations and … stuff. Ask a little kid what they want to be when they grow up, and they’ll tell you an astronaut or a pirate, maybe a ninja or firefighter. No kid wants to flip burgers.
And it’s not like I’m asking for too much. I realize I’m not the next Bill Gates or Mark Zuckerberg. I don’t have some award-winning idea that will change everything. Really, my job aspirations are sensible and down to earth.
I just want to be some sort of international spy who saves the world on a daily basis, is paid exorbitant amounts of money to an account in the Caymans and never has to work nights or weekends. I really don’t think that’s too much to ask.
Unfortunately the spy game in Wasilla, Alaska, is fairly hard to get into, so for now I’ll continue stalking local employers and plastering the town with slightly embellished résumés.
Next stop, Wasilla Police Department. Luckily I’ve still got my plastic sheriff’s badge, so this interview will be a piece of cake.
Until next time, this is Evan Dodd, potential llama farmer/international superspy, wishing you luck with the great summer job search of 2012.