I had thought that cooking dry beans and rice over the stove was the most economical way to subsist on scarce resources without developing anemia or beriberi or pellagra or kwashiorkor or something . . .
I had wondered what this thing in the back yard was for so many months ever since I moved in.
. . . Until I found the bill from the propane company stuck to my front door when I came home this afternoon.
I’m getting really sick of those goddamn emails you regularly dump in my inbox telling me about “Jobs I May Be Interested In.” I once really did apply for one of those jobs. Three days later I drove 110 miles to find myself at some too-hip-for-you consulting firm run by some too-cool-to-comb-his-hair megalomaniac sociologist who apparently thinks that surprise group interviews allotting 10 minutes to each candidate are a responsible way to hire people. They sent the rejection email before I even finished swerving my way back the 110 miles under the influence of my job interview-strength dose of tranquilizers. I don’t find your juicy-looking fraudulent job ads that you spam out to me to be very credible anymore.
And why don’t you stop flashing a bunch of “People I May Know” in my face every time I sign into my account. Yes, I do in fact know all those people. But you know what? I really don’t want to know that the flakey classmate who never even showed up to two seminars in a row now manages the grants at Big Fat Important Foundation That [supposedly] Saves the World. I don’t want to know that the pompous classmate who sat in the back of the room and snickered the time I flounderingly taught a class to the undergrads is now a policy analyst at the RAND Corporation. I really, really, REALLY don’t want to see blinking back at me the profile of the former internship supervisor who had the gracious generosity to tell a reference checker that I’m “on the introverted side.” Continue reading