As some of you might know. My vacation is over, I’m desperate for a job now. I have never claimed to be good with math, although I have taken and passed some rather high-end math courses. Once upon a time I knew calculus. (Now I need spell check to write it correctly.) My skills have atrophied to the point that I’m short rent money. I need a job, I need one to have started a week ago.
So I did what anyone would do, went to where I thought my resume was to dust it off and update it. Problem was it wasn’t there. This was on Thursday, come Friday I was still feeling the after affects of my full on panic attack. Hell I’m going to use seizure instead of attack. Robert took me to my first CFL game Friday night. I had tremendous fun. The cheerleaders were a satisfying eye full, oh and there was a football game as well. The lions won I believe. I ate mini-donuts. I vaguely remembered having some photo copies of my resume in a file box somewhere, the somewhere being the last box of seven in the back of my cramped and crowded closet. That was Sunday blown off the map. Then drinks at Chris’ place. Tasty fruit pulp and liquor with a not unreasonable floor show. The air conditioning was crap but the conversation good. I was dull as usual.
Thursday, with updated resume by my side, Jason’s purloined computer under hand I went to Monster.ca to upload my begging for a job. A few covering letters and a dash of sincere malarkey later and … nothing. Console myself it’s only the first day.
Today, I got up for 9am. Weird, apparently the sun shines before noon, go figure. A few hours latter and I’m registered with Labour Ready who made me feel welcome, like really welcome, like something was up welcome. Then they asked if it would be okay if I helped unload a cargo trailer tonight. I work 4-9pm. Then have to head back to dispatch to fill out one last form. It was odd. Who asks politely if someone wants to work?
It was only noon so I went grocery shopping then home for a rest while checking my email. I get a phone call. Ah well its Labour Ready calling to say I’m a twit for thinking they had a use for me and that I should dress in all black, go emo and hack at my wrists with a rusty razor now. But no it’s a headhunter. Apparently I'm desirable. According to the headhunter, who I'm sure was buttering me up. I'm a rare commodity. My warehouse job skills and experience don’t just wonder around willy nilly, we're coveted.
I feel pretty.
Yes, you’re right it's probably all too good to be true. Something disastrous will come of this I’m sure. Look out for falling footwear.