Long story short – I have to re-interview for my own job today.
There are other candidates. I want to vomit.
So, since my father’s worry-wort nature has prepared me to do so – I am planning for the worst.
The following are potential job avenues for me:
- Prostitute. [For obvious reasons. Mainly my stems.]
- Professional drinker.
- Personal shopper.
- Bad financial role model.
- Competitive sushi eater.
- Driver. [I would probably need something other than my '92 Intrepid. But whatever.]
- Stunt woman. As long as I don’t have to fall from tall buildings or really jump at all. I hate jumping.
- Drug dealer. Only prescription, though. I’m classy.
- Birthday party planner. For cool people.
- Mimosa maker. Not a bartender. A mimosa maker.
- Test eater for famous people in fear of poisoning.
- Bad joke teller. [I mean ... Dustin Fucking Diamond gets stand-up gigs!]
Any other ideas?
I DON’T WANT TO LIVE IN A BOX, PEOPLE!
Wish me luck today!
