Thursday, September 09, 2004
Workin’ It
So I’ve been working on my resume lately (I bet you didn’t even know that indentured servants have resumes!) and it’s made me realize that many of the employment experiences I have had were such that it is best I not report them. Here are fun-filled descriptions for some of my favorite actual jobs I have held that are, sadly, being sent off to the great big resume in the sky:
Historically Costumed Docent. Guided visitors through the wonders of architecture dressed in a wool suit, speaking in an old-timey accent that quite frankly made me sound insane. Occasionally performed period songs and dances for elderly, angry women with the help of lazy-eyed female guides. Got caught drinking a bottle of white zinfandel stolen from the exhibit-opening reception and sniffing the smelling salts from the first aid kit. Retired.
Minor League Baseball Videographer. Squinted into an ancient, cracked video camera, fitfully pivoting it on a taped-together tripod to semi-capture the semi-majesty and semi-drama of a baseball team apparently cobbled together from group home residents and Mama’s Family extras. Huddled under a tarp when it rained, enduring the jeers of ten year olds and slowly suffocating. Took a line drive to the crotch and suffered the indignity of having a fifty-something male trainer ask if I’d like him to ice it for me. Politely declined.
Public Radio DJ. Planned hours of entertainment centered solely around organ music or Flemish composers. Fielded phone calls from local crackpots who wished to express their views about zoning ordinances or complain that A Prairie Home Companion was sometimes dirty. Taught social skills to staff of pale, overweight compulsive talkers. Participated in a pledge drive, resulting in first stay at Promises Clinic in Malibu.
Development Assistant. Listened to various babysitting woes and marital spats of university development staff. Made copies. Ate stale leftover crackers from fundraising events. Periodically filed and refiled things. Checked e-mail.
Music History Tutor. Explained to marketing majors that Amadeus was not a documentary. Tried desperately to care about motets and madrigals. Pretended that twentieth century music where people break violins and belch the Gettysburg Address is awesome. Made up answers to questions I did not understand, usually including the phrase "there are many ways to look at it." Cried myself to sleep at night.
See, work totally is what defines a person! That’s why I’m still such a big historically-costumed, baseball-filming, copy-making fool.
So I’ve been working on my resume lately (I bet you didn’t even know that indentured servants have resumes!) and it’s made me realize that many of the employment experiences I have had were such that it is best I not report them. Here are fun-filled descriptions for some of my favorite actual jobs I have held that are, sadly, being sent off to the great big resume in the sky:
Historically Costumed Docent. Guided visitors through the wonders of architecture dressed in a wool suit, speaking in an old-timey accent that quite frankly made me sound insane. Occasionally performed period songs and dances for elderly, angry women with the help of lazy-eyed female guides. Got caught drinking a bottle of white zinfandel stolen from the exhibit-opening reception and sniffing the smelling salts from the first aid kit. Retired.
Minor League Baseball Videographer. Squinted into an ancient, cracked video camera, fitfully pivoting it on a taped-together tripod to semi-capture the semi-majesty and semi-drama of a baseball team apparently cobbled together from group home residents and Mama’s Family extras. Huddled under a tarp when it rained, enduring the jeers of ten year olds and slowly suffocating. Took a line drive to the crotch and suffered the indignity of having a fifty-something male trainer ask if I’d like him to ice it for me. Politely declined.
Public Radio DJ. Planned hours of entertainment centered solely around organ music or Flemish composers. Fielded phone calls from local crackpots who wished to express their views about zoning ordinances or complain that A Prairie Home Companion was sometimes dirty. Taught social skills to staff of pale, overweight compulsive talkers. Participated in a pledge drive, resulting in first stay at Promises Clinic in Malibu.
Development Assistant. Listened to various babysitting woes and marital spats of university development staff. Made copies. Ate stale leftover crackers from fundraising events. Periodically filed and refiled things. Checked e-mail.
Music History Tutor. Explained to marketing majors that Amadeus was not a documentary. Tried desperately to care about motets and madrigals. Pretended that twentieth century music where people break violins and belch the Gettysburg Address is awesome. Made up answers to questions I did not understand, usually including the phrase "there are many ways to look at it." Cried myself to sleep at night.
See, work totally is what defines a person! That’s why I’m still such a big historically-costumed, baseball-filming, copy-making fool.
