the simplest plans laid to waste

I spent most of this afternoon on the phone. With a textbook company. Trying to get them to send me a free instructor's edition of the book I'm going to need for my next college class. And, quite frankly, I don't think I'll be getting this book anytime soon. All my effort wasted...and to think of the wasted time which could have been put to good use. Now I'll never know how Maury helped save those unruly teens by putting them in boot camp, or how Judge Joe Brown solved the particularly tricky case of the ex-girlfriend who threw eggs at her ex-boyfriends pick-up truck and is now being sued for $5000 to cover his new paint and emotional distress.

I've long since come to the realization that, in order to learn anything in my quest for another degree, I'm going to be teaching myself. To aid in this, I feel that...if given the answers...I can work backwards and gain a more concrete picture of the material. And, in the event that there's simply no way I'm going to get the picture, concrete or mushy, at least I'll have all the answers.

So my goal was simple. Call the textbook company and get a sample textbook. My cover story was iron clad too. I was either going to be an A) community college professor that wanted to review a possible new textbook for inclusion in a college course, or B) a new, adjunct, faculty member who couldn't find the required teacher edition because the previous professor misplaced it. Very simple.

So I called, and explained story B to Kelly. Kelly asked the name of the college, which I had prepared for, and after my response I was quite disheartened to see that my book was not going to be placed in the mail just yet. As it turns out, Kelly asked for the name of my 'department chair' and a number that she could reach my 'department chair' at.

Thinking quickly, I told her the first name that popped into my head...which was the name of my friend Jill. So I gave her Jill's name and number. The same number which Kelly proceeded to call on a separate line. Unfortunately, it wasn't until Kelly called that I remembered that Jill isn't one of those people who can just have a message which says, "This is Jill, sorry I missed your call, please leave a message."

No, the friend I choose to be my 'department chair' is one of those annoying people who enjoys leaving a two minute karaoke moment on their answering machine. So when Kelly called, she got 120 seconds of Jill singing "Hey Jude" at the top of her lungs, accompanied by music blaring in the background.

Any credibility of Jill being a department chair for any college anywhere in the country was quickly extinguished. To top it off, her singing is incredibly bad. So not only did Kelly get back on the phone being very doubtful of my professorship, she was also quite cranky.

"Sir," Kelly said, "the number you provided did not appear to connect to an accredited university. Now, I checked the college's web page which you claim to teach at, and I didn't see you listed on the faculty page. Further, I called and spoke with a human resources person there, and she had never heard of you."

Granted, I was impressed with Kelly's thoroughness, but, thinking quickly again, I switched to plan A, "Oh, did you say that you called the Community College? Obviously you misunderstood me, because what I meant to say is that I'm a professor who's thinking of switching textbooks in a course that I'm teaching at a very prominent university."

Interestingly enough, it was at this point in the conversation that our connection was mysteriously lost.

A simple teacher's edition for a class that I'll be taking is all I wanted. I had every intention of actually 'reading' the book...and if all of the exams and answers were provided, I figured that this would simply have facilitated my learning and added to my understanding of the material.

But no, this simple little plan blew up because of Kelly's incessant meddling. And I think it's a sad world that we live in when we've all become so distrustful of each other.

Especially when this distrust means that I'm going to be required to work.

topics worthy of disussion

As a Catholic, I’m rather ashamed to say that I've never been really clear on the significance of the Pope. I suppose that I’ve just always assumed that he was pretty much a figure head, comparable to the King of England.

Though, with the passing of Pope John Paul II, I’m beginning to realize the significance of the Pope, and what a true loss this man’s death really is. Granted, I was only six when John Paul became the Pope and I never really knew any of the Popes before him, but his charisma, message of hope, and the dignity he showed was remarkable.

And, like many, I wonder what Pope Benedict’s legacy will bring. I know that he’s got his critics…the Nazi allegations surrounding his youth, his denouncement of homosexuals, and the general hard-line he seems to support in triumphing the traditional values of the Catholic Church.

In all, though, it’s an issue that seems worthy of debate…much more so than the thousands of pages that have been printed surrounding Brad and Jen’s divorce…it’s a topic that has substance and impact, a matter that should warrant thoughtful discussion and debate. So it was refreshing to hear an older couple talking about this very topic earlier this morning while I was in the supermarket.

“You know, I really don’t agree with the vote. I really do think that they picked the wrong person,” an elderly lady was saying to her husband.

“No, I think that they got it exactly right,” her husband told her. “He deserved it and I’ve got no complaints.”

“I’m just not sure. I mean, I always liked that Anwar boy. He's got such a good voice!”

And I couldn’t help but feel a bit sad that this is where we’re at as a country. The election of a new Pope is considered small potatoes when compared with who got voted off of American Idol.

Though I had to admit that the little old lady was right. That tubby Scott Savol guy deserved to be voted off long before Anwar.

unemployment anonymous

I’ve finally come to the realization that it’s time to start networking. In truth, had I started networking back in college, I would probably have a powerful, high paying job by now…or at least a cushy government job that pays me well for doing practically nothing. And if given the opportunity to go back in time, I definitely would have studied much less and networked much more.

But figuring that it’s better late than never, I’ve started mentioning the fact that I’m unemployed and looking for a job to nearly everyone I meet. And while this feeble attempt at networking has gotten me very little in the way of a job, it has given people an alternative to asking me ‘what’s new?’ Now, they can replace this standard small talk fare with the question, ‘how’s the job hunt coming?’…which is just as annoying as asking ‘what’s new?’ except for the fact that now they can continually point out the fact that I have no job.

But this ‘no job’ status of mine has also pinned me as some type of bum guru, and I find that I’m often sought out by people who have also been recently canned. Marsha, a classmate of mine, is one such person who turned to me for sympathy.

She came running up to me while I was pouring a cup of coffee in the ‘student lounge’, which was previously a closet, and said, “I just got terminated today!”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Well, it was for something really stupid. Sort of like stealing chalk from school,” she told me.

“So you’re saying that you stole some chalk?”

“No,” she said, “I had my husband listed on my insurance and that’s why they fired me.”

“So they fired you because you’re married?”

“No, they fired me because my husband was on my insurance through work…you see, it’s a common law marriage…we’ve been living together for six years.”

Now by this point I had really lost all interest. I tend to find Marsha annoying on the best of days, and her flightiness makes it very difficult to follow any conversation that she’s trying to engage you in. However, the first half of class had already left my brain pretty numb, which made Marsha slightly more bearable. So I said, “I thought that you had to be living together for seven years for it be considered a common law marriage.”

“We’ve only been living together for six, but we’ve been together for over seven years, so I consider it a common law marriage. Anyway, someone found out that I listed my husband on my insurance and because ‘legally’ he’s not my husband, they fired me. It’s completely unfair!”

Now, granted I’m no lawyer, but I believe this is called insurance fraud. But who am I to question the legalities of marriage. If Marsha wants to believe that she has a common law husband, far be it from me to question the validity of this sacred union. Though I couldn’t help but think that it was too bad she wasn’t a lesbian…because then, at least, she could’ve sued them for discrimination.

In any event, the very next day I sent a resume to Marsha’s former place of employment because I knew that they now had an opening.

the deadline looms

After weeks and weeks of procrastinating, I simply had to relent and file my tax return. While I hate filing tax returns of any kind, the procrastinating was…at least in part…a feeble attempt to ward off the post-tax depression that was sure to set in upon seeing just how little money I really made last year. Logically, I know that the money I earned was incredibly meager, but until an actual number is given, I can pretend it was more than I thought it would be.

As it turns out, my 2004 earnings are very small indeed. So incredibly small in its smallness that the number could be found cowering in the corner of my tax return because the other, larger numbers on the sheet, were making fun of my small number for being so very small. A number so tiny in the number world that it came with its own footnote which read, ‘this is what you made? How in the world can anyone survive on THAT?!?’

And I have every belief that my tax return for last year, with its mini-sized numbers, could have been found in an elementary math book somewhere…a problem that the students would have easily been able to compute except for the fact that to fill in line 3a they had to reference page 211, paragraph four, to find the instructions on how to figure out what the hell was supposed to go on line 3a, and then cross-check this figure with the tax chart, found on page 455, to calculate the given tax rate in regards to the ridiculously small number which was my salary.

But persevere I did. And after checking to make sure that I couldn’t claim any goldfish as dependents and that there was no box to mark off tax deductions in the form of ‘drinks bought for friends at overpriced bars’, I had to accept the fact that I STILL owe money. Money that the government can obviously see I didn’t make last year and which has me wondering how, when your salary was such a small number, you can owe such a big number in taxes.

So I’ve determined, in all my educated wisdom, that I need money. And while I simply cannot think of any way to actually ‘make’ money, surely I can think of ways in which to ‘save’ money. And I have a sure-fire plan to do this.

Lately, I’ve been saving big bucks on car washing. Now, each time I go to the gas station, I’ve been helping myself to the windshield washing bucket next to the gas tanks. Not only do I wash my windshield, but also use that little squeegee thing to clean my whole car…hood, trunk, roof, doors…yes, a complete car washing free of charge.

And while the result looks much like you’d expect a car washed with windshield washing fluid and a squeegee to look…meaning crappy…by my estimation I save anywhere from fifty cents to a dollar each time I wash my car. And by stopping once a day, I figure that this is equal to about $365 dollars worth of income.

Of course, if the government ever starts taxing ‘imaginary’ income, I’m screwed.

rest in peace

You know, I really have nothing against animals. And while I tend to prefer the cuter, fuzzier animals over the scaly, slimy kind, I generally wish them no harm…with the exception of those bugs that decide on vacationing within my apartment. To them, I figure they get what they deserve. But to the others, I have no ill will at all.

And I firmly believe that the Avon and Mary Kay people should really try and refrain from all that animal testing, which probably consists of spraying excessive amounts of perfume on a bunch of poor little bunnies. Likewise, I feel that those little white rats should really be given the choice to opt out of all that maze running that the scientists put them through. Even when driving, I try to think of animals first.

I always slow down when birds swoop in front of my car, even though they should clearly look both ways before any swooping takes place. And whenever I see a dog in the street, I never speed up and aim for it…even when it’s one of those annoying little yipping dogs that really do deserve to be run over. And with the exception of one squirrel, my track record for hitting animals on the road has been nearly spotless…though this wasn’t really even my fault.

The squirrel was eating an acorn in the middle of the road as I was driving…at the speed limit mind you…toward it. I was under the impression that getting out of the way of cars was some type of squirrel instinct, and that it would run off long before I got too close. Unfortunately, he must have been one hungry squirrel, because this instinct never kicked in. However, I was comforted in knowing that he enjoyed his last meal as my right passenger tire went over him.

Today, however, my animal fatality rate increased. As I drove down the road this morning, a turkey came strolling out of the woods right in front of my car, and with no time to react, the turkey quickly met my 55 mile per hour car. Upon impact, there was a huge explosion of feathers, much like one of those pillow fight scenes from the movies…minus the scantily clad ladies, unfortunately. It was like the fourth of July with feathers instead of fireworks…the sky was filled with fun and featheriness.

But I wasn’t even able to fully enjoy how totally cool the sudden feathering of the sky was because of the guilty feelings I had about hitting this turkey...a turkey that was clearly suicidal…which, therefore, absolved me from any real responsibility in the death of this animal.

But like any true humanitarian, I pulled off to the side of the road. I slowly exited my vehicle and walked around to the front of my car. And after a careful inspection revealed that there were no dents, I breathed a sigh of relief and drove off…though I did spit my chewing gum out at the approximate place of impact as homage to the turkey. It was cinnamon and still had some flavor left in it, yet I unselfishly sacrificed the gum out of respect for the deceased turkey. I’m a humanitarian like that.

Besides, I still had another pack in my car.

the experts have concluded that the job market must be pretty bad

Today, for the first time in about two months, I had a job interview. And this caused a minor flurry of unemployed-doldrums excitement, providing a nice break from the limited afternoon television choices that are usually offered.

The job was for a Staffing Specialist at a local staffing agency, and while the position sounded moderately boring, the promise of bi-weekly paychecks made it seem like the perfect job for me. I walked in, signed the little 'sign in' sheet on the front counter, and noticed that sitting three names above mine, was the name of a girl who used to work at my ex-place of employment. She had come in earlier that day to interview for the same position that I was there for. This girl had been laid off about six months before I was, and a sudden moment of anxiety hit that I, too, may very likely still be unemployed almost a year later.

Eventually, Kelly came out to usher me into a backroom where she'd be interviewing me. We sat and she said, "Gee, I can't believe how many applications I got for this one job posting! The market must be really bad out there, huh?"

To which I thought, 'You're a staffing agent! Shouldn't you be well aware of how crappy the job market is?' What actually came out of my mouth, however, was "yes, it's pretty bad out there."

Kelly flips through my resume, asks a few questions, and then decides, "you know, I'm not sure that you could handle being a staffing specialist. It's very fast paced and you seem like you're more detail oriented and precise. Am I right? I bet I'm right. I've been staffing for several years and I'm incredibly good at reading people. I'm worried that you wouldn't be able to handle the stress and speed that we staffing agents must have. However, you seem creative and would be perfect in our marketing department. Unfortunately, we don't have a marketing department. But I've mentioned before that we should have a marketing department, and if we end up creating a marketing department, I will definitely keep you in mind."

And this is how I got a potential job offer for a position that doesn't exist. Yes, it's good to know that years of education and experience have made me the perfect candidate for a non-existent position.

Kelly stood up, offered me her hand, and told me, "you know, I've run out of business cards, otherwise I would give you one...sorry. But you know, we are in the business of finding people jobs, and we do staff for full-time positions, so it might be in your best interest to fill out an application with us. It's free, and if you don't like the jobs that we offer to place you at, you can always say 'no'."

And it was here, at the point where my job interview became a sales pitch, that I knew I wouldn't be working for them anytime soon. Though, to be sure, I sealed my fate by not taking an application to enroll in their service as I walked out the door.

april fool's foolery

My family has never been big April Foolers. The extent of most April Fool’s jokes around the house came from my mother telling us, while we sat groggily around the breakfast table before school, that we had a hole in our shirt or a smudge on our face.

And April Fool’s Day would remain rather timid fare until the year that my dad decided he would try his hand at it. This was the morning that he told my brother, who was about five at the time, that he had a bug in his ear. I’m still not sure whether he felt that having a ‘bug in one’s ear’ was equivalent to a ‘hole in the shirt’, or if he was just trying to distinguish himself from my mom’s usual ‘hole in shirt / smudge on face’ joke and that this was the best he could do on short notice.

Now, my brother has always been a major bug-a-phobe. This is the same brother that would absolutely refuse to let anyone in the house kill a spider and then proceed to flush it down the toilet for fear that the spider would somehow come back to life and crawl out of its watery grave while my brother sat perched atop the pot. And, as if to ensure that no zombie spider would ever find its way up my brother’s unsuspecting rear end, he would scrutinize each spider squashing to make sure that it was dead, then strictly enforce a ‘garbage can only’ rule, following the squasher to the trash to witness the placement of the spider along side the old coffee grounds and crumbled up junk mail.

My brother has always felt that while bugs have a place in world, this place should remain far away from him. And upon hearing that one of these bugs had not only invaded his space, but had taken up occupancy in his ear, he ran screaming from the room.

My father ran after him, desperately trying to convince him that this was just an April Fool’s joke, and after ten minutes of consoling, the whimpers, heaving, and tears subsided and my brother was once again able to go about his morning and prepare for the rigors of kindergarten.

Needless to say, this was the first and last time my dad ever tried his hand at April Fool foolery, though the ‘bug in the ear’ April Fool’s joke has remained a staple at our house from that day forward.

My brother still doesn’t find it amusing.