December 12, 2009

So there's this job...

...and wouldn't you know? I tripped over myself just saying hello.

To preserve what fragile anonymity I have, let's pretend that it's Ernest's dream job. Say, as a custom-honey taster at a factory that employs mostly self-indulgent honey bees. I He wanted that job so badly - it was going to jump start his whole career and make everything worthwhile because life after graduation hibernation wasn't going to suck. (That badly.)

So he updated his resume and added a flashy new header and changed the font and ran it around until it was sucking in its sides and making it down to one page. Then he agonized over his cover letter. What to write? Was his name Mr. Ernest Bear, Esq., or was it simply plain old Ernest Bear? Were the words "thrilled," "dream come true," and "wondrous" appropriate when speaking of honey? To Ernest, of course they were. But to his would-be employer - one that in his mind became a cranky queen bee driven to chain smoking to dull the pain caused by her stepdaughter's hostile takeover of the hive (touting a harem of seven personal worker bees, no less!) - those special words would most certainly be over the top and grounds for stinging. On second thought, Ernest scrapped "dream come true."

Four hours and a headache later, after perfecting his resume and cover letter, Ernest sent it in. First via e-mail, then through the career website, the Gruff Old Bears' Build-a-Career site.

Moments later, a scream. If you haven't heard a bear scream, trust me. You don't want to. Shaking paws clutched the computer screen as Ernest gaped at the words that confronted him. The resume that he had spent two days working on, on and off, was in fact not the one he had submitted. Instead, the resume that had made it onto the Gruff Old Bears' Build-a-Career website was his fat, shabby, ear-falling-off creation, one that hadn't been updated since before he'd gone into hibernation.

At least the resume he'd sent in via e-mail was nice and shiny and smelling ever so faintly of honey. Ernest crossed his fingers, hoping that the old queen bee would check her e-mail before checking whichever drop box the Build-a-Career site utilized. Maybe the queen bee would be forgiving.

Or maybe she'll think I he was scattered, disorganized, and possibly schizophrenic. Only time will tell.

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