There’s not a bucket big enough to hold all I want to do. But here are a few things I never want to do again:
Get stuck in small space with overserved man who has just inhaled a handful of chocolates: Don’t shake your head and wonder how this happened. It did. And the space was immediately filled with overwhelmingly heinous fumage. Would have fainted dead away, but space too small and I’m too polite (ha!). Had no choice but to stop, drop, and roll into a ditch. Still gagging.
Eat green peas and/or liver: More gagging. If I am on a desert island and all there is to eat are green peas and/or liver, I take this back. Note to self: no boat rides.
Register for “Do Not Call” lists: What a total waste of time. You crafty telemarketers and your “anonymous” and “private caller” handles! And for the managers of all “Do Not Call” lists, YOU’RE FIRED!
Reply to comment, “What country are you from because you don’t look like an American.”: Final answer: “I am a conehead. From France. Merde!
Work for people who are missing several teeth in the front of their mouths: If you have a “thriving” business, you can afford to go to the dentist and get some chompers. My experience with you tells me your business is anything but thriving because my paycheck bounced AND you don’t have a mirror. Basta!
Reading the news today, I was struck by two stupid standouts:
Justin Bieber is “penning” his “memoir”. He says he’s “still living his dream”. Let’s hear it for Justin! He is 16 years old. A memoir? His baby book, perhaps? And as for “still living his dream”? He is 16! Spare me.
Giselle Bundchen, bless her poor little model heart, should stick to what she knows… which would be the runway. Her recent comments about breastfeeding have enraged mothers everywhere. She allegedly said there should be a “worldwide” law that mothers must “breastfeed their babies for six months.” Last time I checked, Giselle, you were a model, not a pediatrician, an authority on raising children, or a nutritionist. In her defense, she did manage to remove both of her feet from her mouth long enough to issue an apologetic explanation of what she meant to say. Spare me x 1000.
Tom Brokaw did a documentary on BOOMER$; it aired on CNBC Sunday night. The information presented was interesting and thought-provoking. One segment really hit a nerve with me. A man, professional, had been out of work for two years. This man is well-educated, well- spoken, well- dressed, and well-kept. The problem is … he is 52 or 53 years old. He has applied for hundreds of jobs over the past 24 months – some that would be perfect for him, many of which he is overqualified for AND pay 1/4 of what he made pre-layoff. And still no job. This situation is not limited to men. Women fill this boat, too. If you own your own business or have a talent/profession that is in demand, no problem. Otherwise, experience does not count. A great track record does not count. It’s all about age. In the job market, the older you are, the less respect you get. And if you are lucky enough to get employed, don’t count on any benefits. And you’d best budget around a minimum wage salary. This is just my observation. And I believe these practices are patently wrong on many levels. Experience should count for much. Age, if used correctly, should be respected. A daily dose of humble pie is NOT nourishing. Pressing onward through humiliation should NOT be an occupation. The pay sucks.
Having recently quit my job, it would be prudent for me to secure another. Have a friend who found a great job through Monster. com; Monsters scare me, ergo I’ve got other ideas. Instead of revving up my resumé, networking my ass off, all the while beseeching the heavens above for a massive dose of divine intervention, I’ve decided to take a different approach regarding employment.
Serious employers may apply for my services. I will review all applications and if I think we might be a “fit”, I’ll get back to you. Have been around the block enough to know that a job on paper is NEVER the job in reality. I will address my expectations, my strengths as an employee, and the bottom line.
My Job Expectations
This is the Win-Win Process. No time wasted. Nothing lost. No bad coffee, forced laughter, or stupid questions necessary.
I thrive in creative environments, wither in Mad Men/Women offices.
You will get what you pay for in terms of my output. I have experience in many areas. I have moments of brilliance. I have quite a bit of experience under my belt. If you appreciate this, encourage me, and pay me well, you will get 110-percent from me. If you are looking for a “deal”, pay less than my daughters make babysitting, please crawl off into the virtual bushes right now.
When I work for someone, whatever happens in the office stays in the office. I do not have loose lips. Before, during, and after employment.
If I like you and the job, I operate on the Rule of Three: you have a problem and need a solution. I will develop three options, then present them to you. You select one. It works. You are brilliant. I don’t care about the credit because you pay me so well to do what I do. Now that’s a hands-down, flat-out Win-Win. If you don’t understand this, join your friends in the bushes.
I get sassy when bullied. And then I cry. You have been warned. Other deal breakers include brow beating, nit-picking, and using a loud voice to make a point.
Let me know what you want me to do and I’ll do it. If you have a vague idea, let’s discuss it, hone it down, and get to the meat of the matter. Unfortunately, I was not born into a gypsy family. I don’t know what you want unless you do. Plus, I would never want to put Madame Poot.com or the Psychic Network out of business.
Part time or very flexible hours a must. For me, at least.
While I prefer to wear jeans to work, I do “clean up” well. You would have no problem with me representing you at The White House or White Castle.
Have written so many words for others, I am almost transparent. Can be wonderful or wicked – with words – depending on circumstances.
Can lift 10 pounds maximum.
Will “just say ‘NO'” if asked to if you ask me to do something illegal. Other deal breakers include requests to pick up drunk wife/husband, children,dogs, or laundry; perform household chores in your household; reveal my business which is none of yours; and I’ll add more to the list if you and your enterprise make it through this first round. *Rethinking the pick up deal – will pick up stated items for $200 per offense. See, I’m a diplomat, too!
Can write, think, create, knit, teach yoga, bake bread, make jewelry, and visualize.
Love to research. Amount of love poured into research depends on topic.
Cannot whistle. Please don’t ask me to. Very sensitive about that.
Am a happy morning person. Every business needs a happy morning person.
My experience is worth the price you will pay me to work for you. No insulting offers necessary.
While I cannot apply the optimistic phrase, “the world is your oyster” to my talents at this point, it doesn’t mean I am not optimistic or untalented. I have eaten that oyster. See: experience. Actually, I’m overflowing with joy and optimism that the word “overqualified” will not apply to me again. RE: job. In. this. lifetime. Fingers crossed.
See how I’ve avoided talking about the bucks – big or otherwise – until now? I mean, I’ve hinted but … I’ll be straightforward. I do not want to work because I need more stuff. I like to have a place to go in the morning. Am at the tail end of college tuition, etc. One out, one more year for the other. And, have no illusions that after I stamp that last college semester PAID, wedding bells could ring … simultaneously. Then there’s me and the dog. Fortunately, I am not desperate. And I will be picky. So, if you have good ideas and wonderful offers, bring ’em on. Like I said, I’ll get back to you.
*For the love of God, do not send me anything that is repulsive, gross, explicit, cold callish, telemarketing, blah blah. My “delete permanently” button works very well. Just sayin’.
Went to my beautiful, happy office this morning. Flipped all the switches and went to work. Gee, I think I’ll print this report. Push the print button on the computer, twirled around in my chair to reach for the result. My, oh, my … all the buttons on the printer are going insane. Hmmmm … let me open the paper tray