I've finally gathered the courage. Now I will sit down and write up my CV. I need a job and its accoutrements, like money, and I need these things rather quickly. University will not shield me much longer, and the time will come to pay back my dues. Real fear. It is a sour feeling, like an unripe orange. Writing this stupid thing is one of the most profoundly depressing things I've done lately. I really have nothing to say, and that is sad. What do I write? Oh, hello, its me. I've only studied all my life, sometimes not too well. I cannot do anything, but will you please pay me pots of money anyway? Why do I want pots of money? Actually, that is rather personal. I'd rather not discuss it.
Let's look at an alternative scenario.
Interviewer (intimidating, handlebar moustache, bald) : - "SO!!! You want me to employ you, eh? What's your name?"
Me: - "My name? Erm.....ehehehe... Its on the tip of my tongue, really...begins with a Q, oh no, a W....something......".
Interviewer: - "You really need me to tell you if you've got the job or not? Lady, you don't remember your name!!! Do you remember the way you came in? That same route will lead you back outside. I'm telling you this so that you don't have to tax your little mind. Leave!"
Me: - "That's it! S! My name starts with S!"
Oh lord, I don't have it in me to be an unemployed struggler. I'll cry myself blind in a week. Why, oh why, was I so bad at maths? Why did I get seduced by the liberal arts? Why didn't I study how to manage people without letting them know they were being managed, from some outrageously expensive college?
I have nightmares in colour these days....nightmares about being THE STUPID ONE WHO CANNOT MAKE COFFEE, or THE ONE WHOSE BRAIN IS ALWAYS ON VACATION, or THE ONE WHO'S POTTY, IN EVERY SENSE OF THE WORD. Oh my goodness, what if they make me wear T-shirts with these slogans on them?
I know what I'll do. I'm spitting in their coffees. Pthooey!