For this past summer, I really wanted to land that dream job, the one everybody searches and searches for. Unfortunately for me, I could not find a job that suited my best wishes, namely, heavy drinking, very little work, nap time whenever I wanted and a promising dental plan. The next best option for me was to be one of those elderly men in grey shirts that have not been washed since man invented cotton, who sit on the corner asking for change in a language that might be English but which sounds more like a bizarre African dialect that lacks syllables. However, my parents said this job was way out of reach for a man with no qualifications such as myself. Because of that, I applied to work at Wal-Mart. So one afternoon I went to Wal-Mart's Help Desk and, in a polite, professional manner, demanded the job at gunpoint. They told me to fill out a resume.
This was not the first time I had heard that word, but until then, I had always thought it was a type of dog. I lowered the gun, grabbed the form and headed back home. That evening I began work on this extensive document, unsure of what concoction I would cook up with my word-stirring and idea-heating skills. I purposefully use a metaphor here because the resume I ended up writing was anything but literal. And by that I mean I strayed as far from the truth as a rabbit might from celibacy. This wasn't because I like lying, only that I was hindered in my truthfulness by my lack of any qualifications whatsoever (unless you consider being able to fumble your words when around a girl of at least a .5 out of 10 attractive rating a positive trait).
If I hadn't tweaked my skills, my resume would have looked like this:
Name: Chris "Pop-A-Cap" Shuptrine
Previous jobs: None that were legal
Contacts: Tyrone Q-Dogg, provider; Jim Lance, Parole Officer
GPA: Not a positive number
Skills: Extortion, kidnapping, Microsoft Excel
So, as you can see, I was forced to lie. I had no choice. This is how it finally turned out:
Name: Christopher Lee Shuptrine
Previous Jobs: Janitor at Bakery (2005-6), Coal miner (2000-2005), Supreme Court Justice (97-2000)
Contacts: Miss Cleo. Call her now!
GPA: 12 gazillion
Skills: Turning water into wine, juggling flaming staplers, gerrymandering, being able to not fumble my words when around a girl of at least a .5 out of 10 attractive rating. Can also speak eight languages, including Gangsta and Swahili.
After I had finished my resume and signed it with the mandatory 'Xs and Os, it was time to return to Wal-Mart. Once there, I found another impediment to my goal: there was an interview. I was not properly dressed for the event. I had on my pink biker shorts and a black shirt that read, "I'm too sexy for this shirt.' Don't judge me. It was laundry day, and both were gifts from my Grandma.
But this didn't deter the manager. He took me to a back room that reminded me of a scene in Hostel and began the interview. Keep in mind I had not planned on this at all.
Him: So, why do you want to work at Wal-Mart?
Me: My parents said begging was too good for me.
Him: These are impressive qualifications. Why were you only a Justice for four years?
Me: Groin injury.
Him: You speak Swahili. So do I!
Me: Good for you. Can I go now?
Him:[Says something in Swahili]
Me: [Fakes re-injury of groin and leaves]
I crawled out of the room, thinking that the interview didn't go that badly. The manager said he would call me.
Needless to say, I did not get the job. Or, maybe I did. I don't know. The manager called and spoke in Swahili, so I don't know what he said.
Nevertheless, I ended up finding a job off of MonsterTrak, a much better search engine than its contemporary, SlightlyScarySubterraneanBeastFootPath. I worked as a file clerk at the University hospital. It wasn't a terrible job, and I might have actually enjoyed it if my coworkers hadn't wanted me to juggle their flaming staplers every 10 minutes.
Chris's column runs bi-weekly on Mondays. He can be reached at shuptrine@cavalierdaily.com.
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