Rock Bottom?

I am writing to inform everyone that my life has officially bottomed out. Now, I'm not writing this for pity. I'm not writing this out of some sick,therapeutic need to purge every little detail from my soul - which, from my limited experience, seems to be all the rage amongst bloggers. No, I write this because it's really quite amusing. Amusing in a bitter-my-life-is-going-no-where sort of way, but amusing none the less.

You see, I was turned down for a job at Burger King. I don't mean to toot my own horn or anything, but I am pretty sure that I'm qualified. Heck, some may even call me over-qualified. After all, I am college educated. I graduated from a decent school - Grove City College - with decent grades - (ahem)magna cum laude (ahem). I'm sure no one else working at Burger King is capable of the following conversation: "Sir, your fries will be up in a second. In the meantime, why don't we discuss Bahktin's concept of dialogic?" True, that knowledge doesn't really come in handy at Burger King. As a matter of fact, as I've discovered, it really doesn't come in handy anywhere.

The really weird thing is I kinda wanted the job at Burger King. I am practically broke. The money, while far from ample, would be appreciated. The hours would've been alright. Plus, it's not like it's my long term career goal. My long term career goal is to drive the Oscar Mayer wiener mobile. Ahh, dreams.

And I have other problems too. My car - the '93 Lumina I affectionately call 'The Silver Bullet' - is in dire need of brake work. They squeak and squeal and grind. I only turn up the radio. What I can't hear, doesn't exist. My parents - instead of hounding me to move out - have become far too acceptive of my presence. They now make long term plans assuming I will be living at home. I'm not talking about a couple of months in advance. I'm talking about retirement plans. This is somehow much more depressing than having them hound me. I think even my parents have lost hope in me.

I do have some plans, secret untested ways to make some cash. I think I might befriend an eccentric billionaire, get in on his will and then the next thing you know the cops are over and I'm saying: "I dunno officer. He musta just fell down the stairs." If I can't shut my conscience up long enough to do that I've got back ups. For instance, I am currently selling advertising space on this blog. For a small, negotiable fee I will head each post with my current sponsor - I can just see it: 'Today's blog entry is brought to you by preparation H, preparation H, for all your hemorrhoid needs'. I could also slyly insert advertising subconsciously into the blog entries. Hold on while I take a long, slow sip of an ice cold Coke-a-cola. Mmmm, nothing satisfies like Coke on a hot day.

Now where was I? Oh yes, hair brained schemes for money. Now it's time for my favorite scheme. You know how people pay good money for those fancy psychiatrist and therapist with their fancy degrees in their field and all they do is listen to you and offer no advice? Well, I figure I could do that. I can listen to people complain about their lives and their parents. I can offer no solutions. And I could do it for a whole lot less money. So, I'm glad to announce that I'm now an official unlicensed therapist. For only $10 an hour I will listen to your problems. For $13 an hour, I'll pretend to care.

So, even though my life has hit rock bottom, do not despair for me. I've got my ideas and my creativity. I am sure that I'm going to make it after all, and someday, someday I am going to drive than wiener.

Shalom