Mercury can piss off already

For the last few weeks, I’ve been in a slump of sorts. I lack the confidence that previously I felt I had in spades. That’s what most call arrogance, unearned or undeserved arrogance at that.

I've questioned whether I’m meant for more than answering phones in a halfway ramshackle office on the industrial side of town. Am I capable of more? I manage the payroll here too, so don’t everyone get dizzy with praise at once. What I mean is, I never earned a degree in anything aside from bullshitting you out of your lunch money or co-dependent behavior. I have a Ph.D. in that one.

I spend the better part of each day thumbing through endless pages of others’ lives on my mobile device and think: how the fuck did this piece of shit get that job? Brazen of me, right? What the hell else am I to do with 8 hours of time on my hands and an inexhaustible amount of self-loathing?

I have writer friends. I dare not read their posts lately although I do make a few exceptions. It sends me into a spiral of tearing apart my own writing. I have no style - no stylistic techniques or strategies. I follow no grammatical rules. I write what the fuck I want, how I want. My brain is a train wreck, thus, my writing tends to follow suit, ergo, the task of writing has proven consternating.

Recently I applied for a job I knew I had no shot of getting. I didn’t apply for the Secret Service or anything, although I do believe my ass would look amazing in a pair of those standard-issue black trousers. I’ve got better sense than that. It was a position at an aerospace tech company. So, as I said, not a snowballs chance in Hell. For clarification, they wanted office support, not unlike what I do now. It’s not as if I’d be given fucking launch codes. 

I threw a tweet out into the void about attaching my Twitter profile to a job application. OMFG! Yep, I did that. Yes, it was for this job. It would appear, by all rights, that I intended to be dismissed, before ever having been considered.

There are a couple of things to keep in mind here. The first being that I keep it real on my Twitter profile. If you read it there, chances are, some part of that shit is real. The second is that if this employer DID happen to glance to at my profile and STILL decided to call me in for an interview, well, that shit is on them! 

Who the fuck sees my profile as an enhancement to my “less-than-polished” resume? In white font at the bottom of pg.3, (everyone loves a 3-pg. resume), I have added: Have knee pads, willing to travel for work.  

Oh, you'd like to know what happened with the aerospace job? Sadly, but predictably, the position had been filled. They thanked me in a formulaic template letter.

I didn’t apply because I wanted to or intended to leave the shitty job I already have. I love these pieces of shit I work with. I also hate them and wish death on them in horrible, ghastly ways at least twice a week. I once threatened to leave my used tampons on Tim's desk if he didn't stop pissing on my toilet seat. If that's not hardcore, I don't know what is. There is a designated Men's room. Quit pissing all over mine. Last time I checked, I have a vagina and piss sitting down. Unless you do too, you should be using the other restroom - the one located next door. So much love between us. 

That aerospace company is going to miss out on having someone like me on their team. I'm marginally motivated, somewhat punctual, and my vernacular is flowery as fuck. 

I didn't get the stupid job, so the fuck what! I still don't know what my passion is. Maybe that's ok? What I know is this: I took the fucking shot. You miss out on 100% of the shit you don't try. If they had come back and said, "You're just too much," I would have been proud of that. At least I was something. At least I was trying to live.

            

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