Who even needs a job, seriously?

Word in the cafeteria is that there will be a snow day tomorrow, since we are supposed to get something like ten inches.  But if you were to look out my window, all you would see is a ramble of snowflakes, apparently not even enough to cover the walkways.  So I am not taking a chance on snow and throwing myself into homework today: I need as many As as I can get.

Why’s that, Heather? you might wonder.  Parties, eh?  Too many drunken escapades involving glowsticks and basslines?  Sorry, no (I prefer my glowstick battles sober).  Sure, I engage in strange octobot-type dance from time to time, and I wouldn’t be opposed to some live-action, Bollywood-style musical number in the street –– but I am too big a nerd for excessive partying.  I can’t have a go on the mechanical bull when I’m worrying about the economy,* can I?  Because essentially I am majoring in dreams and impracticality, a fact that becomes clearer as the days tear off the calendar.

If I were to document the history of my career choices, it would go something like this:

AGE 2 I am totally going to be a movie star! YES! I will wear pink heels and star-shaped sunglasses and win Oscars all the time, and I know I’m qualified for this because I practiced walking down a grand, red-carpeted staircase at my friend’s house (except the carpet was actually beige).

AGE 6 I should just do karaoke for a living.  Like, sing.  I could do both! Like Dolly Parton.  Except not country music, it’s gross.

AGE 7 I am so not going to a state school, Mom and Dad.  I am going to New York.  And not to be a lawyer!  Nevah!

AGE 9 Writing stories is kind of cool.  Maybe I will just do this?  “Today begins my life as a writer.” Yeah, that sounds so good!  Okay!

AGE 13 I don’t care what Mom says, I am being an actress.  Or if that doesn’t work out, writer/director/photographer/fashion designer/journalist/TV reporter/cartoonist/zoologist/psychiatrist.

AGE 14 Okay, mabes I will do that writing thing.  Acting out of type is hard.

AGE 15 Wait, so when I wanted to be an actress you argued that writing was a viable career, but now it turns out that that requires a backup too?  No, Mom, I am not becoming a lawyer.  (But maybe sociology?  Zookeeping?)

AGE 17 So I guess I have to apply to colleges.  Oh God oh God oh God.

AGE 18 Not all accredited institutions of higher learning hate me!  Woot!

PRESENT Snag-a-Job, you need to stop sending me stupid emails.  I don’t care if Valvoline is hiring, okay?  I can barely change the oil in my car!  I know that the car battery is black and square and that is about it.  Leave me alone and stop making me feel like someone with no viable skills.  In fact, I will just delete all of your emails in true passive-aggressive fashion and then go read about Restoration-era gender roles instead of applying, so that when I graduate I can perhaps get a job delivering beverages to telemarketers.

*Or EVER.

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2 Comments

Filed under Heather

2 responses to “Who even needs a job, seriously?

  1. rakincaid

    1. you would, no offense, make the worst lawyer ever
    2. weirdly enough, though, my mom had the same life plan for me (i would also be the worst lawyer ever)
    3. what’s an octobot
    4. fun fact: i actually can’t change the oil in my car
    5. or tires

  2. Heather

    1. tell me about it
    2. huh
    3. it’s a word I made up to denote the theoretical hybridization of an octopus and a robot
    4. I can’t change my tires either; i don’t even own a jack
    5. judging by the mug of lukewarm cocoa I’m sipping, I can’t make that either

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