Drown my sorrows in mcribs

I sorta wanna punch the economy in the face.

I never expected it to be a simple task, finding a job with a history degree--the veritable renaissance man of degrees. I mean, think about it. Every job you do involves history. Like being a manager at McDonald's. It is important to know the marvelous story behind the Big Mac. Or how many McRib's have been been consumed over a 30 year period, and what would possess so many people to shove such a strange meat product down their gullets. A pressed wad of meat in the shape of a section of pork and/or cow ribs. What the hell.

So I guess what I'm saying, is really I thought I'd be a shoo-in with the history degree. "Hmm Roger. This guy has a degree in business management, with an emphasis in marketing. Probably the best candidate. He has also worked as a floor manager at a retailer for 3 years."
"Wait, wait, Randal. THIS guy can explain to us why Walt Disney hated Jews AND why Martin Van Buren made even George W. Bush look like a George Washington. Also, he knows how to put heat shrink sleeves on nasal spray with dexterous precision. And he is good at getting people food and pretending to be friendly."
"Yes Roger, I see the merit."

Things are not going that way, even a little bit.

Turns out it is hard to find a job. For pretty much everyone. However, I feel as though I have at least moderately crippled myself with a degree that isn't really applicable to ANYTHING, and having been a server in a restaurant for about 3 years. Not very awesome, this resume of mine.

I find myself in a position where I just want to move on in life. Have gainful employment. Make enough cash to live with one person or less. I grow weary of roommates. Ones that require posted notes to act like decent human beings.

I'm tired of making these: "Rules of the kitchen/common human decency/courtesy and ways to avoid angry passive aggressive notes involving the f word: Do your dishes always. Don't leave things rotting in the sink or on the stove for a night/days. If you didn't buy it, don't eat it. Or drink it. Or wash your clothes with it. Let us be decent human beings, living together in peaceful harmony, rather than squalor and resentment. God bless."

Which I think is better than the old, "Wash your dishes assholes. With a mere 20 seconds, we can avoid a kitchen that smells like ass." I'm trying to be a better person, and avoid getting angry at what I can not control. I have come to the conclusion that not everyone was raised like I was. Some people's parents are indolent slobs, and have therefore raised litters of sloblings. Some people's parents are uncourteous, and have therefore produced babies who have grown into men who don't understand that pissing on the toilet seat/eating things that aren't theirs/leaving small, post shower ponds on the bathroom floor/removing wet clothing from a washer and failing to put said clothing in the dryer, or removing damp clothing from the dryer/is NOT OKAY.

I'm just tired of living with random people. And so many people. I don't want to live with more than 1 person anymore, unless they are a product of my fertile seed, and have slid from the womb of my future wife. Until then, 1 roommate max.

I need a real job and a wife. Probably in that order.

I'm pretty sure that most McRibs are consumed by depressed people who can't find jobs and want to smell like meat when they sweat.


julieb said...

dear fish,
i just love this, not your situation of course, just the funnieness in which you present it. and i love your blog (which i read and silently laugh to myself while im at work) yep you are real real funny, and a real good writter/blogger. and can you please marry my best friend shauna?

karlee said...

Dearest co-habitator and friends of:


Joliene said...

I really hope that McDonald's makes their managers memorize how many McRibs have been eaten in 30 years. That would make me so happy.

Joliene said...

I also love your "Ways to avoid angry, passive aggressive notes" notice. You should mass produce it and sell it to freshman college boys. Or their girlfriends. Or me.