Andy Beers's Job Search: A journal

DAY ONE: Today I completed my resume. I mean, I enjoy lists, and I enjoy myself --so when I combine those things, I should enjoy the result, right?

DAY THREE: Already sick of writing cover letters. But it’s about volume. It’s just statistics really. If I apply to fifty jobs, I’ll get at least one. My Mom says that I’m handsome and talented. Also I can jump really high. Actually, I’m going to add that to my resume right now.

DAY SIX: Having been home for a week, I am constantly reminded why my home life resembles that of the Costanza’s from Sienfeld. I NEED to get hired. I MUST leave home. Why have there been no callbacks? New plan: I’m including autographed face-shots with every application. In them I will be wearing a cowboy hat, a suit-vest, and a tie, but no shirt.

DAY SEVEN: OH MY GOD I’M GOING TO DIE POOR AND ALONE BUT MAYBE WITH CATS EXCEPT I WOULD DISAPPOINT EVEN THEM.

DAY NINE: The light under my capslock key no longer functions. IS IT ON, OR OFF? WHO could tell at this point. The line between REGULAR, and capital letters has been blurred beyond recognition. THERE’S A METAPHOR TO BE HAD IN HERE SOMEWHERE, BUT I’M TO BUSY APPEARING ANGRY TO FIND IT.

DAY TEN: My parents are beginning to notice that I haven’t changed clothes for five days. Thanks to a combined concern over my continually unshaven face and an unwavering diet of long-expired “dunkaroos” packages, Mom has confronted me about “making good life decisions.” I smashed a lamp in response, and stormed into my room. As I lie here weeping on the floor, blogging out my life’s failures as if to banish them to the intenet, I realize that Post-Williamsburg life isn’t all that bad. Right?


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