Throughout my job search, I've come across a lot of listings for jobs I wouldn't want to do. The following is a list of jobs no one could pay me any amount of money to do. These are actual jobs from Monster.com.
1) Has-mat driver
Sorry little girl, but the ice cream truck went that-a-way.
2) Sender of only health insurance rejection letters
Don't kill the messenger. She doesn't have insurance either.
3) Telemarketing of any kind
Can I please speak to the D-bag of the house?
4) Technical writer for insurance company
Blibbity bloppedy jargon blah blah.
5)Intern
Hi, I'm the 26-year-old intern. Yes, I made bad choices.
So, when I'm completely destitute and living out of a box (which should be in about 6 months), remind me to look back at this post.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Las Vegas vs. Atlantic City
Most of you probably find the title of this post ridiculous. I mean, comparing Las Vegas to the AC is like comparing apples to carcinogenic oranges. But in case you're stupid, have bad taste, or live under a rock (now I'm being redundant), here's my list of differences, as collected last week when I visited AC for the first time. Yes. I visited AC. It was free, so don't judge.
1. AC cocktail waitresses don't have implants. In Vegas, you have to have implants to waitress or people will laugh at you. Where else are waitresses supposed to stuff their tips?
2. In Vegas, you only have to go as far as the buffet to eat cotton candy. In AC, I couldn't find one cotton candy vendor on the entire boardwalk. I did see seagull shit.
3. The Vegas airport supplies slot machines for patrons stuck there. If you're stuck in the AC airport, you better have a book or money for a hooker.
4.Las Vegas has a plethora of nice hotels and shopping. In AC you have the Borgata and a smattering of others. You also better like Old Navy a whole hell of a lot.
5.Las Vegas is a city onto itself. People end up in AC because they tried to go to Philly and got lost.
As you can tell, I have a real soft spot for Atlantic City. Luckily, I only spent one night there.
1. AC cocktail waitresses don't have implants. In Vegas, you have to have implants to waitress or people will laugh at you. Where else are waitresses supposed to stuff their tips?
2. In Vegas, you only have to go as far as the buffet to eat cotton candy. In AC, I couldn't find one cotton candy vendor on the entire boardwalk. I did see seagull shit.
3. The Vegas airport supplies slot machines for patrons stuck there. If you're stuck in the AC airport, you better have a book or money for a hooker.
4.Las Vegas has a plethora of nice hotels and shopping. In AC you have the Borgata and a smattering of others. You also better like Old Navy a whole hell of a lot.
5.Las Vegas is a city onto itself. People end up in AC because they tried to go to Philly and got lost.
As you can tell, I have a real soft spot for Atlantic City. Luckily, I only spent one night there.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Of Steaks and Unemployment
The unemployment rate in Las Vegas is the highest in any metropolitan area in the nation. 14.8 % baby.
I was in the neighborhood of my previous roommate's business yesterday, and I decided to stop in to stay hello. He's a few months shy of hosting a 400-guest wedding, so I expected him to be frazzled. Instead of jumping first to tell me about the $900 he spent on party favors, he told me he'd had to fire five employees last week for stealing out of the register. He works in the steak-peddling business as the general manager of the local office of a popular national chain. He'd caught them on camera pocketing the change of customers paying in cash. They'd been hired recently as seasonal employees.
"Oh, great," I told him. "I need a new job!"
But he'd already been able to replace all of them this week. He's a great manager and can tell within a few minutes of meeting a potential hiree whether they're a good fit. After a short interview, he tells you if you're hired.
Many people applied to fill the empty positions. No one in Vegas is currently hiring. On Monday, he hired a woman in her 50s who had applied everywhere to no avail. He told her she got the job. A job that pays less than $10 an hour. It requires heavy lifting and touching raw meat. It's only seasonal, through January. She cried happy tears. She jumped up and down and danced.
I'd like to bet, Vegas-style, that those people who stole out of the register really needed the money.
I was in the neighborhood of my previous roommate's business yesterday, and I decided to stop in to stay hello. He's a few months shy of hosting a 400-guest wedding, so I expected him to be frazzled. Instead of jumping first to tell me about the $900 he spent on party favors, he told me he'd had to fire five employees last week for stealing out of the register. He works in the steak-peddling business as the general manager of the local office of a popular national chain. He'd caught them on camera pocketing the change of customers paying in cash. They'd been hired recently as seasonal employees.
"Oh, great," I told him. "I need a new job!"
But he'd already been able to replace all of them this week. He's a great manager and can tell within a few minutes of meeting a potential hiree whether they're a good fit. After a short interview, he tells you if you're hired.
Many people applied to fill the empty positions. No one in Vegas is currently hiring. On Monday, he hired a woman in her 50s who had applied everywhere to no avail. He told her she got the job. A job that pays less than $10 an hour. It requires heavy lifting and touching raw meat. It's only seasonal, through January. She cried happy tears. She jumped up and down and danced.
I'd like to bet, Vegas-style, that those people who stole out of the register really needed the money.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Gentlemen's Club and Other Euphemisms
The other night, I came back to my car to find a little 5 by 7 card stuck under my windshield wiper. Ah yes, a popular form of Vegas advertising I like to call "the dribble," which I named after what our more productive city-dwellers, pigeons, leave on my windshield. While you're inside a business, peons dribble bulletins advertising psychics, health food stores, hookers, and, as was the case the other night, strip clubs. I unlocked my car doors, settled into my seat, started the engine, and looked up to see the high-gloss (classy), double-sided, card-stock ad, which I plucked through my rolled down window.
Beautiful. This particular dribble advertised Crazy Horse, a Vegas strip club of moderate reputation. I'm sorry, a "gentlemen's club." Where did this euphemism start, anyway? Do they think they're fooling anyone? If Crazy Horse called themselves a strip club, would men shy away from going there. "I'm sorry, Lou, I can't go to your bachelor party and look at naked women. I only fluff my nosegay at GENTLEMEN'S clubs."
I don't think this ever happened. In fact, when I studied the ad closer (for research purposes), I notice two other euphemisms on the same card. In honor of football season, Crazy Horse is now featuring a special unit of dancers known as the "tight ends." (Hee hee hee.) Also, they claim to showcase a variety of "ladies."
Ha. Ladies.
Beautiful. This particular dribble advertised Crazy Horse, a Vegas strip club of moderate reputation. I'm sorry, a "gentlemen's club." Where did this euphemism start, anyway? Do they think they're fooling anyone? If Crazy Horse called themselves a strip club, would men shy away from going there. "I'm sorry, Lou, I can't go to your bachelor party and look at naked women. I only fluff my nosegay at GENTLEMEN'S clubs."
I don't think this ever happened. In fact, when I studied the ad closer (for research purposes), I notice two other euphemisms on the same card. In honor of football season, Crazy Horse is now featuring a special unit of dancers known as the "tight ends." (Hee hee hee.) Also, they claim to showcase a variety of "ladies."
Ha. Ladies.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Do Drink the Water (How to diet on vacation)
Well, I'm in the Atlanta airport on my way back to Vegas from a lovely trip in Jamaica. Normally, I'd be kind of worried to go home. Not only do I usually feel pretty depressed to return to the real world, but I also get scared when it's time to step on the scale again. Fortunately for me, on this vacation, I drank the local water, and boy, did that make eating difficult.
You see, the resort we went to only offered bottled water for guests staying in the suites, and since we weren't on our honeymoon, we just booked a normal room. Also, the only other real difference between a regular room and a sweet suite was a plunge pool, which everyone said sucked.
Anyway, that left only a few beverage choices at the resort: tap water, coffee made with tap water, juice made with tap water, and booze. Most of the time I chose booze, but there were several occasions when I wanted something that would actually satiate my thirst. So I broke down and drank water.
At dinner on our first full day, I felt kind of sick. I just assumed this was the combination of alcohol and sun I'd had that day. But then I started to get this sick feeling after every meal. Finally, on the last day, I abstained from water and water mixtures altogether and drank a lot of alcohol, and I felt much better. But by that time, I hadn't been able to eat as much as I usually would on vacation, so in the end, water contaminants ended up saving me. I never got really sick. I took part in all regular vacation activities. Red Stripe made me feel fabulous. The only better vacation diet I can think of is if I'd contracted a parasite. Those are supposed to make you look really skinny.
You see, the resort we went to only offered bottled water for guests staying in the suites, and since we weren't on our honeymoon, we just booked a normal room. Also, the only other real difference between a regular room and a sweet suite was a plunge pool, which everyone said sucked.
Anyway, that left only a few beverage choices at the resort: tap water, coffee made with tap water, juice made with tap water, and booze. Most of the time I chose booze, but there were several occasions when I wanted something that would actually satiate my thirst. So I broke down and drank water.
At dinner on our first full day, I felt kind of sick. I just assumed this was the combination of alcohol and sun I'd had that day. But then I started to get this sick feeling after every meal. Finally, on the last day, I abstained from water and water mixtures altogether and drank a lot of alcohol, and I felt much better. But by that time, I hadn't been able to eat as much as I usually would on vacation, so in the end, water contaminants ended up saving me. I never got really sick. I took part in all regular vacation activities. Red Stripe made me feel fabulous. The only better vacation diet I can think of is if I'd contracted a parasite. Those are supposed to make you look really skinny.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
The Employment Guide: AKA where to sell your plasma
Today at the grocery store I picked up one of those little free bulletins next to the sliding doors. It was labeled "The Employment Guide" (Read: The Unemployment Guide). Great, I thought. Here's one place I've haven't thought of searching for a job, the good old newspaper. And the muckraker in me always loves the smell of a hot sheet of black and white.
So I opened it up with all the innocence of a child about to lick cold metal. The "employment guide" had one actual job listing: telemarketer. The rest of the space was covered with ads for trade school, bogus real estate schemes (because that's a hot market these days), and plasma donation. Actually, plasma donation is an oxymoron. Only the desperate give plasma. No one willingly "donates" it and then just walks away. They expect benjamins! I've personally considered donating as recently as this morning.
Oh, I forgot. There was also a job listing for the border patrol. Right. There's a dream career. Personally, I think anyone would be crazy to sneak into this country. "Turn back!" I'd yell. "No jobs that allow you to maintain dignity here! No American Dream alive past this border!"
So I opened it up with all the innocence of a child about to lick cold metal. The "employment guide" had one actual job listing: telemarketer. The rest of the space was covered with ads for trade school, bogus real estate schemes (because that's a hot market these days), and plasma donation. Actually, plasma donation is an oxymoron. Only the desperate give plasma. No one willingly "donates" it and then just walks away. They expect benjamins! I've personally considered donating as recently as this morning.
Oh, I forgot. There was also a job listing for the border patrol. Right. There's a dream career. Personally, I think anyone would be crazy to sneak into this country. "Turn back!" I'd yell. "No jobs that allow you to maintain dignity here! No American Dream alive past this border!"
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