My main goal in life is to achieve at least mediocrity in everything I do. I’d like to not look stupid doing it, but I understand that’s asking for kind of a lot. Bumping myself up onto the plateau of success known as mediocrity is an arduous task as it is, and I probably shouldn’t burden myself with the weight of trying to save face, but what can I say? I guess I’m an overachiever.
The level of effort it takes to maintain mediocrity has become quite apparent while looking for a job over the past few months. Two weeks ago, I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in Geography (Is that the one where you study rocks?) from the University of Washington, and for approximately 37 minutes, the worry of what I was going to do about paying the bills was alleviated. Champagne bottles blew their corks. Doors opened. I even peed a little. But as it turns out, the only purpose graduation serves is to increase your nervousness and flop sweats, as the urgency with which you need to find a job has shot up like a pet owner off the couch upon hearing their cat in the throes of puking up a hairball...on the carpet.
So, as you might have guessed, I have spent the past two weeks with my job search in top gear. Well, I guess I haven’t been in top gear the entire time. I have downshifted for a couple coffee breaks. All right, several coffee breaks. And to make tuna salad and bacon sandwiches. And for four-hour sessions of playing Final Fantasy XIII. And to do important research on the Internet (Watching a video of someone hitting themselves in the face with a speed bag is considered important research, right? How about watching it 16 times?). Fine, I’ve been a bit lazy, but the fish aren’t biting. Nothing but rejections, non-responses, and waiting for responses. Until today. I contacted my manager at my last job, and she was able to put my name out and get me hired on at another store in the chain where I worked, this time near where I live in Seattle. Here’s where the mediocrity marches in, banging its loose drums, slobbering into its bent horns, and smacking together its dented cymbals. The only job I’ve managed to snag is doing customer service, which I loathe from the deepest, most cholesterol-spackled regions of my heart, for a wage that covers only 80% of my modest budget. This appears to be the best I can do, folks. Awesome.