Curriculum Vitae

I've spent more than a few years climbing the corporate ladder, ladies and gentleproles. Not meaning I'm no good at it. It's common to spend 16 years to reach an Office Manager position at a low-traffic website. I believe I still am Office Manager, I have to check with Monsieur Bagel about that. He was a little pissed about the whole "re-imagining" of the commune thing I did in his absence—not quite ready to accept my vision yet.

There. We've established my superiority as a ladder-climber. Now let's talk turkey: Resume. That's French, if you don't know. A lot of you probably believe "resume" is an option when you pause your Tony Hawk video game. See? Funny and upwardly-mobile. They don't call me "prize pig" around here for nothing.

Some people will tell you a resume is where you tell potential employers exactly what you're capable of and any possible limitations that might interfere with your job. We call these people the unemployed. I've known a handful of people over the years who have told the truth on their resumes, and admitted they don't have all the necessary skills for certain jobs—I usually give them cans of clam chowder or split pea soup when they come nosing around my door around the holidays. Here's a simple equation: Truth = no job. See if you can work that mathematical formula out, Einstein.

I'm not telling you to lie. Bend the truth. Stretch the truth. Break the truth off in half against a hard surface like a Kit Kat bar. Exaggerate. You know the old saying: An exaggeration is a lie they have yet to catch you in. That's what an old white collar criminal friend of mine said once during a visit, and I still hold it to be true.

This has never been more important in the age of computers. After all, who can figure them out? No one. Which is to say me and a small handful of other people. In truth, when you strip away the ominous looking monitor and daunting color schemes of Windows XP, computers aren't really so bad. But, and here's the important part: They scare the shit out of monied people. People who can manage accounts by the barrelful and measure interest rates in their head soil their underpants and hurl themselves out of a window when confront with an intimidating DOS prompt. Consequently, a modicum of computer talent (which I have in spades) makes them think you're Jesus 2.0.

Basically, if you can open a spreadsheet, they'll hire you as their IT lord and savior. Take me, for instance. I was catering a lunch at the commune when Bagel's Windows recycle bin filled up and he demanded I fix it—part of my job, taking out the trash. I did so and Bagel has yet to shut his gape-mouthed jaw. I was hired on as computer consultant, then moved into reporting when I convinced him to hire a guy who could change the screensaver to replace me. In this case, no resume required. But my point is solid. If I had a resume, I would have mentioned my experience in Sims, Civilization, and Quake 2. I know those are games, but dollars to donuts your future sucker-employer doesn't.

Once you're hired you can write your own ticket. I'm not sure what's happening on the outside, but if everything is like the commune offices I believe it's a federal law you can no longer fire people. There must be a Statue of Bagel on our front stoop, with a plaque reading, "Give me your shitheads, your slack-offs, your inbred mentally deficient yearning to rake in a cool $200 a week, and I'll put them on staff immediately without a probationary period and give them lifetime job security."

No wonder everyone else hates me. It's like having Michael Jordan playing for the Generals.

The Acting-Editor Who Fell From Grace With the Sea
I open this column with a firm and hearty, "Thanks, dicks." This is not directed to you dicks reading at home, but to the dicks who neglected to inform me Red Bagel had returned and the commune staff was operating normally under his rule again. I... (7/7/03)