This week marks my third anniversary with my desk job. Three years! Three years since “I’ll go temp somewhere for the rest of the summer”. Three long, fruitless, meaningless years. More than ten percent of my life. A man of my talents should spend his days supping with kings and re-drawing the maps of the boundaries of human knowledge, not processing tuition vouchers so some jackass can go get his McMBA from the Kellogg School of Management.
This is the same lament of millions of cubicle monkeys, except in my case it’s absolutely true. A lot of things have been irritating me about the job lately, one of the more amusing, and horrible: My friend Marc who had been working here several months, departed, pretty much voluntarily. This is all well and good, but he sat right behind me, and the person who has taken his place in that cubicle is a Complete Idiot Woman who has also temped here many months, and screwed up everything she touched. And evidently they’ve *promoted* her! And given her my friend’s desk! This is a deliberate insult!
This, among other things, has sent me into the periodic spiral where I desperately want to get another job, but I don’t know what that theoretical other job is. Marc and I talked about it and he feels, despite being a well regarded wordsmith, that the biggest problem in landing a new job is writing a cover letter. This is because cover letters are by nature false. You have to say why you’d be excited to work at their company, when in fact your motives are purely mercenary. I am all about dispensing with falsehood. I am in a ninja/samurai mode because of Batman Begins (which was totally fucking sweet) and the House Theatre’s Curse of the Crying Heart, which I finally saw after people have been raving about to me for what seems like years, and was in fact, also as totally fucking sweet as had been promised. Because of this mood, I believe that the best possible cover letter would consist of these words: I am Ronin.
I would totally hire someone with that cover letter.
My roommate (one of the House Theatre’s biggest boosters) discovered yesterday that a trellus growing outside our back porch contains a mother bird, and a grapevine. So…there’s still whimsy in the world, or something.
According to my aunt, who does a considerable amount of hiring, no one actually reads those meticulously well-crafted cover letters anyway. So go to it, Ronin!