Well you know how it is, looking for a job and what not. So many of these ads, now a days, demanding all sorts of high caliber skills and what not. "Must be proficient at Exel" and "Must be fluent in Word" and "Must arrive at office on time", honestly I don't see how anyone can get a job, really. There are just too many demands.
So, I was chatting with my friend, Isabel, and she said I should just go apply for a job anyway. Afterall, I'm sure most of the people applying for jobs don't really have all of these skills. I've rather always liked the idea of working for a newspaper. They always seem so smart, these newspaper people. Just thrilling, it would be, to work next to them. And just as we were finishing our coffee, wouldn't you know, but my newspaper was delivered. The weekly. It's such a nice newspaper, not all full of horrible headlines like the daily. Well, except for that particular week because there was a burglar on the loose. And thats really the ironic thing, isn't it? I mean, that the buglar was on the front page of the weekly on that day. Not litterally, mind you. And not even a pictures. But they did manage to write about him, anyway.
And that was the day that Isabel and I flipped threw to the want ads. Actually first we checked on the garage sales. After all, it was a Thursday and you have to plan ahead when you're looking for a good deal. All of the best deals are had before 9:00, you know. So, we had to look see which ones we wanted to hit. Garage sales, that is. They're on Saturday mornings, and this was Thursday so we had to look at those ads first. But then after that we checked out the job postings.
And there it was - my job. "Advice columnist wanted". Isabel quizzed me on all the things this job required: Word proficient, good with deadlines, phsychology degree - all very easy to just wing, so to speak. Isabel helped me type up a nice letter and a list of all my attributes and we put these qualifications on this list, too. And then, just on a whim, we decided to hand deliver my letter. After all, the Weekly's office was just a few blocks from my house. Though it was a lovely day and my garden was especially pretty this time of year. Spring, you know. Would have been nice to sit in the garden a bit longer but Isabel said that time and deadlines were important so off we went.
Now when we got there, it seemed that the Editor, Mr. Petigrew, had already asked another young lady to come in for the job. Or, at least the interview. Though I wouldn't have followed her fashion advice. Her skirt was just a wee bit too short, that is unless you were visiting your female doctor for a below the waste exam. And really, modesty only dictates that you cover your breasts up unless you're posing for the cover of a Harlequin novel. But anyway, she seemed like a very nice girl. Smiling and blushing. Well, at least until Mr. Petigrew's wife showed up. I never quite figured out what Mrs. Petigrew was doing at the Weekly's office that day, she doesn't work there. But she certainly does keep Mr. Petigrew ambitious about his job. She was absolutely astonished that he had yet to fill the Advice vacancy. As soon as she showed up at his office he - that is Mr. Petigrew - became quite concentrated on filling the Advice vacancy. In fact, he suddenly shooed that nice young lady out of his office , you know, the one waiting ahead of me, and suddenly pointed at me and told me to start the next day.
And you know, he didn't even read my letter.
Which brings me to my first column:
Dear Veronica,
My husband and I are having a baby and we can't decide on names. I hate the names he picks out and he hates the names that I pick out. We decided to let you decide. If it's a girl, I like Novelette and Theodora. He likes Bambi, Bunny or Peaches. If it's a boy I like Phineus. He likes Otis.
Thanx for helping out,
Diane.
Dear Diane,
How lovely that you are expecting. I do wish you and your husband, and your baby, a wonderful life together. Now, I think the problem that you are having in choosing names has a physchological background that I Excel at. Bottom line is that you both have horrible taste in names. Since you have decided that I get to decide, here is my psycologically Excel-ant decision. If a girl her name is Susan, if a boy his name is Ron.
All The Best,
Veronica
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