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Holy Cow! I've practically been offered a job teaching at the Community College. From the way I read it, if I fill out the paperwork and turn it in I'm hired. They seem utterly so desperate for help that they'll hire anybody who walks in the door, even me. That would have to be the reason anybody would hire me at my age. "You better let someone love you, before it's too late."
I don't know where this is going. I swore to myself I would never do public work again. I was perfectly willing for my interactions on the internet to be the only contact with the public I have until I croak. But, the internet has let me down. E-mail seems to be losing it's audience. I got my first ISP account in order to communicate with other people via e-mail discussion groups without having to deal with them in person, but now the e-mail medium seems passe.
What if I don't die for a while? That's why I seem willing to take a public job, or even a private one. What if I live to be a hundred years old? What in the world will I do with myself if I keep living, and don't get Alzheimer's or forget who or where the hell I am. Write entries for this blog for the next 20-30 years? Cussing vehemently about the military helicopters taking over the local airport for the sole purpose of driving me insane? Who would read about that?
The statistics program Google provides that purportedly informs the bloggers about the traffic on their site has astounded me. According to them, I'm getting over 6,000 visits a month, and the subscription rate to Apple Pan Dowdy has quadrupled. What's going on? Maybe the world has gone mad. Suddenly I feel pressured to write something that is actually interesting. Yet, that might make it worse. If the boring crap I write attracts that many people, what if I wrote stuff that seems worth tuning in?
Old people are sensitive you know. They know perfectly well that they're not up to date on a lot of contemporary stuff. If I go to the trouble to fill out this paperwork, and they don't hire me, even as desperate as they seem to be, it will hurt my feelings.
My Indian friend Billy has worked this job before. As soon as I found out my name had been put in the pot (only because they're desperate) I drove over to his office to talk to him about it. If this was a job he wanted, I'd try to push things his way. I'd hate to lose his friendship over a part-time job.
If I accidentally got the job, he assured me it wouldn't be a problem for him. He told me his entrepreneurial activities are fully satisfying. They oughta be. He's getting rich as Midas. Every time I talk to him he has bought more property. Today, he told me his youngest son just got a job he liked making $200,000+ a year.
The woman I talked to about the job wants me to bring the paperwork in at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow. I reckon I better get to work and see if I can find an old resume.
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I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
