CONFIDENTIAL: “The Jobs I Remember” (Or: My Real Resume)

 

THE JOBS I REMEMBER: BRIAN J. SCHAEFER

(THROUGH 47 YEARS, 8 MONTHS AND CHANGE)

CLICK for CLASSIFIED MATERIAL – NO RECRUITERS OR LAW ENFORCEMENT

SO IT’S BEEN six months since leaving the Associated Press and for the first time in a while — despite my ultimate goal of being an independent professional a year from now — I’ve been neck-high in the current virtual clusterfuck that is the Job Board Galaxy. If you haven’t had the pleasure, I implore you to take a peek, post a resume, and sit back and watch the faux recruited, spam-bot-niche horrifying exploding spider birth that occurs in your inbox.  Or, your *former* inbox.

And though I know whatever I’ll be doing soon, it will come from a friend, a contact, an acquaintance, some guy at a Whole Foods, or a capacity such as that. Because it sure as hell won’t be from

LinkedZipCareerMonsterLaddersDiceTaskRabbit.com

Those sites that dumbfound, confound, and astound on a continual basis in regards to the amount of “dumb time” spent entering information into fields that should already be filled and looking at the same ads you saw 2 months earlier and generally believing this is all one big waste of our most precious resource.  Alcohol. As in, not having the time to drink enough of it.

Surely I could be jesting. The reality is every profile created on every job board web page is a fraud. Fraught with lies. Embedded with embellishment. Tainted with teasers. Spanked by all things superfluous and seasoned with sheep shit. Stretched like an aging Beverly Hills housewife’s face. (“The GILF Years”).

And then I remembered my girlfriend expressing doubt a year or so ago about the validity of my various past employment experiences after months of regaling her with the most sordid of occupational tales.

Oh, c’mon!

You see, I was a bit aimless(?) as a youth. Searching for meaning in a meaningless world? Or just a restless malcontent who was incapable of focusing or unable to not peek around the corner for something else.

So I began wracking my brain for every actual JOB I’ve held (actual positions in which I’ve been paid.

Not making my brothers pancakes. Or watching my ex’s daughter while she ran errands. Or being a chair on the Save the Post Office Committee in Shittytown, U.S.A.

These are job-jobs. All real. All my life.

“DON’T FORGET TO CLOCK OUT!!!!”

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