As of late I have been trying to apply my reduced intellect to the task of ameliorating my financial and career woes. As most of you will know, it has been two years since I had to finish work thanks to Bob. Now whilst many of you would no doubt be ecstatic at the thought of not working for two years, I am well and truly over it. There is this pesky problem of money, which is apparently required for things like mortgages, electricity, food and doctors' golfing fees.
There are difficulties here, which to those not familiar with Bob or his like-minded mates, may seem a tad weird. What job fits my skill set? Or more importantly what job fits my current ability levels? How do you find appropriate employment when your health is about as stable as Brittany Spears? At this point I can't even competently run my own bath (yep ran it right over the side, where was that sound of running water coming from?) and even making a coffee is akin to understanding String Theory.
I have no desire to apply for a job that is beyond me. I still remember the Peter Principle from my organisational psych class. For those unfamiliar with this, it's when someone is promoted to their highest level of incompetence. At this point in time a career as a crash test dummy may constitute my own personal Peter Principle.
If I am to be honest with myself, which is rather difficult as I live in a constant state of denial, I have some rather specific requirements.
I would prefer a job where I can remain horizontal. Gravity is no longer my friend, and may in effect qualify as one of those bitchy girls at school that makes a nerd's (me being the nerd in question) life hell. Is there a job out there that would allow me to lie down or at least have my feet up for the day? Preferably is there a job out there that I can do in bed or on the couch?*
I would prefer a job where vague and looking like death warmed up are considered highly desirable. I have a post-doc in vague, with a specialisation in confused. I can make even the simplest of conversations and tasks equivalent to solving The Riemann Hypothesis, and about as successful. I have a trademark vacant look which would be admired by the most catatonic of patients in a mental health facility. Combine that with corpse chic and I'm sure that I am the ideal employee for any organisation.
After extensive cogitations (mostly at about 3 am) I've come up with a few possible occupations:
Dead body on CSI: Now this I think matches perfectly. I could play a dead body with ease. I already have a range of dramatic floor lying poses in my repertoire. They would also save a bundle in the make-up department as my blood pools almost immediately when I sit or lie, no need to spend hours with a little brush to get the right purple effect, I always bring my own. I am also happy to travel to Las Vegas or New York. Miami is out though as David Caruso gives me the creeps. On second thoughts CSI dead bodies tend to have the before 'action' shots which reveal their grizzly deaths. Unfortunately action and I don't exactly get along. Maybe I could just be a Law and Order dead body. They just have a token death shot and then the gurney with the sheet. I can definitely do that. Morgues are also supposed to be cold so that's a bonus with my heat intolerance.
Zombie: Given my level of brain fog, my poor motor skills and lovely shades of pasty to purple skin, zombie pretty much is a no brainer (no pun intended). I frequently look and act like an extra from Dawn of the Dead. I do have a preference for the classic 80's horror movie Zombie over the more recent incarnations. I'm all about the classics. My talent for incoherent mumblings could not be improved by a year at NIDA or The Royal Shakespeare Company. I can moan and mumble with the best of them. This career choice also means I wouldn't have to do my hair or shower, both arduous tasks with Bob.
Speed Bump: All I have to do is lie there. I can do that. In fact I could do that damn well. Thanks to SNAFU I wont even feel it if you run over my foot. (My delightfully witty and caring husband thinks I should add FUBAR into my posts as well, as it really in the most appropriate acronym for my current state of being. Love you honey). Hot bitumen and sunshine may pose a problem though, so I'd probably have to stick with those dank underground car parks. Luckily there is always a dripping pipe in an underground car park so water is also no problem. Brilliant.
Town Idiot/Drunk: don't you love those quaint little towns set up to recreate the days of yore. Every one of these towns has a town idiot or town drunk. Yet again I think I have the requisite skills to fulfil this role with aplomb. I slur and frequently have the vacant look. I can throw up on cue, and randomly if required, and shake and stumble better than the most seasoned of winos. I'm cheap too, as I don't even require alcohol to get into the spirit.
Passed out girl at party: every party has a passed out girl at some point (okay maybe not every party, maybe that's just the parties I used to attend). At the end of a day at the races, the morning of New Years Day, music festivals or any public holiday there is the token passed out girl. It's tradition really. You just know it's been a good event when there is a dishevelled girl passed out elegantly in a gutter or out the front of the venue. I may have to insist on a comfortable place to lie, I do have some standards, but other than that I'm there.
Gurney Girl: Every medical show has dozens of gurney extras. They never walk down a clear corridor, as that's not dramatic enough. They are always surrounded by gurneys of the dead and dying, longing for their selfless ministrations. I think I could manage to lie on a gurney. Hell I'd even be happy to be under a sheet with a toe tag on. I'm not fussy. I'd also be happy to be 'wheelchair girl' especially if I can have the fake leg casts and have those leg props up. I'm happy to perve discreetly at the hot TV doctors that don't exist in real life. In fact I'm wiling to take a pay cut if I can play one of those nutty patients who grabs the doctors butt Or better yet, give my character one of the cool frontal lobe tumours that removes your inhibition. I'm willing to snog a hot doc for the sake of the story line.
Vomit Artist: A few years ago I saw a story about a guy who received a $20,000 government grant to drink and then vomit up milk on a canvas. Ah, your taxes at work. If that's art, I am an undiscovered genius. Nausea and vomiting come naturally courtesy of Bob. I am even willing to supply my own canvases. I'm kinda concerned about who may buy such art, but hey if you are dumb enough to buy vomit art I'm happy to take your money. Now if I can only find the brain dead guy from the Arts Council who approved this grant I'd be set.
So that's the options generated by my highly functioning last brain cell. As you can tell I am willing to think outside the box. Any other suggestions will be considered. Especially if they are real, pay loads and allow me to live in my pjs and work from the Batcave (aka my bedroom).
The unemployed Michelle :)
* Now I'm sure many of you dear readers will have thought of the obvious career path for the girl who prefers to be horizontal and is strapped for cash, but that will never be an option. Although, $50 for three minutes work is somewhat attractive, this is outweighed by the dry heaving and the little bit of throw up in the back of my mouth that has just occurred at the thought of the work requirements. Just thinking about the effort involved, ugh. I have exercise intolerance so that's really not on. There is also that weird symptom of Bob: increased olfactory acuity. If there is a dead animal or mutating potato within 100 paces I can smell it. Bloodhounds have nothing on me. This means that all the malodorous 'clients' would be off the list and really when you see the men who frequent those establishments you just know they all have hygiene issues.
Oh wow, I just thought of another job. I'm happy to work for Chanel smelling their perfumes. I'm sure you don't need to be upright for that one. I'm willing to move to France. To eat croissants and cheese. I will even force myself to drink wine. I would even fit in with that high fashion pasty death look they are so fond of on the Paris cat walks. Plus I have been faithful to Chanel No.5 for years. That has to count for something. Call me Mr Chanel recruiting man. Call me. Please. Pretty please. Super pretty please....