It occurred to me today as I craft yet another opening paragraph specific to the institution that I am engaged in a very sophisticated form of begging. Pandering, panhandling, not much difference, and, mistaking a passion as an avocation instead of an advocacy, I wonder if I might have missed my calling as a politician. But then I would have to be more measured in my misrepresentations than the license of fiction or fantasy allow.
Nevertheless, there is a strategy implemented that the above hapless amblyopic myope has recognized, if not for its practicality: I have nothing of real value to offer save my wit. The tragedy is that only insiders can appreciate the irony cum pathos, commiseration readily forthcoming but in that they already have theirs, necessarily powerless to help.
A most unbecoming attitude, frustration magnified and disillusion that corresponding, merciless (should the last bit of hope stray into its path) fine point of light.
But just in case, I suppose I should start preparing for an interview.
Well, they do have clothes on their backs. And shoes. Although, that dude wanting to be hit with quarters is hardly in a position to protect the family jewels. Which may or may not be indicative.
ReplyDeleteLuck with the search, Spot. You never did say what replaced the truck, repaired the truck. Don't think a bicycle would make the journey to Portland - well, more than once anyway.
TM - Thanks for the well-wish. My cover letter is in too small of a font to do me much good at the exit ramps.
ReplyDeleteThe space in the drive where the truck was parked remains empty. Just as well right now.
GL in your search.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Mojo.
ReplyDelete