How ambition caught up with me

Three weeks eating mostly stale bread and peanut butter, unless I manage to get my hands on free pizza—that would be if some friend or distant acquaintance needs company to watch a game or some home makeover show... doesn’t really matter what, I’m happy to crash any sort of event. Last week I went through two hours of dog show hell in order to get my monthly intake of (nearly) fresh veggies. What the hell was that dip? I swear it had frakkin capers!

You want good news? I give you good news: haven’t had to taste the shit in Pushkin’s bowl yet. Man, he’s getting thin, too. An empty fridge will do wonders for rodent deterrence.

So I’m a cat person—is that gonna be a problem? This kitty is the best friend I’ve had in ages, man. Follows me around town better than a beagle. What brought us even closer, lately, is I discovered he hates Oprah almost as much as I do. Sanctimonious bitch! The moment he hears her voice (he doesn’t bother looking at her face, if that’s what you call it) he’s out of the house pouting for a good four hours.

Ah... the only way he’ll hear her voice is when I’m clicking for Shark Week, obviously. I broke a finger a while back, don’t ask how. It hasn’t healed properly, every once in a while it fucks with my remote dexterity. Worse shit than a voodoo curse, man.

So. Yesterday. This friend, Rupert, dropped by. He knows things have been sorta tight, so he showed up and told me he’s found me a job. Hell, I gave up looking weeks ago, it was useless. Try landing a teaching job, wearing dreads, in the bible belt, man... Prayer just doesn’t cut it.

Turns out the bastard heard the city council is going down on dog turds with all Its might, what with those bible-thumping grannies too sore in the back to pick them up. Unless maybe prayer ain’t working for them either.

Whatever, they’re hiring a K9 Turd Squad, seven bucks an hour, three hours a day: 5 to 8 am. Breakfast included. “No loaded hashbrowns for you, punk, it’ll be a bacon n egger from the day before—but hey, can’t pass up Fate smiling upon you, can you?”

I wonder if he thought he was kidding. Fact is, friend, I know a golden opportunity when I see one. Twenty-one (21) US dollars a day, six days a week, free breakfast? Workday over at 8 am? This is too good to be true!




The lady who receives me at city hall doesn’t look too impressed with my résumé. Pretty, though, if you’re hot for the 53-year-old virgin, vowed-to-silence nun look.

“Teaching degree... PhD in Oriental Studies, good for you! Then, let’s see, a three-year stint in South Korea, teaching English to future Hyundai executive board members... that must have felt like selling out. Unless, of course, they were eager to learn about Lao-tzu’s views on hostile takeovers?... The Tao-te-FokYu, was it?”

Okay, so maybe we’re gonna make that the Madam-in-scarlet-lettering-puritan-county look. Kinky.

“So, what brings you to dog shit extraction, young man? Kind of a new field for you, isn’t it? What would you say are your most spectacular qualifications for this position?”

“I’m a cat person.”

“Great. And where do you see yourself in five years?”

“This is a position I can see myself in for the long run. I’m really quite excited about it.”

“Fantastic. Care to know about the dental plan? There isn’t one. Any other questions, gorgeous?”

“Do I get a uniform?”

“Thought you’d never ask! You’re gonna love what it’ll do to your self-confidence. Those dreadlocks speak volumes about your insecurities, young man.”

“Are you saying I should get a haircut?”

“I wouldn’t dream of uttering anything so callous. You start tomorrow.”


                                            ========================


That was 2008. I am now a Team Manager with three guys working under me. I try to be firm but fair, and I’m proud to say I am personally responsible for the removal of 12, 756 pounds of dog shit, and counting. I make $9.20 an hour now!

Pushkin has put on a bit of weight, and so have I. Linda, who hired me, visits me every Saturday at 10:30 am for a quick roll in the hay while her legal accountant hubby plays golf with his boss. She loves the tongue ring she got me for Easter last year. Sweet lady.

I never have to watch the GreenJackets for teriyaki wings anymore—I’m done feeling like a whore.

I guess you could say I’m free.




Word count: 790
Prompt: In today's difficult economic situation, sometimes finding any job is better than having none. Write a story or poem about someone who is pleased to land a really terrible job.