The Problem of Pain

Spent most of yesterday at the employment center learning all the new tricks for resume writing. Did you know that it is now accepted practice to not list references on a resume? The theory is that if an employer wants them, they'll ask. Who'd a thunk it?

They told us that you basically get twenty to thirty words to grab the attention of an employer and if they aren't blown away...your chances are. I also learned that for the most part the old hard copy, hand-it-to-the-receptionist resume is pretty much dead. They all want electronic resumes they can stuff into a data base from LDSjobs or workforce services or Monster or whoever, and then they pull out likely candidates based on keywords that they are looking for. Words like "Self-motivated", "Team player" and "Detail oriented".

This meant that I had to revise my entire resume and remove all my best keywords like "Fat, lazy, bum" and "wife welfare".

We were also told that for every twenty resumes you submit you'll get maybe one interview, and most people need three interviews before getting hired. Toss in the fact that you are now encouraged to write "job specific" resumes for every company you apply at and that means that I can count on writing an additional hundred resumes before finding a steady job. Seems like you ought to get a six figure salary just to cover the search efforts.

Maybe I should just grab a job at some fast food hole other than the Clown's place. Of course even they now want kindergarten transcripts, blood samples, a credit report and a permission slip from your mother. What a freaking pain!

Speaking of pain, I am surrounded by it. About a month ago, my dad started limping a bit. It got worse and worse until about two weeks ago when he could hardly stand up. Then (and only then) he acquiesced to my mother's demands and went to see a doctor. I got a text from my brother T (who is still living at home) who told me that dad had blown his knee apart and would require surgery.

***Editor's note
I should get a copy of the MRI report and post it on here. It's like a medical encyclopedia of knee problems. Partially torn MCL, displaced ligaments, sprained ligaments, bruised, torn and displaced cartilage, torn meniscus, edema...the whole thing runs for about two pages. Completely brutal.
****

I told T that I was undecided on what surprised me less, that Dad had walked around on that chewed up piece of hamburger for over a month, or that he couldn't tell the doctor when or how he tore it up in the first place. Frankly the ONLY thing that surprised me was that Dad went to a doctor at all. "Chuck Norris should fear our Dad", I sent to T via text messaging.

Dad's older brother was in town from Virginia and happened to be sitting next to T when my text arrived. He made T text me back to say that no one was a real man until they survived a fall from a two story roof (Which my Uncle did about a year ago at the spring-chicken age of seventy).

Chuck Norris, hell. Pain should fear my family. Or as T put it, "Pain should be bringing us the finest wines and cheeses and calling us 'Sir'!"

Job hunting, blasted out craters for knees, falling off of rooftops...none of it holds a candle to my grandmother, the sainted and revered Matriarch of our clan. 90 years young and as tough as she is sweet. Two days ago, she was taking out her trash when she fell. Fortunately the neighbor was outside and saw it happen. He ran over and made sure she was OK, helped her up and escorted her into the house. Grandma insisted she was fine, and the neighbor came back to check up on her later in the afternoon. Grandam said she was tip top and went to bed. When she woke up yesterday morning, she fell again getting out of bed. When she couldn't get up she punched her "I've fallen and I can't get up" button (Greatest invention in the history of the world, in my opinion) and had the service call my aunt. Not an ambulance, not a doctor.

When my aunt got there, grandma said she was fine even though she couldn't stand up. Her ankle was black and blue and starting to swell. Against Grandma's objections, she was taken to the hospital where it was discovered that at some point in the last two days, she'd broken her ankle and now required surgery.

Now, I'm thinking that if you're going to break a bone at the age of ninety, then the ankle is a solid option. Beats heck out of a busted hip, which is pretty much a deal breaker, if you know what I mean.

Grandma didn't even want to do the surgery. I suppose she figured she'd maybe tape an aspirin to it, rub some dirt on it, and limp it off. Who knew that my sweet grandmother was one of the original authors of the "Manly Manual" code?

Nails, I tell ya. Strait up, iron nails. "They're what's for dinner".

In any sense, my dad (who was supposed to be on his back with his knee elevated for the next 7 to 10 days), decided to take mom to Burley to be with grandma.

Who didn't see that one coming?

Like Dad's going to lay on a couch for seven days and not go berserk. After the surgery, I gave Mom an over-under of three days and the smart money was on the under. I think he almost made it a day and a half.

Pain?
Indeed. Go bother Chuck, would ya?

We're busy.

One Down...

Woke up this morning to find that the job bunny had left me an assignment in my email box last night. My first one. I had to write a 300-350 word article for a Canadian city's tourism blog. It was a little weird expounding the virtues of a travel destination that I have never traveled to. Then again, I suppose that I did write the occasional paper in college on books that I hadn't actually read, so it isn't THAT much of a stretch.

***Editor's Note
There is a reason that I got a Bachelor of Science in English as opposed to a Bachelor of Arts in English.
Officially it was because I couldn't clep my Mandarin. Rather than add another three semesters to my graduation date, my advisor just switched me to a B.S. instead which required no language credits.
Unofficially it is because a BS degree seemed so much more appropriate for me; personally. What I mean is...am I, or am I not the Dark Prince of Bull Shhh...tuff?
***

Anyway, I'm not yet familiar with the rules and regulations regarding what I write for them and what I can and cannot copy or link to; so for now we'll say that I wrote a lovely little piece on the fishing in a small, local lake and that pending editorial review and client acceptance, I'm now ten dollars and twenty three cents richer than I was when I woke up.

Woo Freaking Hoo! Save me a spot at the high roller table, boys; the dice are a' calling my name!!

Yeah. Or not. Ten bucks for an hours worth of writing isn't a bad deal,really, and I think that once I get used to the system and the style guides, I'll crank them out quicker still.

It ain't much but its a start.

I spent yesterday at LDS employment looking for a full time gig. Not looking so hot. I thought it was rough when doctors said "Wow."

Every time I explain my situation and why there's a five year gap in my employment history, people say "Gee. That's just terrible. How do you keep going? I sure wish I had some way to help, but..."

You and me both, buddy. Tomorrow I go back to rework my resume and then next week I go for two days of interview and networking skills. I've already taken classes on this stuff before I graduated, so I'm expecting it to be mostly review, but I hope that I'll get something new out of it. If nothing else, they'll keep me too busy to mope about being a shiftless bum.

Well, it's the Boss's day off today and she's just waking up after closing last night. Time to go run some errands. More tomorrow.

So Where Are They?

The Boss was up at four this morning to get to work by five. Being the loving and kind husband that I am, I rolled over and went back to sleep for her. Which was fine for about an hour or so. Then Peff woke me up.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Haggis says there are monsters under the bed."

"Well, Haggis is full of it."

"Really?"

"Really." I said, waking up a little. I have a stock in trade answer for this one that I developed when the girls were toddlers and very concerned about the presence of monsters in their rooms. It worked for them, why not Peff?

"I can personally guarantee that there are no monsters in this house, son. When your mother and I bought it, we paid extra for state of the art monster detection and repellant systems. They are imbeded in the insulation between the walls. No monster could be in this house."

"Yeah, Dad, I know. I looked and there was nothing under there."

"I'm thrilled my money was well spent, though I'm beyond curious as to why you are waking me up at the 'plumber's crack of dawn' to tell me there are no monsters in the house. Go back to sleep."

"Um, Dad?"

"WHAT?!"

"How do you turn the monster alarm off? I wanna see one."

And that, my friends... is one more example of the differences between boys and girls.

I reviewed my "Manly Manual" just now and sure as heck; Age (6), section (2), subheading (a) reads:

"Monsters are the end all-be all of cool. You gotta see one."

Guess it's time to dust off that "Gremlins" DVD, huh?

"Deagle, Deagle, Deagle...."