"MY, how nicely many of my classmates are dressing these days!" I remarked to no one in particular.
"They are going to the Office of Career Services," said a passerby disparagingly. "They are seniors getting jobs, and that's more than I can say for you. Nahhh!"
"Geez! How rude," I thought, but deep inside I knew she was right-I am a senior and so I must get a job quickly so I won't be unhappy when I graduate, or worse--poor. I found out where the Office of Career Services is and went there.
As I entered the building, a large pimple appeared on my forehead, and I screamed out in pain. Undaunted, I approached the figure behind the main desk.
"Hi, I'm a senior and I'm here for my job. Please make it quick because I'm already late for class."
"Sure, come right in," a smiling face greeted me, "OXY 10? Clearasil?"
"Clearasil's fine, thank you." I took the bottle and applied a healthy glob to my forehead, "now about my job..."
"You've come to the right place, we'll fix you right up. What'll it be?"
"Well, I was thinking of something in terms of CEO of a multi-national corporation."
"Allrighty...IBM? EXXON? CITICORP?..." he said, going down his checklist of still available jobs.
"IBM is fine," I said, preparing to leave.
"Allrighty, IBM it is. You start in September. The job entails wearing a tie seven days a week while you work ridiculously long hours. The unrelentless pressure of handling millions of dollars every day mandates an ulcer and a wife who will leave you, because you are rarely home. But oooohhhh, whatta great yacht! Here's your contract."
I couldn't believe my ears. "A tie? Are you sure?"
"Yes, you must wear a tie...just sign here, and..."
"Uh, how about something else..."