I Found My Calling

There have been a number of times in my life where people told me that I may have missed my calling. The more I dislike working in an office, and the more I like not working in an office, the more I'm starting to believe those people. Here are a few of those stories...

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Maybe Engineering School Isn't for You

Picture this... The year was 1996, Wu Tang Clan's Enter the 36 Chambers is blasting in every car, truck and high school party. People finally stopped wearing Cross Colors gear, and yours truly is a bright, wild-haired high school senior askeered of going off to college when he finally found people who understand him (read, he doesn't go to school in the projects anymore). It's the night of the Senior Dinner, where open mic draws student after student to the front, and empties tear ducts in a late night smörgåsbord of shared memories.

Well, that's how it's supposed to go. Aside from one or two people taking advantage of unscripted access to a microphone, the party is dying. My spider sense started tingling when it looked like they were going to wrap things up. "Fuck that shit!" my inner guidance counselor hollered, and I approached the mic with no story to tell whatsoever. Instead of standing there hemming and hawing, I did what any desperate kid could do; I filibustered. The way I saw it, if I kept talking long enough someone would remember something they wanted to tell.

I made up a story that must have taken 20 minutes to tell. I had students, teachers, parents, school officials in tears. Apparently it was wicked funny. One parent asked his son (one of my classmates) if I was in the special class. "Nope, he's going to school for engineering. He's actually pretty smart." he advised his dad. "Oh, that's too bad" his dad responded.

Then the next day I was making good on my debts to the school library (damn microfiche machine costing $0.15 per copy) when the librarian asked if I was sure I should be getting into engineering. I didn't quite understand and she suggested maybe I get into a field that utilizes the other side of my brain. I thanked her for what I took for a compliment (I'm sure it was) but that mess doesn't pay the bills and like any kid entering engineering school I thought an engineering degree would help me get my cake up.

Kids, listen up. Engineering doesn't make you wealthy!

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I Don't Ride, but I Look Forward to Your Ride Reports

Friends, I have this crew that I play with most days of the week. It all started as running, then they talked me into all sorts of activities. If you thought peer pressure was a motherfucker, you should see what 40-something running moms can do. No, not that. A good looking single guy like me can be convinced to do almost anything with a few well delivered compliments. But, that's neither here nor there.

After our rides/runs I like to provide everyone with a quick write up of whatever we did. Most people think "Yeah, we ran around on the trails. It was fun." but if you take the little things and make them sound good, you can turn a garden variety stroll through the woods sound like something J.R. Tolkien dreamt up. So that's my contribution to the world, and one of the guys I run with loves to mention that I may have missed my calling. "I'm sure you're a good engineer, but those write-ups are awesome. I don't even go on the rides with you guys but you make them sound great. Do you do any other writing?" Of course, I have to beat around that bush because that world doesn't know about my blog world. "Yeah, I write little things here and there" I told him.

"Is it raining out?" I say, quickly changing the subject.

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Moral of the Story

The moral of this lengthy monologue is that I think I may have missed my calling. What's unfortunate is that I've grown accustomed to the lifestyle engineering has afforded me, and I can't just up and leave for a life of running and biking, and evenings of write ups. With this in mind, I've decided that I need either sponsorship or a sugar mama. If there are any hot, wealthy 20-something chicks out there who are looking for an industrious guy to keep at home, I am your man.

As a kept man I promise to work here and there in jobs requiring as little responsibility as possible. Jobs where I can take off when the weather's nice to play; where bullshitting with people is in the job description. Hell, I'll even pick up my own socks off the floor now and then. For now, I'll offer my kept man services even if you're only looking to support some jobless loser to spite your ex-boyfriend/parents/priest.

As far as jobless losers go, I can be a winner. There lies my calling.

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Over and Out,
Old Coot