Today, I did something that I haven’t done in . . . let’s see . . . almost 16 years. I applied for a job. No, no, not a “real” job, just something part-time to keep me busy and out of my wife’s beautiful curly hair. In case you hadn’t noticed, I have an awful lot of time on my hands (I know, I know, why don’t I just finish the new Matt Davis mystery I’ve been writing for nearly two years?). Let’s just say it’s complicated, but I will get it done!
Without boring you with the details, suffice it to say that retirement isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and that this job would be perfect for me. Not too many hours, with a job description vague to allow this ADHD-stricken old man the opportunity to multitask at things he loves to do—and get paid for it. (Hint: it involves retail, artwork, the Internet, eBay, and lots more.) What could be better than that? Nothing (other than being on a trout stream with a fly rod in my hand).
If you’re old enough to have had your memory tickled by the title of this post, you will also understand the trepidation and hesitation of someone our age applying for a job (I’m 71 and counting). Many questions ran through my mind as I drove to the interview: Am I overqualified? (I would hope so!); Am I too old? (Of course!); I wonder how much they’ll expect me to lift? (No comment!)
Okay, okay, I’ll admit it; I was nervous as hell—and I’m still nervous, because I won’t know the verdict for at least a few days (that’s the time frame they gave me). I worry, too, because this is western North Carolina, and jobs of any kind are rarer than hen’s teeth (whatever those are). In the meantime, I’ll continue to “hang by my thumbs,” and “write if I get work.” Well, that’s all the news from Lake Wobegon (with apologies to Garrison Keeler). To paraphrase what Lieutenant Sipowitz used to say on NYPD Blue, “Keep a good thought.”
Oh, and don’t worry. I’ll let you know what happens!