Don’t “give me a sign”
I realize that everyone has to earn a living. But there has to be a better way, than standing in the sunshine wearing a mattress costume. Yesterday, while driving down the street, I saw at least three foolish folks dressed as human advertisements. Although I’ve had some horrible jobs, I’ve never worn a chicken suit, to beckon people for a Colonel Saunder’s meal. Yet.
Would I ever do a job that required me to hold a sign, saying: “Our hot dogs are well hung!”? It’s one of those $10,000 questions, like asking a dyke: “What’s your price for sucking dick?” I’d almost consider doing that (for a fucking fortune), if it meant that I’d be exempted from ever humiliating myself in public. Albeit, no one would recognize me behind the Santa schmatte, but I’d know the truth.
I’m not knocking “creative careers,” but spare me from anything that makes me inhale smog for eight hours, for a job that pays $8.00 an hour. I’m a freelance writer, and once, when I was desperate for work, considered setting up shop in front of an advertising agency. I had the whole thing planned out. I’d bring a table and chair, along with my iBook. My sign would say: “Will write for work.” I’d be busily typing out incredible ad copy, and handing my business cards to prospective employers. I was primed and prepared to do this strange stunt, but my pride prevented me from going through with it.
I suppose that if I was down to my last, ratty cashmere sweater, I might resort to a sign bearing gig. Or not. In any event, I wouldn’t have a hard time finding one. I did a Google search on: “sign holding jobs,” and it netted me over 38, 500, 000 hits. Oy. I’d have a difficult decision choosing between a plethora of paltry post positions. It’d be a hard choice: dancing in front of a coffee cafe, with a styrofoam latte balanced on my head, or wearing a wild wig, to cajole kids into getting their curls clipped.
Fortunately, I still have some stalwart clients who keep me in cashmere (even though most of it’s from Goodwill); but you never know what the future portends. I don’t want to tempt fate, but perhaps I should start stockpiling some signs. If my income goes down, my signs might have to go up. But I refuse to relinquish my writing. If I’m doomed to carry a sign, at least I’ll make certain, that mine will be an award winning one.
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