Friday, November 12, 2004

Ode to Monster.com

Heaven help me! Mercy Lord!
The jobs my res'me can't afford
Could fill a page (in fact, eighteen!)
Positions as I've never seen
And won't, I deem, unless B.A.s
In English become all the rage.

Could there be hope for such as I?
Let's see to what I might apply--

Store manager at Bed n' Bath:
Come, stanch the customary wrath
Of customers for whom shampoo
Applied thrice daily wouldn't do
Those things that it had promis'ed--
"I rubbed it well about my head
But see! There yet remain such flakes
My shoulders bow beneath the cakes
I cannot stand, nor shall I stand it!
O'er my money hand, bath bandit!"

Claims for Farmers Groupies Inc.:
A better job than you might think
Explore how devious you are
(While smiling; don't forget PR!)
Adjust, report, and calculate
And dither while they supplicate.
Unwrapping tales of human woe
And binding them in red tape bows
Is good for us and fun for you!
(And do not, Dives, while you chew
Ponder the Lazari who sweep
For crumbs around our fatted feet;
You'll find bread stolen to be sweet)

Invest! Insure! Or from your home
Make millions o'er the telephone!
Apply online; apply yourself--
Come be a corporate Santa's elf!
Recruit! Retail! Come represent
Us to the world! (And don't resent
It if you cannot pay the rent
At first, but try and try again
To he who strives the world's a friend!)
Experience and motivation
Fit you for this invitation!
Bootstrap puller-uppers wanted!
Bootlicks too! For all the vaunted
Liberty of self employ
Our golden stables you'll enjoy.
Get dental, health, 401K
Plush pensions and--what's that you say?
You haven't got an MBA?
Well . . . Taco Bell's just down the way.

Eve's curse, to pine for that which pains
Is Adam's, too--hence I complain
"Call these careers? They're fit for swine!
And (sniffle) where oh where is mine?"

I know what I am owed by Earth
That, though less than I deem I'm worth
Less still is owed than I've been giv'n.
(Thus having spake, I trow I'm shriv'n
Of notions of ungratefullness)
Where was I? Mid-complaint? Ah yes--
What choice awaits the failed auteur?
Which suicide is prettier:
A wife and forty hours a week
Or the revolver, quick and neat.
Thus spake (well, more or less) Camus
Myself, I think it isn't true
Do not mistake the true intent
Of this my tiresome testament
For all that miles of joyless jobs
Await us graduated slobs
Still, old Quoholeth had it right
Man could do worse than spend his might
In toil by day and rest by night.
Beneath the sun is nothing new
A collar, whether white or blue
Remains a collar, teth'ring shure
Each rower to his 'pointed oar.
Each pursues his golden fleece--
Why's mine soaked in french-fry grease?

12 Comments:

Blogger lil said...

ben, i hate you because you are more creative and articulate than i ever will be. but i love you because i feel the same way about monster.com and other such job search sites. the difference between you and i is that i express my frustration by writing in ALL CAPITAL LETTERS, not poetry. it's not as pretty, but it gets the point across.

anyway, your post made me think of a t-shirt that i'm going to order from www.localcelebrity.net. you can see it here. i hope it makes you smile.

November 13, 2004 at 1:49 PM  
Blogger Pepsica said...

As your biggest fan it is my job to tell you that no matter where your feet land and where Gomer ends up parking in the next few months, you will be a blessing and delight to all you meet and encounter.

November 13, 2004 at 3:34 PM  
Blogger Viator said...

Thank you ladies.
Li'l, I'm going to buy me that there t-shirt . . .
just as soon as I can afford it.

November 13, 2004 at 6:04 PM  
Blogger Joy said...

Beernutt, you continually surprise me. Guess what? You're featured in an episode in my latest of my exceedingly thoughtful (instead of silly or agnst-ridden) posts. I don't know if you remember this conversation or not.

http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=sonnetjoy&nextdate=11%2f11%2f2004+13%3a32%3a30.870&direction=n

November 16, 2004 at 9:39 AM  
Blogger M. Lumpkin said...

You're a good man, Ben. You've eased all of our woe, we who toil under the self-same collar bound by our ambition and our choices to a fate less grand than the slight of hand of youth sold to us. My brother included, who also found less than sympathy at the hands of monstor.com.

So when is it you're coming to visit? The pillows are fluffed...

November 23, 2004 at 7:02 AM  
Blogger nathaniel adam king said...

Sir, I think that I will be the first to say that I completely despise your poetry, I think it rank. Not really, I enjoy it greatly, but seeing as how I am utterly jealous, and completely overcome with envy, I thought I would put up a dishonest front and pretend that I didn't like it...so here goes...nope sorry, can't do it. Great poem!! Great Blog.

November 24, 2004 at 8:00 AM  
Blogger Charles said...

BEN -- next time call me when you're almost in town, not when you're on your way out of town!!!!!!!!!

Chuck

November 26, 2004 at 8:11 PM  
Blogger rebstar said...

ben, dyin' for a new post!!

(this ode is INCREDIBLE, by the way.)

December 6, 2004 at 7:26 AM  
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