Since I started blogging, I have gotten many new regular readers. Most people don't like to go poking through the archives if there are a lot of blogs they read. Most just stop by to see if I've updated, and still others come and look up recipes or hotlink to photos. Tsk. Blog etiquette rule: Download your picture, and create a link for it at your own site. Thanks. And I'm getting some weird spam from Anonymous. But, enough of that. I thought I would repost some older essays for those of you who haven't been here all that long. I'll try to post new things, daily, but I will sprinkle some of my favorite stories into the mix.
Today's leftover, served once more with extra ketchup, if necessary:
What do you suppose the high school mascot is of Shitterton, England?
The Scullery Maid by Giuseppe Crespi
Annie @ Discarded Lies asks the following question: "Is a British accent all you need to succeed in America?" Well, in the words of Twin Number 2, "Hell to the Yeah!"
I know this how? Not because I am British, by no means. I know this because I pretended to be British in order to get a job, a job I got by lying about everything else through my crooked British-looking teeth, too.
I wasn't always a good liar, since I only lied in order to get out of trouble and pin the blame on my brother. I wasn't very good at it, and I always felt a tinge of remorse....especially if my dad's belt came off and did some harsh asswhoopage. I hope you can forgive me for those times, dear brother. I know I have already gotten over it.
Anyway, back to "How I Became a Fab Success by Lying While Using a British Accent, and How you can, too!"
I was unemployed and apparently, unemployable...at least in the town of Berwick, Pennsylvania.
Although I had worked in the news business for many years, no newspaper wanted to hire me. (They usually hire from within the paper.)
And my abilities as a librarian got me nowhere with the local librarian, who, though desperately needing another librarian, didn't want to pay what I'd made in Lancaster as a newspaper librarian. So I looked beyond my ken, and applied at restaurants, where no one wanted to hire me because they were always concerned that once a position opened up at the library, I would quit and go there to work. The grocery stores gave me the same reasons.
Desperate, I decided that the only way to get a job was to lie about my credentials. So I made my mind up to lie. Number One Rule about Lying to get a job: Lie about everything. I mean EVERYTHING! Make sure that the people you create as references are people you have known a long time, and give fake phone numbers, but make sure it's really long distance, like from England or France, or Morocco, if you want to make sure they won't ever call....and make sure your references are dead, too. I prefer dead references who have died in hideous manners. Suicides aren't necessarily a good idea, but make sure you add in the margins: "Investigators say the explosion was an accident."
Oh, and make sure that the job experience you make up is in relation to the job you are looking for. Which means, if you are applying for a lawyer job or a brain surgeon job...make sure you give yourself lots and lots of brain surgeon or lawyer experience. That way, the prospective boss will really be impressed. And always say that you learn new things quickly. At this point, I wanted to close the deal, because the personnel director was clearly impressed with me and when she called me in for the interview, I thought to myself, while still out in the lobby waiting, "how do I make sure I get this job, and not these other skanks who are probably better trained than me?" Answer: English Accent. Boo-Yeah!
As the future boss was looking over my creds and shaking her head with awe at the fact that I had been so well-traveled, she asked me some pointless thing about my childhood...and then, POP, out it came, the Britishest accent you ever did hear! Well, needless to say, she was REALLY interested in getting me started right away.
She took me to where I would be working, and introduced me to my new work mates, who were duly impressed with me, because of my Acme™ British Accent, including the German lady, who said, "Oh, I Lufffffff Enklant! I used to liffff in Enklant Zvanzik Yearsss! Vayre Vere you born in Enklant?" Damn, I hadn't thought about that question. Because my birth certificate says Kansas City, MO, and well, I was going to say that I was accidentally born there, yet British all the way, in spite of my mother's botching it. But I didn't say that, because that would have actually sounded plausible. So I said the following:
"Well, I was born in a rather small and insignificant town, you probably never heard of." (Think dammit. THINK!!!! Something. ANYTHING. MAKE. IT. UP!")
So I did, remembering that English towns are often combinations of ridiculous-sounding words and syllables, like Primbole on Sackwhuthers....and thus I created the small village of Twatsworth. You know, Twatsworth? It straddles the river Bumsuckle?
And that is where I became from: Twatsworth-Upon-Bumsuckle.
Fräulein's blank stare didn't bode well, but luckily, the rest of the staff members were American, so they believed me. (FYI: I decided, when I went home from work, that Twatsworth-Upon-Bumsuckle was given this name after Henry the VIII came looking for a good wench with whom he could sire a manchild, and seeing only a few cows and inbred farmers around, he proclaimed that there was nary a twatsworth to be had in this Godforsaken land, and that's how our town came into being...just in case it ever came up.)
So now I had a point of origin. As I began my on the job training, I vowed to tell one new outrageous lie after another, every day of the week. I was going to be the best damn dishwasher they EVER had.