There but for the grace of god go I

Just as I was beginning to think that entry level jobs had gone extinct, I found a "junior level marketing assistant" position on one of the fifteen websites I stalk. Curious, I googled the company to see if I wanted to go through the trouble of applying. The results? FRAUD ALERT! RIP OFF JOB POSTING! I'm cracking up as I read the story of a woman who was forced to perform door-to-door cold calling of pizza coupons on her second interview. (I mean, really. You didn't throw the coupons in their face? You have no one to blame but yourself.)

Then there are the BS emails I get every time I update my resume. Insurance companies in Tennessee think I have high potential for sales. Shockingly, so do telecommunications jobs where I can earn up to 2K a week! I also got two emails this week detailing my potential career as a financial advisor. The possibilities are truly endless for people who believe that being a "Red Bull brand specialist" entails more than wearing cheerleading shorts* and tossing energy drinks through open taxi windows on street corners. Luckily, I have fallen for every scheme under the sun already- including (but not limited to) a free cruise to the Bahamas, an unsanctioned Babysitters Club pyramid scheme, and dollar online makeup. I know enough to avoid being roped into a position at a massage parlor/crack den where I get paid in cans of Tab. For this I am grateful.

I am, however, not opposed to being paid in Tab if I like the job. I really think we need to experience bartering outside of Oregon Trail, and I'm ready to spearhead the movement. Somewhere out there is a non-profit who would be open to paying me in hummus and cold press coffee. Kretsch would be paid in ranch dressing and trendy belts, Annie in skim lattes and headbands, Teresa in corned beef hash** and gin. Liz would receive reduced fat Skippy and American Eagle by the bag every other Friday. Joel gets sushi and white mochas. I'm convinced this could be huge, and we would all be so happy to be paid in our guilty pleasures.

In sum: Mike agreed to give me half of his first month's paycheck in a drunken bet last weekend (pending him not successfully running twenty miles in one hour while eating lamb gyros). Upon finding out that he wasn't going to hold to his side of the bargain because he didn't remember making it, I decided I need a real life sugar daddy. Any takers?

*Although... this would be a great way to keep up my hot pants lifestyle
** T, can you tell that these stars are all directed to you? This one was just so I could point out how effing disgusting CBH is.