Since beginning to apply for new jobs for the fall, I’ve been checking my spam filter carefully every day instead of just skimming and chuckling at such messages as “Cheap Viagra Now! Just Give Me Your Credit Card Number!” or “Brittany Spears Screws Angelina Jolie with a Gigantic Purple Dildo Shaped Like Dick Cheney.” To make absolutely sure that the companies I’m applying to aren’t getting caught in the filter (No calls today? Huh. Maybe they’re getting stuck in the spam filter. Yes. Yes, that must be it), I’ve been going through every few hours and reading the subject line of every one of those dirty emails. I've learned more about human sexuality doing this than I have in nearly 25 years of existence.
Early this afternoon while preening said filter, I happened upon a message with my entire full name in the subject line. I figured this must be the one I was looking for since I never ever EVER give out that information out on the Internet. Except to Gap, but I don’t think they count. Do they sell contact info to dirty smut peddlers? Don’t they have enough on their conscience already since all my collared shirts were made in Malaysia by the tiny, nimble fingers of 4-year-olds?
Since I wouldn’t dare accuse Gap of further indiscretions, I assumed the only people that know my real name must know it because I gave it to them. Like written in size 50 font across the top of my resume. The excitement was short lived. The e-mail went on to inform me that I have been nominated for the Montclair Registry of Who’s Who in North America which catalogues our continent’s “industry leaders” in such fields as marketing, law, healthcare, and even administration and customer service. Sadly missing from their list is a category for Receptionists Who Blog When They Ought to Be Pushing Paper and In General, Not Being a Bitch to Whoever Points That Out. I mean this in the least self deprecating, pitiful way possible: I belong on the OPPOSITE of the Who’s Who list. I belong on the Who’s Not list. Or the Who’s Chosen To Work a Crumby 9-5 Gig Instead of Starting a Career That Could Potentially Interfere with Her Drinking list.
Yet, this company (who has a seemingly legitimate website) knows my full real name. This leads me to conclude that either a) one of my friends has pranked me in which case, my hat is off to you and while we’re at it, which one of you was it? Or b) Houghton Mifflin is subtly trying to tell me that they will permit me to mop their floors.
2 comments:
I believe in a world as cold hearted as ours, there is only one cure: to make those of us with seemingly worthless jobs feel better about ourselves.
Since the powers-that-be have stepped off their pedestal to offer you this golden ticket into their world, I think you should now honor those of us left behind with the "Dangerous K Who's Not of North America" bi-monthly or semi-annually or quarterly award.
I'd like to take this time to regale you with some of the quality subject lines that arrive in my work mailbox (hehe, box) on a daily basis:
"Get Hard!!"
"Women Love Men With Larger Tools!"
"Your Girl Will Experience Climaxes Like Never Before"
"How to Get Rid Love Dysfunction"
"Possess Longer and Thicker Dong!"
...Apparently whoever got their hands on my name and address was worried my bits and pieces weren't enough to satisfy my woman. I don't know how I'm going to break the bad news about my lack of sexual prowess to my boyfriend.
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