I had to do some weird stuff on Sunday.
I had to write a resume.
I know there’s probably a bunch of folks that read this drivel that have their resume constantly updated and locked and loaded for their next employment opportunity. And those folks are probably pretty smart.
But I’m not. And I haven’t had to submit a resume in, like, forever?
Through a strange confluence of events and lifestyle I’ve been fortunate enough to swing from job to job over the years without having to endure the dreaded paperwork and interviews.
This week, however, after a two-year non-compete which just ended, I’m hoping my company will be able to sub-contract for a firm here at the Beach. And the first thing they asked for was my resume.
Like I had it somewhere nurturing in a corner under warm lights.
Panicky, I asked Miss Carol to bring home some of the resumes she’s received recently so that I could, you know, um, like, copy the format?
Seeing as how it was a forgotten skill and all.
So she did and I did and after a couple of hours and a few beers I’d squeezed out something eerily similar to a REAL resume.
Okay, I have to ask. Are you in any of those pictures???
I’m on the far left and a younger me is leaning on my motorcycle.