It's a well known fact that assertiveness is a desirable trait in potential employees. But how can you make people think you're assertive, even if you're not naturally? The answer is easy: swearing.
Most people are offended by foul language. But if you're some high-powered businessperson and you're looking to hire some go-getters, you need a simple measure of how assertive and "proactive" they are. The obvious choice? How much they swear. Only assertive, forceful people would swear in a business setting.
As a public service, I'm providing below a sample cover letter that would not only get you hired to almost any job, but get you hired at at least double, if not triple or more, the basic salary. The swears will be "asterisk'd," because I'm not really sure about blogspot's stance on rampant swearing and I'm not going to chance it.
Apathy
29376 Assertiveness Drive
Confidencetown, XV
SomeCorp
9347 Business Lane
Borington, OM
Octember 8th, 3029
F*ck yeah, motherf*ckers,
Sh*t. I'm Apathy. I'm not going to bother talking about any f*cking certifications I have, because I don't need to. I'm applying for -insert job-, so you can throw all the other piece of sh*t resumes in the garbage.
F*ck.
You can contact me by email only. DO NOT CALL ME. I hate phones. Thank you for hiring me. I'll need at least double base pay and 16 weeks vacation a year.
Sh*t,
- Apathy
Other Appropriate Times For Swearing
Any time you clap for anything, at an opera for example, swearing is the next step up for showing your appreciation. Clapping is good, but clapping while yelling, "Sh*t a$$ f*ck balls sh*t hell that was awesome!" lets the people know you really liked what you saw.
This applies to literally any clapping situation, like at the symphony, a formal lecture, or a child's ballet recital.
Creating Your Own Swears
Swearing is an art form, just like any other rhetorical craft. And so, you need not be limited by existing swears. Almost anything can become a swear if uttered vehemently enough and in the right context. Also, combining existing swears is an excellent way for the novice swearer to be more creative. Instead of saying, "That was a f*cking good movie," one could say, "That was a f*ck-a$$ing, horse-flaming sh*t-hell of a movie!" Your friends will be impressed at your vastly growing lexicon of swears, and you'll be the toast of the town.
Or, instead of saying, "I really liked the pancakes this morning, Mom," you could say, "F*ck! Those pancakes beat the sh*t out of every other damn-hell-a$$ pancakes ever, Mom!" She will be pleased that you enjoyed the breakfast so much, and that you thought to compliment her so forcefully.
As a side note, if you all would like to swear in the comments, I'd be nothing but a hypocrite if I asked you not to, but at least censor them lightly as I have.
September 27, 2010
September 18, 2010
Why Self-Check Machines Are Great
The self check machines in grocery stores are one of the best inventions ever. I know a lot of people dislike them, but the fact is that they're awesome.
The first and foremost reason is that they don't involve interacting with another human being, which, if you read my last post, you'll understand is an objectionable task for me. I enjoy the cold comforts of automated phone systems and humanless grocery-purchasing.
The second reason I like them is that they're faster. In the standard lanes, I'll get stuck standing behind A) someone doing the shopping for a household and has a cart overflowing with crap that will take up three belt's worth of space B) The Coupon Queen (not always a woman) who insists their expired and/or irrelevant coupons are valid and will not take no for an answer or C) someone on WIC who doesn't understand that Kraft singles are "cheese food" and don't count as real cheese and loudly debates said fact with the wretched cashier who knows better.
In the self check lane, I can scan my own small amount of items and shove them into a bag in the time it would have taken me to look over the tabloids and get worked into a boiling rage over how stupid humanity is.
The number one reason that the self checks are great, however, is for when you need to buy embarrassing products and don't feel like showing them to strangers. Here's an example:
We had moved into our new house a few months ago and the washing machine wasn't in yet and wouldn't be for a few more days. However, I was out of clean underpants.
Going to a laundromat is also an objectionable task, so I chose the sensible option of buying more. So I went to the Meijer (for those outside the Midwest, it's like Walmart or Target). While I was there, I realized I also needed more Pepto Bismol, as I get heartburn often and was out.
I was merrily on my way to the check lanes when I realized what sort of mental image this might conjure for anyone else.
If I'd been forced to go through a checkout lane, I would have invariably been helped by an attractive, age-similar woman who would kindly, but futilely, try and hide her giggles when I handed her my things. I would blush fervently and try to avoid eye contact while simultaneously trying to look like I wasn't the least bit embarrassed by this. I might even blabber out some joke about the situation which would have sounded good in my head, but as it left my lips, I'd have realized it was much less clever than I had imagined and would only have cemented the idea that I'm buying these things not by chance, but in response to an unanticipated bout of explosive diarrhea.
I would quickly but awkwardly pay for my purchases and leave, head held in shame, so I can go home and replay the entire depraved situation in my mind over and over again.
This would also have the added bonus of making me too ashamed to go to that store ever again on the off chance that the cashier would see me and recognize me as the Underwear/Pepto Guy. I'd be driving across town for a wildly less convenient but potentially less embarrassing store.
But no! That didn't need to happen! The cold, inanimate self-check and its feminine yet lifeless voice circumvented this atrocity and passed no judgement on me. I walked out of the store, my antacid and underwear firmly in hand (in an mostly opaque bag).
The first and foremost reason is that they don't involve interacting with another human being, which, if you read my last post, you'll understand is an objectionable task for me. I enjoy the cold comforts of automated phone systems and humanless grocery-purchasing.
The second reason I like them is that they're faster. In the standard lanes, I'll get stuck standing behind A) someone doing the shopping for a household and has a cart overflowing with crap that will take up three belt's worth of space B) The Coupon Queen (not always a woman) who insists their expired and/or irrelevant coupons are valid and will not take no for an answer or C) someone on WIC who doesn't understand that Kraft singles are "cheese food" and don't count as real cheese and loudly debates said fact with the wretched cashier who knows better.
In the self check lane, I can scan my own small amount of items and shove them into a bag in the time it would have taken me to look over the tabloids and get worked into a boiling rage over how stupid humanity is.
The number one reason that the self checks are great, however, is for when you need to buy embarrassing products and don't feel like showing them to strangers. Here's an example:
We had moved into our new house a few months ago and the washing machine wasn't in yet and wouldn't be for a few more days. However, I was out of clean underpants.
Going to a laundromat is also an objectionable task, so I chose the sensible option of buying more. So I went to the Meijer (for those outside the Midwest, it's like Walmart or Target). While I was there, I realized I also needed more Pepto Bismol, as I get heartburn often and was out.
I was merrily on my way to the check lanes when I realized what sort of mental image this might conjure for anyone else.
If I'd been forced to go through a checkout lane, I would have invariably been helped by an attractive, age-similar woman who would kindly, but futilely, try and hide her giggles when I handed her my things. I would blush fervently and try to avoid eye contact while simultaneously trying to look like I wasn't the least bit embarrassed by this. I might even blabber out some joke about the situation which would have sounded good in my head, but as it left my lips, I'd have realized it was much less clever than I had imagined and would only have cemented the idea that I'm buying these things not by chance, but in response to an unanticipated bout of explosive diarrhea.
I would quickly but awkwardly pay for my purchases and leave, head held in shame, so I can go home and replay the entire depraved situation in my mind over and over again.
This would also have the added bonus of making me too ashamed to go to that store ever again on the off chance that the cashier would see me and recognize me as the Underwear/Pepto Guy. I'd be driving across town for a wildly less convenient but potentially less embarrassing store.
But no! That didn't need to happen! The cold, inanimate self-check and its feminine yet lifeless voice circumvented this atrocity and passed no judgement on me. I walked out of the store, my antacid and underwear firmly in hand (in an mostly opaque bag).
September 16, 2010
Living as an Introvert, Part One
I've often wondered what it's like to be an extrovert, strutting about life bold as you like, brazenly displaying your teeth and proclaiming audible utterances to other humans with casual disregard to the entire situation.
Must be nice.
Then there's the low-grade misery that life becomes when you're an introvert. All the little tasks in life are made worse by a constant, nagging anxiety and pervasive fear that everyone will see you as the fool you are. Even the most mundane of tasks become completely intolerable.
Nothing about the phone is appealing. It might lure you in with siren calls of anonymity and the option of not personally interacting with people, but all it really presents you with is a disembodied voice with no comforting context or distractions and a quick, vicious tendency to judge and belittle you, made all that more poignant because you're sitting in the "safe" surroundings of the familiar.
I fumble around ordering takeout, despite having the menu directly in front of my face with my pre-chosen selections clearly marked and the pronunciations of said items worked out in my head. Still, I fail.
When I call a company to "check in" on a resume I've submitted (an unequivocally stupid process), I've no idea what to say. It usually comes out as, "Hi. I submitted a resume. Now I'm required to call to let you know I didn't do that by mistake. This is that call. It's your turn to talk now." Seriously, what am I supposed to say? I'm just calling to call, and we both know it.
I would never have a job that involved cold-calling people. I'd move back in with my parents before that, and I'm pretty convinced that I'd be homeless first, too.
Where to sit in a classroom was another problem that plagued my days of college.
Upon entering any classroom, I would immediately size up the seating situation. There are clear zones with positive and negative attributes (see diagram below). I'm assuming a normal, rectangular room here.
Zone A is the worst possible place, of course. At the front, you're not only face to face with someone who might talk directly to you, but you're perceived as wanting such things by being there. Also, everyone can see you, but you cannot see them. This zone is unacceptable at all times. The only time you would actually sit here is when arriving to a class late (horrible enough anyway) and the only options are to quickly sit in the front, or climb over people for a more desirable seat further back, while everyone waits and watches.
Zones B, the sides - but not in the front or back row - are the best possible introverted zones. You have the cold comfort of the inanimate wall beside you, less people around you, and are rarely a priority target for instructors.
Zone C, the entire middle, is somewhat of a balanced place. It's awful in that you're surrounded by people with whom you might inadvertently make eye contact or that might initiate a quiet conversation or inquiry, but you're also lost in a sea of people and your chances of being called upon are low.
Zone D is a gamble. The back of the room is the knee-jerk place for introverts to sit, and a lot of times this is the best place, far away from the front, with one or possibly two walls for comfort. However, this can sometimes, with sadistic instructors, turn into a front row situation. Some people are unfamiliar with the mindset of the introvert and are personally offended by our lack of speech. Unable to let this aberrant behavior slide, they will mercilessly call on the back row, whom they know sat there because they didn't want to answer questions in front of a group. Jerks.
Any room situation can be processed by the introverted mind instantaneously, because pausing at the door and thinking about where to sit appears foolish, which is, of course, the worst thing ever. We must walk unflinchingly into rooms and choose seats quickly and as if we gave it little thought. Because that's what everyone does, right? If only.
Must be nice.
Then there's the low-grade misery that life becomes when you're an introvert. All the little tasks in life are made worse by a constant, nagging anxiety and pervasive fear that everyone will see you as the fool you are. Even the most mundane of tasks become completely intolerable.
The phone is one of my personal nemeses.
Nothing about the phone is appealing. It might lure you in with siren calls of anonymity and the option of not personally interacting with people, but all it really presents you with is a disembodied voice with no comforting context or distractions and a quick, vicious tendency to judge and belittle you, made all that more poignant because you're sitting in the "safe" surroundings of the familiar.
I fumble around ordering takeout, despite having the menu directly in front of my face with my pre-chosen selections clearly marked and the pronunciations of said items worked out in my head. Still, I fail.
When I call a company to "check in" on a resume I've submitted (an unequivocally stupid process), I've no idea what to say. It usually comes out as, "Hi. I submitted a resume. Now I'm required to call to let you know I didn't do that by mistake. This is that call. It's your turn to talk now." Seriously, what am I supposed to say? I'm just calling to call, and we both know it.
I would never have a job that involved cold-calling people. I'd move back in with my parents before that, and I'm pretty convinced that I'd be homeless first, too.
Where to sit in a classroom was another problem that plagued my days of college.
Upon entering any classroom, I would immediately size up the seating situation. There are clear zones with positive and negative attributes (see diagram below). I'm assuming a normal, rectangular room here.
Zone A is the worst possible place, of course. At the front, you're not only face to face with someone who might talk directly to you, but you're perceived as wanting such things by being there. Also, everyone can see you, but you cannot see them. This zone is unacceptable at all times. The only time you would actually sit here is when arriving to a class late (horrible enough anyway) and the only options are to quickly sit in the front, or climb over people for a more desirable seat further back, while everyone waits and watches.
Zones B, the sides - but not in the front or back row - are the best possible introverted zones. You have the cold comfort of the inanimate wall beside you, less people around you, and are rarely a priority target for instructors.
Zone C, the entire middle, is somewhat of a balanced place. It's awful in that you're surrounded by people with whom you might inadvertently make eye contact or that might initiate a quiet conversation or inquiry, but you're also lost in a sea of people and your chances of being called upon are low.
Zone D is a gamble. The back of the room is the knee-jerk place for introverts to sit, and a lot of times this is the best place, far away from the front, with one or possibly two walls for comfort. However, this can sometimes, with sadistic instructors, turn into a front row situation. Some people are unfamiliar with the mindset of the introvert and are personally offended by our lack of speech. Unable to let this aberrant behavior slide, they will mercilessly call on the back row, whom they know sat there because they didn't want to answer questions in front of a group. Jerks.
Any room situation can be processed by the introverted mind instantaneously, because pausing at the door and thinking about where to sit appears foolish, which is, of course, the worst thing ever. We must walk unflinchingly into rooms and choose seats quickly and as if we gave it little thought. Because that's what everyone does, right? If only.
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