The Procrasta’ Masta

October 3, 2007, 2:30 pm; posted by
Filed under Articles, Humor, Job  | 1 Comment

Best of Job, June 2006.

I’ve been dedicated lately to securing the best possible choice for the next stage of my life. I thought I was done with Residence Life, but have felt attracted lately to pursuing another dorm. I’ve also dwelt on the idea of working for the government, perhaps even the United States Army.

It’s been oddly stressful. Perhaps I feel like I’m out of dispensable years and might have to begin envisioning myself as a 40-year-old man, and what all of that will mean.

But when I do…whiskey oscar whiskey, the choke sets in. Poor 40-year-old Jobie.

I can see him there, cursing a blue streak, wishing to heaven he could grab my collar and talk some sense into me. “You worked for an airline for 2 years after college, knowing full well it wasn’t the career you wanted??!!”

What a Dickensian horror that would be — to have myself, in senior, drop in on me. He’d be a little hesitant and careful with his words, probably, seeing me and realizing how much I was enjoying my life at 26. Sentimental, reminiscent. But he’d choke up eventually, put a hand through his thinning hair, and would perhaps beg me, plead with me to get on with things. At 40, crossing his fingers on blistered hands, as he did at 20.

I would feel sympathetic and place a hand on this shoulder. I would tell him I would get on with things, I’d find him a wife and a job with benefits. I would buckle down. I would suck it up. “I am so sorry, old friend,” I’d say. “The past few years must’ve been so hard on you.”

It’d be a hug fest, a cry fest and I would inquire about my family and what has become. Bowden and Obadiah knock ’em dead, don’t they? And while we’re there wiping tears from our eyes, and I’m continuing on with my apologies and promises…

In drops 80-year-old Jobie, a tight line for lips.

One firm punch to 40-year-old Jobie’s jaw, and he turns to face me, hands on my shoulders…

“You’re doing just fine. You think I want his memories right now? You think I want his dang wife hounding me about my pills??”

He stands on 40 year old Jobie’s hand, grinding it into the ground.

“No sirree, Bob. You’re doing just fine.”


Comments

1 Comment to “The Procrasta’ Masta”

  1. David on October 3rd, 2007 7:57 pm

    Wow. Every time I read somthing of his I have a new favorite.

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