Jobs, Sharks, and Crisco

These days, looking for work feels more and more like shoving my hand repeatedly into a tank of shortening, instead of a tank of sharks.

I realize that statement deserves some explanation.

Before I had a college degree, every shark in the shark-tank tried to gleefully pull me in. It was simple. All I had to do was paint myself with a little chicken blood, and in I went! I've always had a summer job, even when the economy wasn't doing so well.

Now that I have a degree, no one wants me. I'm still shoving my hand in the tank, but all I do is squish around for a little bit, not realizing that the sharks have been replaced with gobs and gobs of tasteless, greasy Crisco. I pull my hand back out and there it is, like a second skin. WHAT KIND OF AQUARIUM IS THIS?!

Crisco never lets me know that it isn't interested. People used to call me or email me when I was no longer being considered for a position. Now, there's only silence. At least with sharks you can sometimes tell if they're not hungry by the remains in the water. Crisco just sits there.

I hope there's a shark hiding in my Crisco.