I want some cheese with my whine

Just a little side note:

I mentioned that I had worked in the past at a bakery counter or two. It’s true, I did. And I was certainly open to providing counter service again. So when I saw a “help wanted” sign in the window of a cheese and wine shop within walking distance to my house, I perceived another opportunity. Because I like wine, but I will lay down my life for cheese.

So I went home, spiffed up my appearance, and printed out my resume on my most expensive hire-me-so-I-can-stop-wasting-money-on-paper paper. I went in and dropped it off with the girl at the counter, who promised to show it to the owner.

Not long after, I got a phone call from the owner. I was thrilled. Oh happy day! I could work at a cheese and wine shop! Walk to work! Claim some pathetic kind of personal value for working in an upscale establishment with high price points!

But the owner did not seem as impressed by my printed-on-cotton resume as I had hoped. She wanted to know why I hadn’t stayed in any one position for very long. I pointed out that I had been at the same company for three years before going to graduate school, which of course disrupted the natural flow of my employment history.

With disdain she asked me why I wanted to work at her shop if. She wanted to know why, if I had put so much time into a graduate degree, I didn’t look for a job in that field. I couldn’t really explain that one does not simply walk onto the Warner Brothers lot, ask for a job application, and inscribe “writer” in the space left for position desired. (You would be surprised how many people have asked me why I don’t just do this). I told her that I still write, but must work somewhere in the meantime. She seemed skeptical, and I couldn't figure out why.

I couldn’t believe this woman. She thinks she can find, in a place called Studio City, part time counter help from anyone who does not have headshots or scripts for sale or both. Seriously?

She told me she would get back to me, and of course she didn’t. Because my resume doesn’t reflect the kind of loyalty necessary to a position in a cheese and wine shop.

My response to this insult has become, these last six months, my constant refrain. And it goes like this: Oh come on, I HAVE TWO DEGREES!