“Workin,’ Baby!”

Ex Nihilo, Nihil Fit (Work Is Still a Four Letter Word~W. Shakespeare)

“All we need is proof of your schooling and we can finalize the hiring process,” said the beaming HR Director of CasaPobre Resort and Spa.
I reached down and presented Ms.Cabot with a large framed diploma. It resembled a large serving tray that one had to grip with both hands. 
I held the framed document as if presenting “The Turkey” for a Thanksgiving Holiday photograph.
It was my “Sheepskin” from Dewey Bilkum Chiropractic College. Emblazoned in very large gold script was the title “Doctor of Chiropractic.” Signed by Dr. Summa Bosh and countersigned by Dr. U.R. Wanker, Emeritus. 
A large golden seal was fixed to the bottom of the diploma. The seal itself was impressive enough, that is until one examined it closely.  
It showed a man who appeared to be sleeping on a bench. Engraved underneath in Latin “In Dubio, Abstine” (“When in Doubt, Do Nothing.”).
“My, ” said Ms. Cabot, “That certainly a Big one. I don’t believe that’ll fit in my xerox machine. Do you have anything smaller?”
I rummaged around in a notebook and handed her a copy of my diploma.
“Thank you for bringing this into me…Now, can I keep this or would you need to have it back?”
“Nah, go ahead keep it.”
“Wonderful. Unfortunately, the ‘Wheels of Bureaucracy” move rather slowly here at the Hotel. So it’ll take a week to get you on the books. But I’ll notify the Spa Director to put you on the schedule.” Ms. Cabot squeezed past me in her tiny office. 
Ugh…the woman was wearing entirely way too much cologne.
I left the HR building. Glad to be free of Cabot’s claustrophobic office.
Getting into my Mazda I took off. 
The car ran like shit and the seat belt mechanism had this irritating habit of cuffing me in the back of the head as the belt slid into place – whenever I started the car.
Driving by the hotel, I looked out my windshield at the beautifully manicured green lawns, the impressive brick and adobe buildings. 
The grass had been recently mowed, so there was the pleasant scent of fresh-cut grass that conjured images of children playing little league baseball games. 
It seemed fortuitous that my friend, Lynn had suggested I check out CasaPobre – as he had heard they were hiring massage therapists.
‘But Lynn, I don’t know how to give a massage!” I protested.
“They don’t know that,” he said with a snort. “Just tell ’em you’re a Doctor of Chiropractic. They’ll probably fall all over themselves and hire you on the spot. Besides, you need a job. You can’t keep moping around your apartment –  just because no one will hire your sorry ass.”
Well, he was right.
Six months later, after receiving numerous complaints that said “Charles Sucks!” or “Charles is a Lousy Massage Therapist!!” I still had a job at CasaPobre
Twenty-four years later, I am getting complaints saying basically – The Same Damn Thing!
And I am still workin,’ Baby.
So go figure.