When I was a kid I wanted to become a doctor or private investigator. Now, I just self-diagnose and spy on the neighbors.
Do you ever wonder how some people end up in certain careers? I mean, what kid grows up saying “I’m going to be a mortician one day.” It just doesn’t happen, especially when there are all those exciting jobs like doctor, fireman, and reporter.
So I’ve been thinking about jobs recently. I fished out my resume (yes, even I have one) in order to help a young person (not that I’m an old person) who’s looking for a job. I had to unearth this yellowed document from a pile of school papers, miscellaneous recipes, and other assorted “stuff” filed in my “important papers” drawer.
I discovered a birth certificate (no, not for the child I sold on eBay) from one of my Cabbage Patch kids. Can you believe it? I don’t even have the doll anymore, but the birth certificate was safe and sound in my “important papers.”
Some children intuitively know what their career path will be and others flounder through a lifetime of odd jobs, failed business opportunities, and entrepreneurial nightmares. My brother is focused; born a banker.
I really don’t think I was born to work. Maybe that’s shocking, but I’ve decided to revel in it.
From the time my brother could add, he insisted on being the “banker” in monopoly. This was not a job taken lightly, nor was it “just a game.” Oh no, banking was serious business even if we were using paper money.
He quickly graduated from paper money to the real thing, starting a loan shark office in his bedroom. As he sat at his desk facing the window and fire-escape beyond, my brother counted his money several times a day. I could hear coins jingling and the sound of crisp paper being handled.
Since I myself have never been able to keep track of money, I was always listening through door thinking up some scheme to convince him he should offer me loan.
It’s not that I spend money frivolously, on the contrary; however, I do tend to misplace cash from time to time. My purse becomes a vacuum consuming money, receipts, and used tissues.
Don’t ask me how.
I’m still learning and growing as a person and while I’m learning and growing, my husband forbids me to use “our” checkbook. He encouraged me to open my own checking account, refusing responsibility for my methods of money management.
I’ve only actually lost one paycheck that I can remember. Oh, and one small check recently, but I continue to hope it will miraculously appear in my “important papers” before the bank it’s drawn on folds.
My brother, a future loan officer, practiced wisdom in lending even in youth. To ensure payment, he insisted on knowing precisely how you were going to spend HIS investment. He also required your exact payment plan and proof of any jobs you’d secured. If he thought the investment unworthy, unnecessary, or frivolous you were generally out of luck.
I learned many good skills while pleading my case. I should be a lawyer by now. Unfortunately my idea of a good investment was a new pair of shoes, a GAP skirt, or a patent leather triangular purse.
Currently I’m unemployed. At first the thought of being unemployed and having my children in school all day was unthinkable; however, I’ve made the necessary mental adjustments and I’m actually enjoying being a bum. My house stays clean and my husband stays happy because I’m spending so many words writing to you and not talking to him.
No wonder so many stay unemployed!
Now if I could only think up another grand scheme to borrow money from my brother…