I would kill for a job. No, literally, as a job, I would kill. That’s how much I want to work. I would agree to be a paid killer. Of anything. Criminals, animals, school-children. I don’t care. I would kill all of them and their families if you paid me and I got to do it from nine to five on weekdays. And had two weeks paid vacation.
Because I realized that I’ve been going about this job-hunting thing all wrong. For months now I’ve believed that the job was my prey. I was tying to hunt and kill jobs. What if, instead, it was my job to hunt and kill? That would really narrow my search.
In fact, I wouldn’t have to use the bullshit Internet at all anymore. It’s not like there would be a posting on Monster for me to apply to. Professional Killer: Company Confidential. I could finally get out and pound the pavement, just like my dad has been suggesting. All I need to do is go to the right side of town.
I’ll go fully armed with a sand-stone resume and a semi-automatic rifle. Quickly impress them with my plastic-covered portfolio, armor-piercing ammunition, and solid eye-contact. Then, with a stellar two minute pitch and presentation, I’ll completely blow the brains out of their human resources people. They won’t even know what hit them.
Then they’ll also know that I mean business. That I am prepared. That I came to work. That I am dependable, loyal, deadly, and an asset to their institution. And if they don’t believe me, they can call my references.
I’d be a great killer. You have no idea. I don’t miss deadlines. I am extremely driven. I’m self-motivated, detail-oriented, and completely psychopathic. I am willing to travel and relocate. I have no problem working odd hours, even all through the night if need be. I am passionate, creative, enthusiastic, organized, and when I set my mind to something I get it done. They’ll love me.
Plus, it’s a growing field with a lot of different options to explore. Truth be told, I’m not even sure if I want to be a goon or a thug at this point. But that’s the great thing about the whole killing industry; I’ll get to learn on the job. Who knows, I might even find out that what I really like is not just homicide, but full-scale massacre. I can try out different things, keep my mind open, and see what fits with my particular skill set.
And the opportunities for upward mobility are just astounding. I could start off a lowly hit-man, but with enough work on my strong-arm, I could at some point be an enforcer. Maybe even a boss. The sky is not only the limit, it’s the destination.
Of course, it is a highly competitive field. But I’m not afraid to make a few enemies along the way. You’ve got to bury some people if you’re going to make it to the top of Money Mountain. It’s not my fault they weren’t fast enough. They were just the necessary victims on my road to success.
Forget about this job-hunting thing, I’m going people hunting. And I’m going to get paid for it. I’m sick of chasing around measly jobs that are constantly hiding behind hollow posts or lurking deep down inside shady openings. I want to start dealing with people face to face. And then blowing that face off with my highly professional work ethic.
I’m sick of the boredom and the frustration of unemployment. I want the thrill and excitement of cold-blooded murder. I tried to play the game their way, I tried to be patient. I typed up all those cover letters, I sent out all those resumes, I signed up for all their newsletters. I’m done using kindness; I’d rather use stainless steel.
This strained job market has bred yet another ruthless killer. I tried to be a productive member of society, but now I’ve been forced to be a reductive one. I am not choosing to kill because I want to, but because I have no other choice to make. There is no other job for someone like me–a college graduate with a couple of internships and a strong support network who just wants to work in a creative position—no there is no other choice. Kill or be killed. Watch out world, I am on the hunt.
