The Eighth Page


As I sat with my former prefect and romance advisor, Dan Taylor, ’06, the other day, he gave me some wise advice: Get a girlfriend, and get one soon. What he actually meant, because we all know that getting a girlfriend is not a possibility for me, was to think about the future. Since that time, at least ten minutes before I began writing this, I have thought deeply about what I will make of my days when I am a man (Please note: I was Bar Mitzvahed, there for I am, in fact, a ‘man,’ but, due to my lack of facial hair and my prepubescent, girlish voice, I felt this explanation was necessary). Like most students at PA, I am constantly wondering what my job will be when I grow up. I have thought of several jobs that I would love to have, and more importantly, several jobs that I will actually have. For example, I’d like to: Be a bodybuilder. But I’ll probably end up being: The guy who oils up the bodybuilders. So I’d like to take the next few moments of your time to discuss my possible career options. I don’t shower often, and I when I do, I usually don’t use soap. This has become a problem for me, and it may be scaring off the women folk. I plan on continuing my sparse hygienic regimen when I’m older, so I think I should have a job that accommodates my body’s odors. Being a city sanitation worker would be a great choice. I would get to wear construction boots, and stand on the back of the truck while it’s moving…two things my parents never let me do now. And people would never complain about how poorly I smelled because they would assume it was because I was carrying a bag of soiled diapers. (If you were wondering, I presume I smell enough to even cover the smell of a bag of soiled diapers). I think that being a garbage man would be a fitting career choice. And if you don’t believe me about not showering, just ask my friends from Camp Winaukkee…eight weeks of camp, one pair of boxers, no showering. I’ll leave you to calculate the number of girlfriends I had that year. If the sanitation worker career path doesn’t work out, I think I could definitely make it as a lifeguard. I don’t want to brag, but I look good in a bathing suit, baking under a flaming sun, sunglasses masking my cool blue eyes with my seemingly endless stomach rolls peeling from sun burn. Oh yeah, that’s a nice image. I can also swim pretty well, so why not use my good looks and mediocre swimming skills to help people. Now, most of you, while reading about what I look like roasting in the sun without a shirt must have thought, “This kid shouldn’t be a lifeguard…he should skip the rescuing people and just rely solely on his looks for a career.’ I couldn’t agree more. Being a male model would be a fine career choice. After all, somebody needs to model those ‘husky’ and ‘relaxed’ fit jeans they sell. And, pictures of me without clothes could help Americans find the desire to lose weight and get in shape. So basically, my becoming a male model helps everybody out. Well, whether I become a garbage man, a lifeguard, or a male model, I still won’t bathe regularly. I think I should choose the career that fits me best, and that makes me happy. So, when you see me panhandling in your city in twenty years, toss a few quarters into my cup. And if you mention it, I’ll dance for small bills.