And then he's going to patent the unique, aromatic smell of his own feces.
Today I interviewed a woman from a small town outside of Airdrie, which made me wonder why anyone would want to spend an hour commuting to Red Deer twice a day to make five dollars an hour after travel expenses-- the mystery of people who don't think things through.
During the interview she asked if there was possibility for advancement if she took a labor position in the production room. I informed her that there is a variety of jobs to move up to, like supervisory positions, positions in circulation, etc.
"Well," she said, with grave seriousness, "I've always wanted to be an editor."
Me too, I thought, and a runway model, a fashion designer, and a famous rockstar with a rider that includes Sphynx cats and McDonalds french fries dipped in cocaine. She proceeded to tell me that she's an avid reader with an interest in language, and, I may add, she worked as a teacher's aide in an elementary school during the 1980's.
As I momentarily took a glimpse into the fantastical world of this woman, I realized that I, too, would rather spend my days existing within the bright lights and fuzzy boundaries of the twilight zone, instead of this harsh, competitive world called reality.
I gently explained that if she wants to pursue a career as a newspaper editor, her best bet is to enroll in university and work towards a Masters Degree. She then gave me a disappointed look, as if to say, what kind of a savage world do you live in? Well, a world where being the editor of a newspaper requires more qualifications than fan of Danielle Steel.
In a way, I envy this woman. Within the confines of her small town, she is The Shit. She walked with her head held high, maintained a demeanor of absolute superiority, and repeatedly referred to herself by her last name, Ms. ******. Of course, I repeatedly referred to her by her first name, ******. But regardless of the ridged world she briefly visited for this job interview, she would soon return to her life that rests 100 km away, a world where purple pigs have wings, men birth children, and a person without post secondary education can become the editor of a successful newspaper.
"So, where exactly do you live?" I asked.