Song for a Crappy Tuesday

You sit, waiting for the Senior Manager to interview you.

It has been a long couple of weeks, applying for jobs, sniffing around Craig's List. At a certain point, you just started sending out resumes for everything...including the employment for which you have nary a skill. Like Part Time Zookeeper, or Temporary Sleep Analyst.

They sure sound like fun.

After a flurry of applications and phone calls, an email arrived at your inbox...from The Great Steak and Potato Company in the mall.

"Did I even apply there?"

A quick look through your sent items declares that, yes, you did. And even included a note in the body of the email declaring your "superior customer service skill" and "ability to multitask in a fast paced environment". Apparently, you are just what the Great Steak and Potato Company is looking for.

So here you are now, dressed to impress, at a booth in the front of house at Great Steak and Potato. You are to meet with the Last Tuesday in June, and the little twerp at the checkout counter (with a name tag reading Dan...but taped under the plastic text is a hand written note that says "McLovin".) said she'd be right with you.

You fidget with a Ketchup bottle.

Footsteps approach and a petite voice from behind pulls you from your examination of the embossed 57's.

"Hello."

You turn and move to stand but something stops you. Standing before you is LTiJ. She is about 5"4' and every second's worth of Sixteen.

She is holding your resume in her hand. She smiles and the aluminum coils of her braces emerge through her lips. The two of you stare at one another in a stew of hatred, pity and awe.

She is sixteen. You are thirty-six.

A moment passes and she plops her straight-A ass in the seat across from yours.

"So," she begins, "Tell me why you'd make the best addition to our team here at Steak and Potato."

My friend J. recently posted a few songs of summer on his Facebook page and I am now ripping one off. Thanks, J.

When I was I was in High School, I was the singer in a short lived cover band called "11". Why "11"? You guessed it. We were one louder.

We were kind of terrible. No. I should strike that to say I was terrible. These days, I could probably pull a Debbie Harry and bloom late into some rock n' roll fantasy. But in those days, I was awkward and doughy and completely unprepared to exude any sort of "non-character" stage sexuality. I was no rock and roll goddess.

Honking out songs like "Sqeezebox" and "Blister in the Sun", tunes not meant to be sung by a heterosexual woman, didn't help.

We had one gig. The band never met again after that.

This is a shame because I never got to sing the one song I think I would have liked to belt out. We were still rehearsing for "Here Comes Your Man" by the Pixies, but thought it underprepared.

Alas, I never got to sing it that summer.

But I listened to it over and over again on my brand spanking new CD player (which, then, I had to record onto tape so I could listen to it on my Walkman.). The whole album Doolittle is pretty fantastic and sounds just like Summer to me.

Maybe someday, I'll live the dream and sing it at live band karaoke or something.