I haven't had a ton of jobs in my lifetime. Seeing as I'm in my early twenties and I graduated from college in the worst economy ever...that's probably why. I've worked at a grocery store, a bakery where I used to climb in the dumpster for treats in the morning (story for another time), an intern for a research center, a call center and finally a newspaper.
During college I was on the newspaper staff. It was awesome. I got to interview random fiddle legends who would ask me back to their house to sit in their hot tub with them. Seriously. It was awesome. I cannot stress this enough.
So two years after I graduated from college I got a job at a newspaper. Not the biggest one around but much bigger than my local hometown newspaper. They actually have stories on the front paper that don't begin with "Local couple arrest for stealing hogs while under the influence of meth." That's not a lie. People in my town take drugs and then go steal pigs. It's what we do here in the South. Working for a newspaper that didn't exclusively feature hog 'nappers was pretty much a dream come true. In my mind I would write some great stories that I would be proud of and I could show my parents and prove to them that there was a reason I went to college and it didn't involve trashcan punch OR streaking. So hah.
Working at the newspaper is a small source of pride for me. When my mom talks about me to people she lets them know that her baby works at the mighty newspaper. Most people don't ask what I do there thankfully. When they do, my mom tells them that I write mini-stories. I totally do write mini-stories so it isn't a lie. It just so happens that my mini-stories all end the same way. The people have been dead the whole time.
Yeah, I write obituaries.
My knowledge includes knowing about 50 different ways to say a person died. I know how to line up an entire list of survivors with commas and semicolons. That every funeral home director in my region is old and terrible at interacting with the living. Families send in 'glamor shots' for women and they honestly shouldn't. Just, no. You're final picture shouldn't be of you wearing costume jewelry with a dead, fake animal around your neck. Anytime I make a mistake the family will call me and try to sue me for it. I wish I were kidding.
As long as I have this job I know there will be more posts about this department. I have to laugh about it because if I were to think about what I have to do on a daily basis...I'd probably just crawl into bed and cry constantly. And that's not very helpful to anyone. Especially the people I need to write obituaries for.
Do people even think about writing their obituaries before they die? Or is that kinda like jinxing it? Never thought about it before. In case someone needs help with one...you've found the right blog.
Blogs I love. After each post I plan (I use this loosely) on linking a blog I really enjoy reading. It's a way to help people discover other bloggers that, in my opinion, are awesome. So click and read!
This post I feature the lovely Lauren over at Filing Jointly...Finally with her latest epic tale about getting her high school lova down the aisle finally. I totally liken it to the Odyssey. Lauren is like the Sirens and Ryan is Odysseus. He can be strapped to the mast all he wants but he can still hear Lauren talking about cheese. Read her archives and thank me later.