Movin' on up.

I was offered a job today.

It’s a real, live, honest-to-God, grown-up, fancy-pants job, complete with benefits and a salary. It does not require me to wear a name tag, or count a cash register, or vacuum, or wear an apron. I will no longer have to say, “Hi-ya! Is there anything I can help you find today? Because I have a college degree that makes me heartbreakingly overqualified for this retail nightmare and I’m looking for an opportunity to hone my sadomasochistic tendencies, and I think you just might be the ticket.” Okay, that last part may have been in my head.

Anyway, I’m about to be gainfully employed and on the road to financial stability. I have a whole list of things I’m looking forward to now that I will have benefits, various forms of insurance, and more than $175 a week. Here are a few:


Going to the eye doctor:

It would be nice to wear reading glasses whose lenses do not routinely throw themselves from the frames. One of the arms actually dangles when you pick the glasses up, and I’m pretty sure that you’re supposed to have two of those little padded feet on the bridge. I guess the actual prescription is sort of important, too, and fewer ocular migraines would really lower my Advil budget.


Getting high speed internet:

I am on the internet all the time. It’s a requirement of my business, sure, but let’s be honest. iTunes is the boss of me, and in a fair and just world, it should not take 55 minutes to download “Baba O’Riley.” My current dial-up dinosaur ties up my land line, and since my crappy cell phone plan only gives me about twelve and a half daytime minutes per month, my land line is how people usually try to get in touch with me. For the last month or so, all anyone ever gets from me is a busy signal. Several people have expressed concern that I might be unconscious on my kitchen floor with the half-dialed phone in one hand and a bloody spatula in the other, entangled in the cord of a rampantly misbehaving electric beater, while my cat licks the blood from my head wounds. This is not the case.


Speaking of crappy cell phone plans:

Twelve and half daytime minutes per month really doesn’t cut it. I need a new cell phone plan, desperately, and I prefer to find one that is giving away free phones. My current cell phone is from about 1998, and is the size of a toaster oven. It has also lost the ability to hold a charge, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to buy yet another battery for it. I’m not even sure they make batteries for this model anymore. I would have to find it in the antique district of upstate New York, and I’m not up for that kind of travel. The only redeeming feature of the phone is its army-style camouflage faceplate, which I like because it has more than a passing resemblance to a tank. Still, an amusing self-referential visual witticism does not a proper communications device make, so it’s time to move on.


Having my teeth cleaned for free:

I’m not a big fan of having strange men stick their giant, latex-clad hands into my mouth and root around with sharp objects, especially when their distinguishing facial features are conveniently obscured by a mask that prevents me from picking them out of a line-up later on, but actually paying for this “service?” That’s just wrong.


Going to the doctor:

On the outside chance that I really do have a violent confrontation with my kitchen appliances, it would be nice to know that I can see a medical professional. I haven’t had health insurance since the military finally realized that a 23-year old woman who had graduated from college and moved out of her parents’ house was not really considered a “dependent” anymore. Luckily, they never told that to my father, who still pays for my…


Car insurance:

The VenJetta is a nasty beast of mythical proportions, and I would be insane not to insure myself against its sense of humor. You never know when it is going to intentionally plant itself in the middle of an intersection and cause an accident. My father still graciously has my back on this one, but it’s about time for me to take responsibility. (And with that sentence, I guarantee you I just made my parents’ hearts stop.)



These are just a few of the things that occupy the top of my “It’s about freaking time” list. Even as I look forward to these Mature Adult Perks, I’m still sort of reeling at the idea that I got my very first job offer today. I think it’s entirely unfair that I was offered the first job I interviewed for, with ridiculously comfortable compensation, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m pulling the wool over somebody’s eyes.

These people actually want me to come work for them. For reals. Don’t anybody tell them what they’re in for, mmkay?