Desperate Student, Episode 1: Post Holder

Thanks to a fellow contributor's recent apology, I got back in touch with my girlfriend last week. I assumed it was going to be another quick phone call to touch base. Imagine my consternation when I discovered Suzy wanted to take the relationship to the next level: face-to-face contact.

Suzy wanted to me to take her out on dates. I told her that sounded fine with me. Then I hung up and ran around the room screaming and breaking things. You see, I am a starving college student. I don't have the money to take girlfriends out on dates. Finally, I calmed down, with the help of my roommate, a frying pan, and a lot of cold water. Then I sat down and examined my situation more objectively.

It was quite clear that a job was in order. The problem was, I was a man with no marketable skills or experience of any kind. I couldn't even fog a mirror very well.

I went to Monster.Com (No, they didn't pay me to put that name there, but I wish to goodness they had), and clicked on "Jobs for People who Can't Even Fog Mirrors." A notice there immediately caught my eye:

"WANTED: Desperate person to hold post. Will pay minimum wage if in good mood."

This was my ticket! I called the number to Dirty Derek's Gourmet Restaurant and soon got in touch with the owner.

"Are you the proprietor of this fine establishment?" I asked.

"I can tell by your voice," Said Dirty Derek, "That you're despererate. When can you get to work?"

"Right now," I said.

"Get over here," Said Dirty Derek. I rode the back bumper of the city shuttle to the restaurant and flung myself into the hedge as it passed. Brushing myself off, I stood and marched toward the ancient building. I found Dirty Derek standing on the front porch, his white knuckles wrapped around one of the posts.

"Finally!" He cried. "Hold this."

I took hold.

"You got a good grip?" Dirty Derek asked. I nodded. Dirty Derek let go. The post just stood there.

"Can I ask why you need me to hold this?" I asked.

"It gets tipsy sometimes," Said Dirty Derek. "And it costs too much to repair."

This made perfect sense to the starving college student that I am. I held the post contentedly until night came and Dirty Derek relieved me for the night. We worked 12 hour shifts, always with at least one hand on the post, me working in the day, Dirty Derek at night. Sometimes restaurant patrons would curiously ask me what I was doing, to which I replied:

"My job is to hold this post."

A week later, just as I was beginning to doze off around noon, I felt a slight rumble in the post. I held it tightly as a gust of wind moved by. The next moment, the post collapsed toward me. I struggled with all my might to hold it, but it was too much. I jumped out of the way to avoid being crushed.

Dirty Derek's Gourmet Restaurant collapsed to the ground with a mighty crash, burying the unsuspecting diners inside.