Freaks and Morons Wanted: Apply Here

Clearly, I am destined for greatness and fame (eventually), so I have decided to start acting like it. If I fake the greatness, I believe it will come. And so I decided to hire a personal assistant.

Recently, several days have ganged up and attacked me all at once. My car is a horror, and smells like yougurt. The garage is packed to the gills with crap. The laundry is clean, but remains loaded in several unattended, unfolded, unironed piles in various locations throughout my home (I have been sleeping beside a particularly delightful smelling mound of Gain-freshness for 3 days now). Stacks of pictures are album-less…CD and their cases are waiting to be reunited…the Barbies have been evicted from the dream house and are living nude upon the streets, their clothes strewn about…spiders are making new homes in every imaginable corner…and the clutter is growing at Chia Pet pace. I am considering turning myself in to the producers of the show Hoarders (and hence gaining my aforementioned fame and greatness). If you’re into anything Zen, you know that it is impossible to focus when your space is in disorder, so I am feeling most Alzheimer-esque…can’t remember squat, can’t find squat, can’t focus on SQUAT!!! Help is required at this point…STAT!!

So I post an ad on Craig’s List…it reads like this… “Household Helper Wanted: Brier Creek Area. Looking for household helper to assist with inside and outside chores. Gardening, laundry, ironing, dishes, general clean up… Some organizing and light office work. Need own reliable transportation. $10/hr…approx 5 hrs/wk.

Well, let the weirdo parade begin!!!!! (Did I mention that I am a self-proclaimed moron magnet??? Yuh!) I got 31 responses in the first 24 hours…here are a few charms…

1. “Name: Ron Age:57 Retired: From Post Office (Uhm…hello…red flag!!!!!! Post office??) Will: Help you with the house stuff.” Uh…thanks Ron…already hired a middle aged serial killer. You missed last week‘s post.

2. “Hi. How much do itpay. R u on the bus line” Yes, Durham Area Transit Authority is VERY reliable, but that’s not quite what I had in mind. PLUS, if you know me AT ALL, you know that no one with jacked grammar, punctuation or spelling was even getting a courtesy e-mail in return. Thanks anyway Jakkie!

3. “Is the $10 nergotable?” Well, clearly not for you. (…“Nergotable“…????????)

4. “I am interested to do your positions. Maria.” Really Maria?? It’s not that kind of job. Sorry.

So…amongst the clutter. I did find a few people I wanted to meet with. As I reflect upon my day, I reminisce (and I implore you to reminisce with me…youtube the scene of you must) upon the scene from Coming To America where Eddie Murphy and Arsenio Hall are at the bar meeting the various women who might be Eddie’s Queen. FA-REAKSSSS!!!

Edie’s resume read well. She has experience in accounts payable, but has been trying to start her own personal concierge business since last December. Cool. Thought I’d give her a whirl. Turns out it’s a good thing I am a trained counselor, because Edie has MAJOR problems. In half an hour, we discussed her unemployment and subsequent depression, her divorce and subsequent loss of custody, and the fact that her boyfriend just this morning, told her she had 30 days to get out of his apartment. Oh...and her experience as a 'personal escort'... Yeah!!! “Edie, YOU’RE HIRED!! Not only because I don’t have enough problems in my OWN life, but because I’d really like to PAY someone to depress me! When can you start?????”

I was really excited about meeting Brianna at Panera at 9:15 (as you know, an inordinately early hour for me!!). Her resume and e-mail message oozed responsibility, professionalism, and pure college-innocent sweetness. 9:22...I waited…bought a cinnamon roll (definitely NOT in the plan for today)…waited…bought a frosted coffee beverage…waited…. At 9:32, I decided to call Brianna…hoping she was OK.

“Hello?”

“Hi, may I speak with Brianna?”

“Hold on. BRIIIIIAAAANNNNNNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” I supposed it was the boyfriend or roommate. Why is Brianna at home. She is supposed to be here.

“Hello?” (As if she never imagined I would call.)

“Hi Brianna, this is Donna. Are you still planning to meet me at Panera?”

“Uhm, yeaahhhh” (think pure California valley air headedness), “uhm…like, we don’t have enough gas to get over there right now, soooooo, yeaaahhhh.”

“So you couldn’t call me??? I mean, I am waiting here…”

“Uhmmmm, yeah…I was gonna call you, uhm…but…uhm…”

You know what…good luck finding anything at all to do to earn gas money. Ditz!!



Jace, is the daintiest sounding 17 year old boy I have ever chatted with. But he was polite, eager, claimed he was a ‘neat freak’, and said he didn’t mind cutting grass! YESSSSS!!! Score!! I was supposed to meet him at McDonald’s at 10:45.

At 10:44 and 58 seconds, the phone rings. I recognize the number as Jace’s. He must be running a few minutes late.

“Hi Jace!”

“Hey Miss Dawwwna…how er yew dewiiiiin’???”

“I’m good, Jace. Are you on your way?”

“Wellllll, Miss Dawwwwwna. See...my aunt, right…she was gonna drop me off over there at that Mac Dawnald’s, ‘n eerythang….but she was sorta kinda running late for work…so she just, like, leffft me here…at the hosue. Sooooooo can we meet, like, tomorrow?

“Uhm, I thought you had your own car. I asked you about reliable transportation.”

“Welllllllll, my aunt is usually pretty reliable, but she was runnin’ all late and stuff today, soooooo…”

“OK Jace, thanks for trying.” UGH!!! What a waste of time. I coulda been home cleaning my own house!!!!!

My most impressive prospect so far is Aya Ramirez. She is a high school counselor who is off for the summer and ‘loves to clean’. She speaks Spanish, has a 4 year old daughter, and is looking for something fun to do while her daughter is in half day daycare. She actually GOT my strange humor and, like me, she specializes in sarcasm. I think she is a charm! She’s got a lazy eye, but so do I, so I am sure we will get along swimmingly. Aya Ramirez, YOU’RE HIRED!!

Now please pray as Aya and I try to get this place...and my life...in order.