No, really: This job-search thing is like shooting fish in a barrel

OK, seriously: What’s with all the hubbub about high unemployment rates in this country? Because I’m still two business days away from separating with my soon-to-be-former employer, and already the job offers are coming at me faster than I can keep up with them. You jobless whiners out there must be a bunch of losers; this job-search shit is even easier than kicking my kids’ asses at Candyland.

As if yesterday’s offer of a Financial Services Representative position from my man Glenn wasn’t enough, this morning, I received the following pitch from Aflac:

——

Dear Jon:

I found your resume on CareerBuilder, and I am very interested in your skills for our career opportunity. I know your past experience may not have been focused on sales or insurance and you may not have considered a career in insurance sales, but some of our most successful associates had résumés just like yours.

Sincerely,

Ari [So-and-so]
Regional Sales Coordinator
Aflac

——

Well, now we’re talking. Are you thinking what I’m thinking, people? That’s right: time to start a bidding war.

——

Dear Ari,

Thank you for contacting me about an insurance-sales job with Aflac — and a special thanks for acknowledging right up front that I have absolutely no qualifications for this position whatsoever, nor any demonstrable interest in insurance, sales, or insurance sales. (Glenn from MetLife contacted me yesterday about a Financial Services Representative gig, and I had to inform him that I have no idea what the fuck that even is. AWK-WARD.)

Speaking of Glenn: Do you guys know each other? Because you’re both in the same town … which is convenient, because I’m thinking the two of you should get together over lunch and figure out which one of you is willing to go the distance to get me to sign with your organization.

Here’s the catch, though, Ari: I would rather be dipped in rocket fuel and forced at gunpoint to train evil albino lab rats to play Tchaikovsky’s “Romance in F minor” on a baby-grand piano engulfed in flames than sell insurance. So insurance sales? That’s out. What I would be interested in, however, is some of this right here:

That’s right, Ari: Daddy Scratches as the new Aflac duck.

Don’t get me wrong: Gilbert Gottfried‘s great and all, but he’s gotta be like, what, 75 or 80, right? Let’s face it: you’re going to have to replace him sometime. Might as well get it over with now, especially when you have a talent like me waiting in the wings. (Get it? “Wings”? And there’s plenty more where that came from, my friend.)

When you and Glenn hook up for lunch, he can provide you with a copy of the list I sent to him, in which I set forth the perks that it would take for him to lure me into a life as a Financial Services Representative. I’ve not yet heard back from him, but it’s only been about 24 hours, so let’s just assume that he plans to meet my demands.

My advice to you would be that you use that list as a starting point, and then tell me what you can do to sweeten the pot. (Suggestion: Item #10? The one about the pony? I know Jenny would love that … but here’s a little inside info that’s going to give you a distinct edge over Glenn: the thing that Jenny would love even more than a pony is a unicorn … especially a unicorn that’s also a dragon whose horn is filled with liquor and fairies. So here’s the deal, Ari: You produce one of those, and I’m in that fucking duck costume tomorrow, you dig?)

I don’t want to count my ducklings before they hatch, but I have a good feeling about this, Ari. I hope to be quacking — I mean, working! — with you soon. (And I hope you like to laugh, Ari, because I’ve got a million duck puns for you! It’s like I was fucking born for this job!)

Sincerely,

Jon
a.k.a. Daddy Scratches
a.k.a. The New & Improved Aflac Duck

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