Rant & Rave
As I type cover letter after cover letter applying for various summer internships, trying to impress some unknown individual with my resume -- which consists of such glamorous and respected jobs as "the-girl-who-takes-the-tickets-which-innocent-children-work-so-hard-for-and-gives-them-dinky-toys-in-return" at Chuck E. Cheese and as a restroom cleaner for the Harvard Dorm Crew (ooh!) -- I can't help but want to send a completely absurd letter to a random company I could not care less about. Perhaps it could read something like this:
Fantasy lifts drudgery
of form letters
To whomever controls my destiny thus far:
Hello. My name is Jenni, but you can call me Superwoman.
I have no degree yet, but I plan to get one after getting off academic and disciplinary probation. The latter of which, by the way, was not my fault. (The professor did not know my name and there were only 800 of us in his class. He had to be eliminated.)
I enjoy children. They are not as intelligent as I am, and therefore, make ideal slaves.
I hate people. They scorn me for my Mr. Potato Head fetish.
I have an extremely flexible writing style. Some days, I write without punctuation, sometimes with disappearing ink, and sometimes in convoluted flower landscapes.
If you're still reading this, you must truly be desperate, so I'll continue.
I am in no extra-curriculars and do not volunteer, but I love yellow Necco-wafers.
I am in the midst of writing a thesis. I am creating a step-by-step analysis of how the world would be a better place without men and actresses with three names, specifically Jennifer Love Hewitt and Sarah Michelle Gellar.
(Due to the ambiguous nature of the previous sentence, I feel the need to clarify that I do not mean men with three names, I mean all men, except my high school English teacher. He taught me what the word for "..." is. I am eternally grateful.)
I am not a compulsive liar, but a voluntary one.
I'm not on crack ... anymore.
Thank you for your consideration.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Don't call as I am on a pilgrimage in the Mall of Amrica, as Bob, the Voice, has informed me this will be the place of my reunion with The Others.
Oh, I do not have any piercings. None that are readily visible in a bikini, that is.
P.S. If you are a testosterone-producing individual reading this, don't be too offended by my desire for a female utopia. I have been taking various feminist classes and I am merely seeking revenge for such statements as, "a woman is a failed male" and "woman is not human, but a monster in nature."
True, these are statements from the Middle Ages, but it's not too late to seek redemption for my medieval sisters.
Yes, I have too much time on my hands, but here I am cleaning the restrooms of those who are spending Spring Break in the Caribbean, at Disneyworld and in France.
It's OK though, for it gives me more time to plan how I'm going to take over the world. I can see my biography now ...
"It all began with a girl, her mop and that unsuspecting student who asked, 'Um, like, can you clean up the roaches I squished in my bedroom? They're so icky!' ... "
Jennifer Meleana Hee is 19, a graduate
of Iolani and a junior at Harvard.
Rant & Rave is a Tuesday Star-Bulletin feature
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