HI! Hope everyone's doing better than I am.

I attended an interview and information session with Vector Marketing today. Perhaps you've heard of them. They market CUTCO cutlery products -- good stuff too. The demonstration included the interviewer cutting a penny into a corkscrew with a pair of CUTCO scissors, not to mention cutting through thick ropes with single swipes and extra clean cuts. Still, I don't think selling knives is my thing... and besides, there would be issues with transportation since the job would require me to go to people's houses to show off the merchandise. But I didn't want to do it anyway. Meh.

There was also something I found a little unnerving, though. I'd pretty much decided during the presentation that this wasn't something I wanted to do, but towards the end the interviewer started talking about the virtues of a job in sales... and went on and on about how skills learned in sales will be beneficial, because no matter what you do you'll still have to sell yourself. Dwell on the sound of that for a moment. Of course, he meant present yourself, make yourself look good, things like that... or did he? I mean, when people present themselves like that -- saying things that they know people want to hear, and then doing their best to live up to their press -- aren't they really, in a sense, selling themselves? And when I go to work and whore myself out to THE MAN for $7 an hour, am I not selling myself? We're all selling ourselves. And for what? (In my case, double italics on "what".) You could say that we all do it, that it's necessary to do it, etc., but that doesn't resolve the difficulty or make it any less disturbing. And hearing him repeat the words "sell yourself" over and over again made me feel like the whole thing was a test... like I was supposed to shout, "NO!" and slit my wrists with one of those knives on the table, thereby rejecting this life of prostitution. By the way, if you think about it, maybe prostitution is not only the world's oldest profession, but perhaps the world's only honest one as well.

In other news, the work dreams have begun for me -- now I'm actually dreaming about fucking working. Yep. I sell myself for $7 an hour, but they get my dreams for free. Then, as I walked home from work, a sabretoothed cat attacked me. I screamed for help, but nobody came. So it kept biting and slashing me until I woke up... which actually took longer than you'd think. Rah.

And my ass is still in pain.