Gorgeous ladies of Craigslist

It’s that time of year where I troll for summer help on Craigslist, a process not unlike slamming your head in a storm door. The storm door emails you in pink capital letters, eschews punctuation completely, and inquires “What is this job for? How much does it pay? When do you need me to start? Why am I emailing you again? A/S/L? Is it OK if I commute from another state? Is it OK if I am only 12? Gas is expensive: can you pay more than you stated you would in order to assist me in my unreasonable commute to your town?”

Well, you get the idea. Pesky storm door. It’s only a slight deviation from the “selling something on Craigslist” response template. Of course some people shock me by being competent! I don’t know what to do with that! I fear success! But not exclamation points.

My personal formula for Results seems to be “email address with some combo of numbers or xnamex” + “lack of standard English” = “hilarious inappropriate Myspace profile.” Do people really think that a prospective employer can find Craigslist but not Facebook and Myspace? Is it that hard to refrain from putting a photo of your butt smoking a cigarette on a public website? The formula is never wrong.

I keep forgetting to call about the results for my back scab hole. Wouldn’t they call me if something were awry? Surely this is need-to-know stuff. Uh, it’s not getting any smaller. Does skin stop regrowing at a certain age? After all, this year I will be 25 again.

Also, ybab said “Go to store. Buy cake.” Uh, twist my arm!

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