Have you ever used yesterday’s coffee grounds to make today’s coffee? It’s not good, but it’s what I’m drinking this morning as I contemplate my life choices. I feel like it’s setting the tone for my Saturday. Any moment now, I’ll receive a congratulatory email from Whole Foods inviting me to the next phase of their application process.
With each passing day that I don’t get immediately rejected from the Cheese Specialist position at Whole Foods, I become increasingly worried that I might actually land an interview and get the job. I applied as a joke, but perhaps Whole Foods thought I was serious. What could they possibly ask during the interview? Do I need to brush up on my cheeses? This might not be so bad.
My biggest conflict with potentially being a professional Cheese Specialist is that I both love cheese and want to stop eating it. Animal rights. Farts. The link between casein and cancer. Those are three things I care about. The good thing about becoming a Cheese Specialist is that there’s nowhere to go but up from that position. And up is the general direction I’d like to take my life.
I didn’t read the job description for the position before applying, nor have I read it since. My entire basis for applying was that “cheese” was in the title. It was an impulse application, similar to how you might impulse purchase 4 fine cheeses, 2 bottles of wine, and a bar of dark chocolate on a Tuesday morning when you went to the store for more kale. These kinds of decisions usually work out well for me. It’s also a good way to make friends, not that I want those.
Had I read the description, I imagine I would have read some fine print at the bottom that indicates this is a job that requires hours upon hours of standing and lifting boxes up to 25 pounds. In other words, you get paid to exercise. I’m ok with that. I’m trying to get 10,000 steps a day and I need all the help I can get. What’s the minimum wage here? A minimum wage is livable, right?
“What do you do?” people will invariably ask because it’s the only question anyone ever asks.
“Oh, no big deal but I’m a professional Cheese Specialist.” I’ll smile and get ready.
“Wow! What!?” Shocked, pleased, they’ll need more.
Then, instead of saying I make minimum wage arranging cheese displays in a grocery store 45 minutes from my house, I’ll launch into a rehearsed soliloquy about the subtleties that distinguish the various cheeses, the delicate milking processes for the various animals, the science behind the aging process, and the cultural significance of each cheese’s consumption. I tend to take my work seriously.
If I accidentally become a professional Cheese Specialist, I plan to be the best damn Cheese Specialist on this side of the Mississippi.