"I'm done with corporate America," he said to me at our coffee klatch last Sunday.
"Will you look for a job at a local fish hatchery?" I said.
He gave me a look that said... well, I'm not exactly sure what it said but it said a lot and I got the message.
"I'm going to take a few days off and think about it," he said.
"Oh, no, no, no," I said. "It sounds good but it's a mug's game if you ask me. What you should do is put an ad in the personals."
"I don't know," he said. "Does anyone do that anymore? I doubt it would be more than a waste of time."
"Not those personals," I said. "You're no doubt thinking of the publications common in the last century. I'm talking about the modern personal ads. Social media."
His expression changed and I realized I'd said something that found traction in his mental machinery.
"You mean, like LinkedIn?" he said.
"Not just LinkedIn," I said. "Shoot the moon!"
"What are you talking about? Give me details."
"Ms. Wonder tells me that people ask for help in finding a job on the NextDoor app. And I know that people sell everything, up to and including themselves, on TikTok and Instagram."
I paused to see if he was still listening. He was.
"Here's what I'm thinking," I said. "I'll help you build a few social media sites with your bio and CV, and then we'll build your personal brand."
"I like it," he said. "You put together a plan for building the web presence and I'll put together a description of the perfect job."
"Great!" I said. "Do it today and we'll meet again tomorrow morning to discuss the kickoff."
The next morning at Ibis Coffee Cafe and Dance Bar we were both vibrating at maximum frequency--he was thinking about his new career and I was anxious to spread goodness and light heaped up, pressed down, and spilling over.
"Did you finish the job description?" I asked.
"Even better," he said. "I learned that the Brunswick Weekly has a personal want-ad section; I finished my ad and sent it to them in time for today's edition."
"You mean that edition?" I asked pointing to the publication someone had left on the counter.
"Do you suppose...?" he said as he picked the paper up and began flipping pages.
"Here it is!" he said and his lips moved silently as he read the thing.
"Damn auto-correct to hell!" he cried.
"Ssup?" I said. He handed me the paper and pointed at his ad.
"Read it for yourself," he said. "There's a typo in the ad. It should read 'exceptions list' but actually says 'exceptional list'.
I read the dreadful thing and understood why one little typo had dashed the cup of joy from his lips. The ad read as follows:
Leave it to Irv
Need someone to manage your affairs?
Run your errands? Drive you to appointments?
I'm willing to do whatever you need done.
You name it, I'll do it.
The exceptional list includes doing anything
immoral, illegal, or unethical.
Schedule a callback: text IRVIRV to 910910.
"Yes, I see what you mean," I said. "The exceptions list, not the exceptional list. But cheer up, Irv, I'll bet no one notices the ad. I'll bet you don't get any texts at all. Is that your phone buzzing?"
He held the phone up for me to see a thread of text messages scrolling continuously up the screen.
Eventually, he lifted his head from the table and said, "I've got to do something about this now. What am I going to do?"
"My way of dealing with this kind of problem is to deny everything," I said.
"Deny it?" he said.
"Stout denial," I said. "Eventually, everyone will lose interest and it will all go away."
"I seriously doubt that this will go away anytime soon."
"Remember," I said. "It's an election year."
"Do you really think it will simply blow over," he said.
"Just make sure your wife doesn't see it," I said. From the look on his face, I doubt the suggestion was helpful.
And so, my friends, this post brings you up-to-date on current events in the old metrop. Thanks for joining us here at The Circular Journey.
Enjoy your day, and keep in mind that no matter how joyous the morning begins, the Fate sisters have ways to leave you in a heap on the floor before lunch.