Writers Forum - Northern California

I recently read "that written material without a title is like a doll without a head"...I have headless dolls all over my house. I attached a head to this, it may not be the right one as I sometimes mismatch.

"Saleable Skills"

I was wading in a river of economic crisis, the kind that visits periodically in the form of a deluge. I was drowning when I received a phone call that I qualified for a government program that teaches you how to acquire saleable skills to compete in the market place.

I met interesting seasoned women there. All of us were in our Social Security years. Our bifocals, plastic teeth and puffy ankles and conversation on world war two and our intimate knowledge of the names of classic cars may have given us a competitive edge, but we all agreed, it was the inability to afford breast implants that put us at our most... disadvantage.

My first day in class, they asked us to write a resume citing our accomplishments and degrees. I wrote in mine I had graduated from the dish pan to the bed pan; my most recent job had been terminated by death—his.

They then sent me to update my computer skills I walked in to find the class in progress I had to interrupt to ask how to turn it on.

They were so inspiring I was told we all had earning and leadership skills; I couldn't think of any I might own. They insisted we couldn't have lived this long without learning something. They asked us to name one I raised my hand and said "survival?

I offered my experience of marching a small army thru rain, sleet and tantrums in house wars and mutiny among my recruits—with no fatalities, I thought I had leadership and was in command until I realized I was in charge of rations, latrine duty and transportation. These are not saleable skills.

I was placed in a job under the supervision of a hardened retailer. As I worked I hummed along with the Beatles, she arched and flared and hissed, "Never would those degenerates music be found in my house. Why...why...they claim to be more popular than Jesus Christ" I quit humming.

There were awesome bargains for personnel, she got first dibs and took home pick up loads, after she plundered the spoils, I was left with bikini size two entry level bras and old women's shoes, the kind you wouldn't be caught dead in—the kind I wear today.

Beautiful instrumental came through the intercom she sighed and said, "That is the most beautiful music I've ever heard"...I grabbed my polished sword and plunged between the third and fourth rib as my lips answered sweetly, "Yes it is, it was written by the Beatles."

She told me to set up a display for vases; I said, "There's a mistake it says the price is 12.98, I just bought one of these at the dollar store."

She defensively said, "Those were vases—these are vazes."

She appeared fatigued and weary as I told her I lacked "retail savvy"—I think that includes saleable skills.