Don't Call Us and We Won't Call You

It seems to me I have plenty to worry about, including but not limited to receding gums, Ebola, war, stroke, spider bites, food poisoning and my diverticulosis turning into diverticulitis or is it the other way around, without adding my edgy, New York personality to the list, but apparently that's the one that will do me in as long as I live in Maine.

Yesterday I went for an interview -- for what it matters not but suffice it to say I had to pass muster with three people, all of whom talked that funny way they do here -- and even though it went swimmingly, today the head honcho called to say I was not "the right fit." Aha! The L.L. Bean excuse!

I asked him to elaborate saying it would help me understand why I can't get hired as dog catcher here but had upwards of 25 wonderful jobs in the regular United States in the past, and he could come up with nothing more than that my "background" was not quite right.

I really hope he wasn't talking about my celebrating Passover.