Bryan has always enjoyed a minor breach of protocol when he can get away with it. He's sort of in denial about being a conformist, and he uses any minor contravention of societal norms as indisputable evidence that he's not a lemming. And what could possibly be more rash and rebellious than not dressing up for a career fair? If a company doesn't hire him because he was wearing slacks and a polo shirt, he probably didn't want to work for them anyway. Engineers don't ever dress up, so why should wannabe engineers have to? Besides, most hiring teams are made of engineers who find formal dress no more important than washing one's hands after eating a bag of Cheetos.
At last week's career fair, however, Bryan wasn't seeking an engineering job. He was looking for a job for a friend - an English graduate. How exactly was it different? Impress HR instead of nerds? Could he get away with the same protocol when seeking something so different? Should he actually dress up, despite being little more than a resume paper boy?
These questions caused Bryan to spend a full five seconds looking at his closet, pondering what clothes to wear. Even unseen by others, this eternity planning
clothes caused Bryan to feel entirely too feminine. He was beginning to feel hypocritical for years past when he mocked his sister for planning her "outfit" the night before. Seeing wrinkles in his dress shirt, he hastily concluded that he'd just go with casual pants and a polo shirt. The tan pants on the top of the stack were selected. Made of thin cotton, they always reminded him of a video once shown by an earth science substitute teacher in middle school describing appropriate apparel for harsh desert conditions. Somehow they are better than shorts. Thus Bryan left for the career fair with the confidence that he was not only differentiating himself from everybody dressed in suits, but that he was also at least twice as appropriately dressed for the Sahara.
As he swaggered through the entrance to the career fair, he found his way impeded by a stern girl in a blue vest. "You hafta put one of these on. Put your name and your major on it," she said sternly, handing him a rectangular sticker. Annoyed at such an unreasonable request, Bryan mentally calculated his chances of being able to force his way past her (rather good) and not cause a scene (not as good - she looked stubborn). Probably not worth it. But what to put on this sticker? His own name, or that of his friend? His own computer engineering, or her English? Not wanting to explain either a sex change or a dramatic change of study to those he knew, he settled on the former.
It got easier after that. "My friend writes good," and "My friend's resume. She be good editor." Professionalism was second nature.
Some time later Bryan left, got lunch, went to the library, attempted to do homework, walked home, and gave a friend a ride. At about five thirty in the evening he went to the bathroom in his apartment and made a remarkable discovery. There was a six inch tear in the seat of his pants.
What Rafiki would look like wearing these pants.This post's poignant sapience: Deser
t-ready thin cotton pants have a finite duration. Use sparingly.
Domesticated Fowl in Provo
There he is!
Recipe for disaster
There he is!
Recipe for disaster
