Monday, October 26, 2009

The Post Without a Clever Title - Unless "Bleeding Arts" is Clever - No? Okay, No Title

I think I'm pretty employable.

Yes that's a word. I know things.

Anyway, I have this dream of working in a museum. Problem is, there are not that many openings for museum jobs in Utah. So as I scour the job websites and find a dearth of availabilities (big words = smart), I start to convince myself that I can do other things. Case in point, I just pondered submitting an application as an administrative manager for the Utah Blood Bank. Then I remember that I am totally squeamish and would probably not be the best manager they've ever had.

Blood Bank: Emily, can you carry these bags of blood to the second floor lab for testing, stat?

Me: *Giggling* Wow, do you people really say stat?

Blood Bank: Now who interviewed you again?

Me: Um, that girl with the long brown hair. I'll take it up right now.

2 minutes later the Blood Bank finds me passed out on the floor. Because I hate blood.

But it's not just blood that freaks me out. It's anything medical. When I first started college I was a pre-optometry major. My dad took me to watch a Lasik eye treatment on one of his patients. We're not talking watching it on a monitor or through a window or gallery, we were actually in the room. With hair-net thingies and everything. Things were going okay until they pulled the lens back off the eye. Suddenly everything started to go black from the bottom up. I told my dad I wasn't feeling well and the next thing I knew I was sitting in a chair and my dad was patting my cheeks. The whole procedure had stopped and the doctor and nurse were looking at me and asking if I was okay. I was all "yeah, I'm fine. Go ahead and continue." I tried to play it off like I just walked to the chair and sat down. Could it be possible that they didn't see my dad drag my body to the corner? I'd like to think so.

So the next day I promptly walked into the student services office and changed my major from pre-optometry to art history.

(And my parents promptly changed their hopes of having a successful daughter to hoping she "marry up")

And since I haven't fainted from looking at a painting yet I consider myself a success and should be rewarded by becoming the director of a museum.

So if any of you reading this own a museum and need a kick-ass director who only faints during medical procedures, call me.

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