Overqualified by Joey Comeau Read Free Book Online Page B

little landings on the way up the stairs. We climbed to the top, stealing light bulbs the whole way. We climbed and the stairs went dark behind us, as though there was something back there, following us up. We stole bulbs until we were on the balcony in the sun with a shirtful each.
    I want to say that we looked first, but maybe not. All I remember for certain is that there were two kinds of bulbs. They weren’t all the same. Some were made of white glass and some were clear. We threw bulb after bulb, as fast as we could. There were a half dozen in the air before the explosions started below. We never worried whether it was safe. We lived for the danger. We lived for that crazy sound a light bulb makes when it bursts against pavement. And then we were running as fast as we could down the dark concrete stairs.
    I love the feeling of running down stairs. It’s an activity the body was made for, something that feels perfect and correct.
    Joey Comeau

    Dear Danny Carey, of Danny Carey Insurance,
    I am writing to apply for the position of life insurance sales agent, and I have included my resume, which details my years of experience, as well as my years of schooling in insurance law.
    But my resume doesn’t explain what I have to offer the agency on a personal level. What will your customers deal with on a face-to-face basis? Well, I’m someone that they can relate to. I used to be them. I put every cent of my money into investments, into insurance. I devoted my life to planning for the future. I obsessed over what might happen. I needed contingencies. I needed plans B, C, and D.
    And there’s nothing wrong with that. What’s good for you in the short term is often less than acceptable in the long term. Going home with the girl who has been making eyes at you across the bar is fine right now, but in two weeks you might be standing in line at the pharmacy, embarrassed.
    This was how I used to think. I spent hours at the library, running risk management statistics on blow jobs. I used to grill girls on their recent sexual history, demand to see STD testing documentation. I was single for a very long time.
    I devoted my time to personal forms of life insurance, to eating well, to making careful decisions, never taking risks. And while I was focusing my attention on the short term, onavoiding clear risks, it didn’t occur to me that I was going to die anyway.
    It didn’t occur to me until a car drove through the front of my house, stopping inches from my head. A hooker stumbled out, a bomb strapped to her stomach, digital clock counting down from five minutes. Lice crawling through her hair as she threatened me with a rusty crowbar that had used needles taped to the end. She tied me down and fucked me without a condom. She wasn’t going to leave until I came inside her, she said, and the clock kept counting down. Afterward, when she was climbing back into the car, I asked her if she was on the pill, and she laughed at me. She backed out onto the front lawn and exploded to death. I got a little cut on my face, from glass.
    There are no contingency plans for old age. My pitch to your customers will be simple. The door will open and I will say, “You are going to die. Why are you wasting your time haggling? Pick a fucking plan and go climb a tree. Learn a new language. Write a biography of your grandmother, even if she insists that she’s never done anything. Go home and tell your wife that you’re tired of watching Martha Stewart every fucking night — some nights you just want to watch girls’ soccer.”
    Joey Comeau

    Dear Royal Bank,
    I was thrilled to read that you are seeking temporary bilingual administrators, and I am applying for the job. I’ve included my resume, and I know that once you’ve taken a look, you will be greatly impressed. But first, let me tell you a little about myself.
    I am an Acadian, with strong emotional ties to the French language, but I am