Job Titles

        Just recently a fella’ approached me on the street and he was grinning from one hearing organ all the way across his head to the other. To say this lad was happy would be a gross understatement. This bubbly chap was elation personified!

         Hardly able to restrain the excitement in his voice, it initially sounded like he was throwing either Yiddish or Greek at me. After I urged him to slow it down a bit he regained some semblance of self-composure and was finally able to speak with a calm voice on an even keel. Only then did I get a gist of what had caused this spontaneous outburst of enthusiasm.

         Seems this young lad had hired in with Celanese Corporation of America just 2 days before our chance meeting. The ball was certainly bouncing the right way for this brash young “blowhard.” He’d picked up his high-school diploma Friday night after graduation, applied at the company hiring office Monday morning, was accepted for employment that very day, and clocked in for work Tuesday morning.

         From all indications the young whiz had, in just 2 days, mastered the considerable intricacies and technology steps followed by that conglomerate in their production process. Let it be said that in talking with this lad I gathered he could just as quickly break down and explain the molecular structure and components of an atom. In fact, he told me as much.

         Apparently his lack of seniority hasn’t hampered this up-and-coming junior tycoon---not one whet! He’s already been promoted!

         “Yes it’s true,” he said. “I’m rapidly climbing the ladder of success.” Hmm. The boy wallowed in modesty---exuded the stuff in huge doses! And then he continued: “Let me tell you, I now have a job-title.”

         “Really,” I shot back. This thing was getting interesting---even intriguing.

         “You bet!” he exclaimed, and promptly launched into a long-winded harangue telling me about his job-title and the myriad of duties and responsibilities it entailed. Though I can’t remember the exact job-title, it consisted of at least 40 multi-syllable words that required 4 full minutes to recite. It sho’ ‘nuff sounded impressive and would put the vocal chords of any person to a strenuous test.

         “Congratulations,” I said to this young man whose face beamed like none I’d ever seen.

         “Well gee thanks,” he responded. “I’ll probably be moving on to Charlotte or the Big Apple shortly, and I just wanted to let you know.” Wow! Modesty on a scale like none I’d ever seen.

         Maybe later I’d be proved wrong, but at that moment I very much thought this tyke of 19 years had some loose fittings upstairs---surely his elevator didn’t reach anywhere near the top floor.

         “Let me tell you about a book I was browsing through last night,” I remarked to the youngster. “It was a volume of statistics, and informed me there are now an estimated 115 million holders of  job-titles in our nation. Hell fella, everybody and his brother are layin’ claim to one of the durn things. Are you aware of that?”

         “No, I didn’t realize our species were so prolific in numbers,” he answered somewhat in surprise.

         “Well, its true pal, and I’ll give you an illustration of the epidemic proportions to which this thing has escalated. Now even I have a job-title, and sure as shootin' that oughta’ tell you somethin.’” Though I knew it was a tall order, nonetheless I tried to communicate with this rising young star of industry.

         “You have a job-title?!” He uttered the statement with a sneering tone that caused a measure of resentment to rise in my innards. “What is your job-title?” It was more a demand than request, and now I detected  the first trace of self-doubt in his voice.

         “It’s like this,” I began explaining to this future mogul of manufacture. “Until just recently I was one of those plain, everyday run-of-the-mill custodians or, even more denigrating, janitor. But then these people I work for decided that since everybody from the President on down was now a titled person, then by all means their own work-force should be called something or other that’s in keeping with these ever-changing times. After a prolonged span of time (2 minutes) the brass bestowed a job-title on every person on their payroll. Now then, I believe you showed some interest and inquired about mine. It’s certainly not a confidential matter so here it is. I’m the  “Resourceful and Responsible Remedial Remover and Refiner of Reprehensible Residue.” But since everyone else is titled also, I just keep it under my hat. Really---I never mention it.”

         “Good Lord above!” he exclaimed in a tonal pitch that caused my head to ring. “You must be with the Du Pont Corporation!”

         It was plain to see that job-titles held a deep fascination for this youngster, and he became quite carried away when talking about the subject. I didn’t want to dash his exalted hopes and caught myself just before saying “Have I ever got news for you!” No, I didn’t want to say that.

         “No, I’m not with the Du Pont people,” I replied. “I’m into chemicals somewhat, but on a slightly lesser scale. I work down yonder at that there big toilet on the banks of New River.”

The End

M.L. Wilkinson