Chris Rock once said, “My only job in life is to keep my daughter off the pole.” If my parents have the same expectation for their son, this column will disappoint them.
I’m not going to use the cliche line, “I just need some extra money to put myself through school.” That’s not exactly true. I need the money for after graduation.
A few weeks ago, I didn't need to work the pole. A tech company in Gainesville hired me as a programmer, and I felt ecstatic. I had somehow triumphed over all the nasty statistics about 20- somethings being unemployed.
The tech industry can be unpredictable. Though my prospective company was well-managed, it had to postpone its job offer because one of its clients had a change of plans. With this, I joined a horde of UF seniors scavenging for employment.
Applying for jobs is an oxymoron contest: Be modest while touting your accomplishments. Be succinct while telling them everything. Be casual while wearing a stuffy suit. I needed a break from interviewing and filling out applications. Just for fun, I researched outlandish jobs.
Becoming a monk was one possibility. In The New Yorker last month, Larissa MacFarquhar wrote about how men apply to join a Zen monastery in Japan. Candidates climb a steep mountain, then knock on a wooden gateway.
By tradition, the head monk orders the candidate to leave and slams the door. The candidate must then grovel for employment for two or three days as he sleeps outdoors. In other words, becoming a monk is like graduating from a liberal arts college.
Next, I tried a Google search for “highest salaries,” which revealed that some hedge fund managers make $250,000 annually — not to mention bonuses. I could do that, I thought. It would be a small matter of gaining 50 IQ points and purging myself of empathy.
Computer systems analyst sounded like another promising job. It was listed among 2013’s best careers, but most of the analyst jobs were related to the animal slaughtering and oil drilling industries. I imagined breaking the news to my liberal friends and family on Thanksgiving.
“Cody, I heard you got a job working with computers. What do you do, exactly?”
“Let’s wait until you finish that turkey.”
That’s when I discovered the most intriguing position of all: full-time pole climber. A Colorado firm needed workers to scale the massive steel poles of cable towers in the Rocky Mountains.
Climbing is no joke. My dad had a job ascending towers in the Southwest when he was in his 20s, and the experience left him with chilling stories. He was once suspended 100 feet in the air, dangling from four wires, when three of the wires snapped.
I have a longstanding fear of heights, but as I applied to air-conditioned offices, I began to daydream about the cowboy-esque climbing gig. As an escape from writing real cover letters, I wrote a fake letter I thought might woo Denver’s cable company.
To Whom This May Concern:
I’m confident that my varied climbing experience qualifies me to scale your poles.
In elementary school I started climbing trees, mailboxes and other pole-like objects, and I haven’t missed a day. When my college commissioned a 20-foot-tall statue of a couple kissing, I shimmied to the top just to discourage them from public displays of affection.
I never allow common sense or so-called laws to interfere with my passion for climbing. When my boss fired me for refusing to leave the equipment closet, I told him I was literally trying to climb the corporate ladder.
I look forward to joining your team regardless of what Chris Rock and my parents say. If all the good pole climbing jobs are taken, may I start as a programmer and work my way up?
Cody Romano is a UF public relations senior. His columns appear Thursdays.
