Driving Doctor Mayhem

[1] Go-Getter

"Okay, so I've never been the go-getter type, not at all. In retrospect, every major event in my life happened to me, and not because of me and by sheer happenstance alone, I managed to roll through eighteen years of pure mediocrity without accidentally maiming myself.

"That's also how long it took me to stumble upon that nifty little fact: Banksy is not a go-getter. It's not the sort of thing that you notice, because there's nothing to notice. It's easy, really; you don't ever bolt up in your chair on Pizza Friday and go, 'Hey, I'm not running for the cross-country team right now! Let's remedy that, shall we?'

"At least, not until you start putting together your college résumé. If you're like me, that's when the panic sets in. Because while even the biggest slackers you know are whipping out the fact that they went to an art camp and won a prize that one time in the fifth grade, you're staring at an empty Word document. Straight B's, is all I can really put. Average SATs. Hey, at least I'm consistent.

"And you know, I didn't want to be this: the meander-er that takes a gap year not to find themselves or whatever, but because no good college wants 'em in the first place. Wait-listed. Bam. I was going to go to medical school; I had plans. I still do, I mean, I haven't given up yet. God, when did I start talking about my plans in past-tense?

"But look at me; I'm off on a tangent again. Needless to say, I don't make the best first impressions."

"There's an understatement," the strange, spindly man across from me muttered, attempting to smooth out a graying cowlick in vain. Showing no remorse for the look of pure mortification on my face, he continued, "See? You don't have a monopoly on terrible first impressions."

I nodded, feeling slightly reassured, albeit a little befuddled. I could still get a job. It could still happen. "What was the question again, sir?"

"May I see your résumé, Miss Banks?"

"Oh, right, I was getting to that!" I slid the sheet of paper across the table, grinning nervously. This was the moment I was dreading, the nail in the coffin. My résumé was awfully blank. I'd had to jack the font up to a size 18 just to get half of the page covered. If my semi-coherent babbling hadn't sealed my fate, I was sure that this would.

Drumming his fingers on his cluttered desk, he sighed, "Well, I think I've seen all I need to, Miss," and started scooting out of his swivel chair, (rather ungracefully, I might add) but I leaped up before he could show me out.

"Wait!"

He rose his eyebrows expectantly and didn't object, which I took as a green light.

"I know that I'm inexperienced, but I am incredibly eager, which is a euphemism for desperate, in my case. That's not good for me, but screw it, it'll definitely be in your favor."

I paused.

"And now, I'm rethinking using the word screw in a PA interview, but I'm going to keep going and that shows, uh, determination!"

At that, the man pursed his lips, looking slightly less annoyed than before.

"Yowzah, this isn't nearly as eloquent as I imagined it, but the point I'm trying to make is: eager. Determined. Me. What more could you want from an employee--" I stopped to look down at the name plate on his desk for the first time. "--Doctor... Mayhem?"

I checked again. Doctor Mayhem, it read. That was about the time that I started reconsidering not taking Cricket's sage-as-always advice, but I was in a little too deep, and I wasn't sure if I could remember my impromptu monologue well enough to recite it somewhere else.

Doctor Mayhem wrinkled his nose and deadpanned, "A brain, for starters."