Climax Blues

Well, I said I would consider all possibilities.

Ever since I became a free agent earlier this month I’ve been scouring the online want ads in search of reasonably honest work.

I confess it’s been a little eerie not having any place to go during normal working hours.

I still go to my early morning boxing class in lower Manhattan twice a week and, in an effort to expand my job search, I approached two of my classmates to let them know I was looking for work—and promptly learned that both of them were unemployed as well.

On the way home last week I ran into a tsunami of commuters bubbling up out of the R train station at Rector Street and I struggled against the human tide to reach the Brooklyn bound platform.

On Friday morning I saw my bus, the X27—or my ex-bus— picking up passengers at Ridge Boulevard for the commute into Manhattan. But I wasn’t on board.

That evening I took the subway into midtown to meet some friends and I watched a woman on the D train carefully putting away her work ID card, wrapping the lanyard around the laminated photo and sliding the workplace dog tag into her purse.

I remember when I used to have one of those cards clipped to my belt like a dog license. And I think I know how my canine brethren feel right about now.

I like being off the leash and roaming around the countryside without a schedule, but I’m getting a little worried about being able to fill the old food dish.

I’ve got plenty to do, of course, a laundry list of personal projects I’ve been putting off for the longest time. And there’s also the laundry.

And I’m running across some intriguing employment opportunities in my job search, including this little number on Craig’s List.

All that Jizz

“Got Sperm?” the notice asked. “Earn up to $1,500 a month.”

Hey, now that sounds like something I could handle—in more ways than one.

“Be a hero,” the ad continued. “Become a sperm donor. Help create families.”

This was sounding better and better. I can play Batman without having to put on a cape and if anyone ever accused me of jerking off, I’ll say, “exactly!”

And I’d be releasing a whole bunch of bright-eyed offspring on an unsuspecting world. Talk about service with a smile…

So, pray tell, how does it work? The pay rate, I mean. I think I know how the rest of it works.

“We offer a means to supplement income,” the notice said. “$125/donation up to 3 times/week--so that's up to $1500/month or $18,000/year and to receive comprehensive health and genetic screenings free of charge.”

Wow—all that dough for just doing what comes naturally with free health screenings to boot. This could be the (wet) dream job of a lifetime!

I was ready to swing into action when I read the ad’s fine print and my great plans were struck limp by a sudden bolt of realitus interruptus.

“Must be aged 19-38 years old.”

Oh, come now! You’re going to pull the age limit routine on me? Wine gets better with age and so do I. This is vintage sperm I’m offering here. You guys are making a real boner.

We could be producing a whole crop of little Don Drapers, who smoke cigarettes, drink tiny martinis and look up their babysitters’ skirts. How could you pass that up?

But I’m afraid I’m losing out to some stiff competition.

No matter, there are plenty of other opportunities in the want ads. I especially like this one: “Hot Guys needed for ADULT FILMS!!!”

Now that sounds like the job for me.