There are those people who get angry when you tell them you shop at Walmart. But when you only have $4.00 in you pocket, it seems like the thing to do at the time.

So it was today, when my 17 yr. old son needed paper for his College Calculus class. We clicked (See:”250,000 Miles on My Subaru”) on into Walmart’s parking lot and headed straight for the school section once inside.

No ruled filler paper. Not wide. Not college ruled. Nada. Zip. Nicks-O-Rooney. Nowhere.

“How could Walmart be out of school paper?” my son asked.

“Must be a lot of educated kids these days,” I quipped.

We left, disappointed, but happy to think of all of the math problems that those missing papers represented.

Either that, or paper airplanes.

P.S. The college ruled paper from Office Depot had punched holes that don’t line up with each other. How can you NOT get holes lined up when punching them automatically with a machine? Aargh!

Last time we found out that on a resume, I can position the lowly job of “raking the sandbox” as “Leveling the Playing Field.”  This is no joke, and it will be beneficial to advancing my (somewhat dubious) career. Whatever that career is.

In today’s installment, we take the concept of resume enhancement even further, with a much more specific enhancement, and satisfying results:

The sign on the cave tour guide shack says, “B Guide- bury fossils”.  This, too, is no joke. If we provide hidden fossils for kids to discover, then they will smile, and we have a “Mission Accomplished” scenario.

So I go out to the giant sandbox early in the day with a bag of fossils in my hand. I ponder all the nuances of planting fossils, sip my coffee, study the lay of the land and begin.

I dump all of the fossils next to the kiddie sand strainers, smoosh them into the sand with my foot, and walk away. “Mission Accomplished”.

We never had “Fossil Planting- 101” at the college I graduated from.

So I begin the task of turning this little ritual into a career-rocketing resume enhancement entry:

“Director of Paleontological Discoveries.”

“As DOPD, I was responsible for all fossil finds within the Park boundaries, on the days I was scheduled. Fossils ranged from the Dramamine Era, to the later Starbucks Epoch.”

I worked in close proximity to the paleontoligists and elicited suggestions at the sponsored digs.

What’s next?

Sign on our Tour Guide Shack interior: “B GUIDE- PLEASE SWEEP SANDBOX”.

Today, I’m a “B GUIDE.” Not because my last name begins with B, but because of my scheduled arrival time.

So I dutifully grab the big red push broom and head down to the sandbox and drag the broom around the interior of the 20×20 ft. shaded play place complete with 15 cubic yards of sand, 6 Tonka trucks, and a smattering of strainers and shovels (to be included in Part 2 of my resume enhancement techniques.)

Suddenly, I’m on my dad’s International Farmall “H” tractor back in Indiana in the 1970s. As mom would say, “You boys are out dragging the fields.”

I think to myself, “I never got to do this when I was a guide at Mesa Verde National Park, or the Maroon Bells. I don’t remember any courses in college discussing ‘sweeping the sandbox’.”

So in the interest of advancing my career (and who doesn’t want to advance their career past sweeping sandboxes), I gave some thought as to how I’d position the sandbox duty on my next job resume:

“…As the dedicated team of managers saw my work practices enhancing the mission statement of our business, they began to rely on me more and more to help level the playing field.”

I think I’m on to something…

If anybody knows how to drive a car into the ground, it’s me. I was supposed to sell my car at the beginning of the summer-last summer, 2010. In any event, I was supposed to really, REALLY sell my car at the start of THIS summer, but that didn’t exactly work out.

I was only going to ask $500 for a 1997 Subaru with 220,000 miles on it.

The little car has become my constant companion.

The number of things wrong with the car are astronomical, but it keeps on running despite the severe maintenance neglection.

The driver’s side door squeaks so loudly, that a kid next to me at the grocery store parking lot asked his mommy if that was a “cat crying?”

The right front transaxle is so shot, that people crossing the crosswalks hear it going “click, click, click” (metal on metal), and run for the sidewalk, thinking that they are about to be run over by a piece of farm machinery.

Speaking of metal on metal, the guy at Big Os tire store told me back in May that my brakes were already shot, and needed to be replaced. By my calculations, I’ve descended over 250,000 feet in elevation from my house to work since his admonition. That number just happens to coincide with the milage on my little green beast.It’s also like driving to the bottom of the Grand Canyon 5,000 times for those of you tourists who like to drive to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

There are other little annoyances, like the carpet wearing through to the floorboard, cracked windshield, buttons missing on the electric window master control, and drink holder that only extends with a crowbar.

But all in all, I like the dependable little car. I’ll probably keep it for a few months and sell it next summer.

Five hours and counting ‘till my daughter’s wedding, and here I was with black stained fingertips. I’d like to blame my wife for giving me wimpy polishing rags, but hey, I’m a grown man. So now my packer boots looked good for a cowboy wedding, and my fingers looked like a 5 yr. old in paint class.

How many types of solvent do you think I have at my house, not including the 95 octane can of gasoline? 5. Plus 2 kinds of dish soap, 3 types of bar soap (including a walnut sized blob of “Grandpa’s Old Fashioned Bar Soap”.)

Nylon brushes. wash clothes. Dirt. Anything abrasive short of the 40 grit sanding belt, and don’t think that it didn’t enter my mind.

By the time I was done, My hands had pale grey fingertips, and I could have slid my hands into a ladies size medium opera glove. I began practicing marching down the aisle with clenched fists. Not exactly the image I wanted to portray.

Somehow, like at all weddings, it came together at the last second. Next time I’ll polish my boots with black Magic Markers…