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One thing I worry about, as someone soon entering the job field, is qualifications. Truth be told, most of my work experience is in a litany of random little summer jobs. A summer at the front desk of a museum, or in the back office of a clinic, or outside clearing trails, etc. I’ve had a great go at trying my hand at things, but who knows how much’ll be applicable to a career.

My dream is to work for a big science org in a big office and to get to do field work in a big, green place. All my job experience is oh-so-small, and it worries me! Not because I don’t think I’m qualified, but that it wouldn’t look great on a resume in the eyes of smart, dignified sciencey-type people.

For a while I was a dishwasher. The restaurant ecosystem has pretty, sociable people up front and the rest of us in the back. My co-dishwashers were a toothless rhesus monkey and a ripe-smelling orangutan (Always one or the other). It was a stressful job and the dish pit wasn’t exactly known for charm. But we busted our asses off. That was probably the world’s most task-oriented rhesus monkey (And macaques are known for their intellect).

For a while I was an interviewer for my local museum. As a part of an oral history project I’d rather forget, little pubescent Jude went around town and bugged old people until they’d talk. Then we’d sit down with a mic and I’d ask questions I knew would get their old gears turning (“What things were better, back in your day?” or “I’ve never been there, can you describe it to me?”). All I really learned is that our town used to build things, goddammit, and the laxative properties of cascara.

Not many glamorous job titles in my history, but there are some good stories. I’d like to see if I can land a big boy job alongside grad students whom I can entertain with my many tales of weird, backwater Oregonians back home o’er yonder.