The Adventures of Confutus at the Job Mart

There are a few people who know different parts of this story, but I have never told the whole thing. Not to anyone. Presented as a multipart serial. Warning: Black humor notwithstanding, it’s all true.


There were, of course, early warning signs that few heeded. First of all, as a child, there was no meat on his chicken wings, and precious little in the drumsticks, either. He routinely came in last in foot races, never managed a chinup no not once, and was barely better at the pushup and the situp.  Not only couldn’t he run, but he couldn’t throw or catch, and was repeatedly voted the Least Likely to be Chosen when the boys picked teams for, well, anything. He was routinely placed, not where he could do best, because there was no such place, but where he would do the least damage.

As far as social skills, there are “Those who make things happen”, “Those who watch thing happen”, and “Those who wonder what just happened.” Yea, that one. He acquired a worm’s eye view of the grade school pecking order. It was a great place to learn how not to be an enemy, not so great for learning how to be a friend.

Not that he was in all things hopeless.  Books didn’t call him names or dole out Indian arm burns or flick frostnipped ears, although having read the textbook through by the 3rd week of class and knowing it sometimes better than the teachers did wasn’t always appreciated by either the teachers or those who considered him (with perhaps some reason) an obnoxious know-it-all.

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