Misunderstood Job Ad
 Mar 14, 2016

Misunderstood Job Ad

Have you ever glanced over an advertisement for a job and thought it meant one thing, but as you read further you found it was for something completely different? Now's the time to give us your version of what such a mistake might lead to -- comedy, tragedy, romance, or something else. Whether a real-life experience or a total fiction, tell us about it in fewer than 500 words.

Your character answers an ad in the paper for a job, however, the job is not exactly what he/she thought it would be (ie: wanted butcher - real position hit man). Give us the want ad, the real position to be filled, and of course what your character does.

Contest Rules
* Entry Fee: Free
* Prize: Trophy
* Level: Beginner
* Word Limit: 500
* Submit period: 5 days
* Voting period: 2 days
* All regular Writing Deck Rules apply.
* Multiple entries are allowed in this contest.

Good Luck!

Thanks to MsgtBob for the contest idea, and thanks to Diogenese for the Theme pic.


“Here’s just the thing for a broke freelance UI designer,” John thought as he read the ad, though he wondered a bit about the last line in the qualifications section.
Human-Interface Designer needed. As the UI Designer on a multi-species team, you will be creating the human interface design for a totally new user experience.
Must be knowledgeable with mobile and smart devices of present day and the near future. i.e. Smart Phones, Tablets, Touch/Gesture technology, virtual reality.
Must be able to accept new concepts and challenges.
Must be organized and dependable
Must be human.
Apply at Cosmos technologies, 123 Mockingbird Lane, ask for Mr. Otto Shrenk. Salary 250k/year.

“Heck for 250K I’ll be whatever they want,” he thought as he finished his coffee and headed out the door.

The address ended up to be a medium sized building in an industrial park behind a small airport. John went in and was ushered into Otto’s office. Otto was middle-aged, somewhat pudgy, and, well sat oddly it seemed.

He waved John into a chair, and started reading the resume John handed him.

“Splendid, I think you’ll do just fine. We’ll pay you the first month in advance, you can start right away. You are human, right?”

“Well what else would I be?” John thought. “Can I ask a couple of questions about the job?” John asked. “For instance, what other species are involved in this project: Dogs, dolphins?”

“Something more exotic, it’s really going to be quite exciting work!” Otto replied, getting up. "Let’s go down to the lab so you can see what it’s all about.”

John noticed if Otto sat funny, he walked even funnier, almost as if his knees were bent the wrong way. He figured asking personal questions this early in the game was probably not the best way to start the job, so he followed silently. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this, but $250K was $250K

“Did you get a lot of applicants for this job?” he finally asked as Otto approached a metal door.

“A few, “ Otto said, “Here we are!”

He opened the door and John stepped in. As he did the door slammed shut behind him.
The room was dimly lit, with a lot of electronic equipment, some of which John was familiar with, others…

Then the door at the other end of the room slid open, and…

“THEY AREN’T HUMAN!” John screamed.

“Of course not,” said Otto’s voice through a speaker. “You’re the human part of the interface. We need to figure out how to interact well with you. I hope you enjoy your new job.”

John shuddered as tentacles began to attach him to the equipment.
2nd place


Sally looked at the ad, thinking: “I didn’t know they made stripping legal, but I don’t like the way that new fry cook is lookin’ at me, and bein’ a waitress at the five and dime isn’t exactly a good career. I think I’ll check it out. Maybe I’ll even make enough to do more than pay the rent and eat. I’ve got a nice body, so why not flaunt it.”

When she found the address, she thought: “Well, this certainly doesn’t look like any club I’ve ever seen. Oh wait, I guess this must be the ‘stage entrance’ but you’d think they would still put the name of the club here. Oh well,” and she rang the bell.

When the door was opened by a huge bear of a man, Sally figured that if he was the bouncer, there would be no problems in this club. “Hello,” she said. “I’m here about your ad in the paper.”

“Hey, boss,” shouted the bear, “we got us another dame come about that ad.”

“Send her right in,” came a voice from inside.

As the bear ushered Sally in, she overheard him mumbling: “I never knew so many women were interested in this stuff.” This had her wondering just how many men would apply for a job like this.

A man stood up from behind his desk as she entered the office. “I’m Stan, the owner of this operation,” He stated. “ And you are…?”

“My name’s Sally,” She answered. “Glad to meet ya.”

“Well Sally,” Stan said. “I like having women working here. They give the appearance of legitimacy, and it keeps the cops from nosing around. We pay on commission here, so the faster you strip, the more you will make. Interested?”

“Huh?” Blurted Sally. “You want me to strip fast? I thought stripping was supposed to be slow, and exotic?” The look on her face showed how confused she was.

“Ah,” came back Stan.” “That is another kind of stripping. Our stripping is of cars. It’s just as illegal as the other kind, but we rarely get raided, ha, ha.” His smile was infectious. “Still interested?”

“Hmm,” thought Sally. “It’s got to be better than waiting tables, and I don’t have to take off my clothes.”

“I’m in,” she exclaimed with a smile that easily matched Stan’s.

Mrs. Bunn's Cob Emporium. Service assistant wanted ….part time.

The advert had only recently been pinned onto the newsagent's noticeboard. It wasn't there the other day when I checked it out, the play on words would have caught my attention. Round my way we call a bread roll, bap, bun ... a cob. Geddit ?. Mrs. Bunn's Cobs . It's no worse than the usual puns; hair salons called “Curl up & Dye”or “Short & Curly”, bookshops called “The Yellow Book Road” or “Mobydickens,” pubs called “The Slug & Lettuce” or “The Last Port.”

So anyway I thought, why not give them a call? Some extra cash would be welcome plus working in a sandwich bar sounded like a doddle. Mr. Patel the proprietor of “The Late Nite Extra” newsagents gave me a puzzled look along with Mrs. Bunn's phone number.

“ Didn't know you were keen on that line of work Mrs. J. but why not eh ? Goodness me, you're not ready for the knackers yard yet … Oh I'm sorry, I should not have mentioned your age and please don't think I'm suggesting that Mrs. Bunn is in any way associated with old nags. Oh dear, there I go again. Please forgive me, my wife tells me that I'm always putting my foot in it.”

Leaving poor old Mr. Patel squirming, I stepped outside and got straight on the phone.

“Mrs. Bunn's Cob Emporium, Joanna speaking, how may I help?”

“Hi there, I'm enquiring about the position of service assistant.”

“Oh that's great, we're so busy. Hang on, I'll get Mrs. Bunn for you.”

It wasn't long before a very flustered lady came to the phone and gave me the fastest interview imaginable. She wasn't concerned about qualifications aside from my physical fitness, explaining that the job “isn't exactly rocket science.” After briefly discussing wages, work schedule and when could I start she handed me back to Joanna, explaining that she could fill me in on the details. Joanna asked about my previous experience with cobs and seemed somewhat taken aback when I jokingly said that while I'd never made a career out of them, I'd eaten my share.

Bright and early the very next day found me heading off to my new job. I was surprised by the rural location that Joanna's directions led me to. Trudging down the muddy lane I wondered where on earth all the customers would come from. It looked like a farm and I supposed that the “Cob Emporium” could be connected to a farm shop.

The mystery was solved soon enough when I looked up and saw the beautifully illustrated sign hanging across the entrance. A fine looking Cob Horse depicted joyfully rearing up on his hind legs. Joanna appeared with a welcoming smile, a pair of dungarees and a hefty shovel.

“There you go” she said, pointing to a wheelbarrow and a huge pile of steaming horse muck

… and there I went, a bit sharpish.
4th place

Lab Assistant Needed. Experience preferred but not required. College level chemistry helpful. Apply Menellow Parke Laboratories.

Ooh! I thought to myself. This could be fun. Maybe I'll help a researcher mix dangerous chemicals together in test tubes. Or perhaps help an inventor find miracle medicines. It would certainly be better than the busboy job at that seafood restaurant I'd been considering. My hands trembled as I grabbed a copy of my resume' and ran to the car.

This is great, I thought. I'll have interesting work while I finish college. Then once I complete my degree, I'll already have an inside track for a good position. I might stay with this company if they treat me right. Or I might choose to start my climb between bigger companies and better jobs. My future was already falling into place.

“Dr. Edsen can see you now,” announced the secretary as she motioned me to the door behind her.

“Edison?” I asked. I knew it was important to pronounce the boss' name right.

“No, Edsen,” she corrected me.

I entered the well-furnished office and sat in front of his desk. He took several minutes to look over my resume' before finally speaking. “Do you have any medical experience?”

“No, sir. Just two years of high-school chemistry. Why? Is this a medical laboratory?” I asked.

“Yes. We need someone to prepare Pap smear cultures.”

Eww! Oops, sorry. What does that mean, sir?”

“You take the swabs we receive from area clinics and apply the specimens to microscope slides. Once a batch is ready the doctor comes to examine them.”

The lack of color in my face likely told what I was thinking, but I didn't want to leave any doubt. “I don't think this is the right job for me.”

Dr. Edsen nodded. “I understand. However, we could also use help in our animal testing department. We need someone to hold them down while we apply the products.”

I slid forward in my seat, but I think he mistook my move to leave as interest in what he was saying.

He continued, “Our regular lab boy got mauled. Oh, don't worry. He'll recover the use of his hand in a few months. But we need someone to fill in until he comes back.”

I jumped up from my chair, thanked him for his time, and exited as quickly as I could. I didn't even ask for my resume' back or say goodbye to the secretary.

On the drive home I thought to myself, Maybe I'll take that busboy job after all.