Right now my life is consumed with searching for a job. Not just any job, though - I want a stimulating and challenging career that would allow me to experience different cultures through travel, hobnob with witty, educated people who wouldn't blink at my use of the word hobnob, and of course earn enough money to put my parents in a really nice home - 'cause God knows they aren't living with me.

I had no idea that once I was post-university my dream job would be so elusive. Well, really between studying (sleeping) and working (drinking) I guess I never had time to think about it. Granted the question of career came up often enough, how can it not once you claim a degree in women's studies. People are dying to know what your plans are, as if fearing that all of these mysterious women's studies graduates are fuelling an underground feminist army. Could have had something to do with the department's motto: "Insidious Infiltration." Maybe they should change that.

As my standards lower from finding my dream job to taking any job that will get my out from under my parents roof, I'm increasingly forced to focus on my past job experience in order to win me a position in a new career. Constantly asked what my workplace strengths and weaknesses are I blank at the question and then think of my part-time jobs. The problem is that I don't have this wide range of different types of job experience to draw from, I've only ever worked in customer service, serving, bartending, even cooking. And every job I've held in the hospitality industry has essentially taught me the same thing. I'm not very hospitable.

It's not that I don't like all people; it's that I don't like dumb people. My roommate once pointed out a poster to me with the caption, "I'll be nicer when you are smarter." And in a nutshell that's the problem. After years and years of hearing stupid questions and having inane conversations, I felt myself nearing the breaking point and I couldn't do it anymore. I began to fight back.

I remember the first time I finally indulged myself and answered a customer the way I wanted to instead of perhaps the way a friendly server should. The poor guy had come in to order a gyro. And to his credit he was inquisitive enough to ask what went on a gyro. And to his credit he did listen and appear to understand. And if he'd caught any other server but me he probably would have got his greasy lunch and had a nice life (albeit with an early death).

But fate was against him and I was his server that day. The conversation started simply enough - he asked what went on the wrap and I ran off the answer as printed in the menu, "Lettuce, tomatoes, onions, tzatziki, and gyro meat." This apparently didn't satisfy his ill-timed curiosity, as he then wanted to know what gyro meat was exactly. "Gyro meat? . . . It comes from the mountain gyro."

Now I was just making a little joke and was expecting to share a little giggle until, incredibly, he appeared to believe me.

"What mountain gyro?"

"The only mountain gyro. Comes from South America."

Well he was confused. Having never heard of the mountain gyro, doubt was starting to creep in. Thinking that I recognized scepticism in his eyes I decided to clue him in on the jest by expanding it to an outrageous lie: "I can't believe you've never heard of it. It's been on the endangered species list for ages now."

At this the halfwit became visibly enraged. Clearly upset at the ludicrous thought of our greasy little spoon regularly serving imported endangered animals at the low cost of $3.75 a sandwich, he demanded an explanation. "Hey, don't talk to me. I agree that it's awful. I think we should take it off of the menu too, but the gyros are a favourite. Try not to worry about it, it's not like they're particularly cute animals. They're actually really nasty . . . horns, big fangs and claws. Gyro hunting is pretty dangerous."

The poor boy went nuts. Demanding to see my manager, he stormed into the apparently too well labelled office and started telling the manager off about the plight of the precious mountain gyros. Unfortunately, I was not present for that scene, which would have probably surpassed my writing ability to accurately transcribe. But very fortunately, the particular supervisor in question had a finely tuned sense of humour and found it just as funny as I had that someone could believe all of that. I couldn't stop giggling for the rest of the shift, and was eventually told to go home. New rules were put in place about the telling of outrageous lawsuit inviting lies to gullible customers.

I kept that job for a few years after that incident, and while I continued to mock customers, I took care to do it in the privacy of my own home, or at least in the kitchen if I couldn't wait to get home. So to future employers, who may someday stumble across this site, consider this my strength - I learn from my mistakes. I learned that some people believe anything you tell them. I learned that a sense of humour is vital in the workplace. And most importantly, while it may seem like a good idea at the time, I've already learned that it is not okay to cause someone else's breakdown in sanity in order to prevent my own. Rest in peace mountain gyros.

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