Register Right, Young Pilgrim, Register Right

Bullfeathers! Who says government can’t create jobs? Look no farther then our own humble Cape May County. Why, there are plenty of jobs, even in this gut-wrenching, recession-tainted economy. There is one slight consideration. To snag one of those jobs it surely does help if one has the correct letter after their name. Shucks, what’s party affiliation among friends? It’s no big deal, right? This is, after all, a free country and we can vote any way we want.
Ah, yes, pilgrim, but one must be very mindful of that letter, lest there be no job found available, or a name falls way down to the very lowest part of “the list,” or the application somehow just can’t be found, darn!
Some may term it cronyism. The more mean-spirited and sharp-tongued, might utter that nasty word nepotism, and their terminology may be apropos. By whatever name, government employment boils down to a fact of life that momma or papa never told me when we had “The Talk.” That’s the way it should be since this brass-tacks-fact-o’life talk is something a “Dutch uncle” should have with a frisky teenager who is about to spread his or her wings and fly off for that dark abyss commonly known as “the future.”
To labor for years in college is laudable and costly, even for those with loot. For many, it is a reward unto itself, attaining a degree to post after one’s name, a sheepskin to decorate the office or den. Best of all, it sounds really genteel in polite company to drop one’s educational qualifications, “Why yes, I have a bachelor’s degree in economics and a master’s in political science with a minor in accounting and…”
Sure, sure, kid, that’s all well and good, but in June, when you head to the polls for the primary election, (you DO vote, don’t you?) what party do you declare?
You’re absolutely right. I have no business asking, but rest assured, if you respond incorrectly to that innocuous query, it might be advisable to break out those college catalogs again and consider going back for that doctoral degree. At least you’ll have something to occupy your time for the next few years, and it won’t necessarily be punching a government time clock. Neither will you be earning pension credits or a fat paycheck.
Along life’s highway it’s possible you’ll encounter a bearded, wizened, crazy-eyed old prophet-like character embarked on a curious task.
“Say there, old fella, what exactly are you doing?” you might ask.
“Well, since you ask, lad, I’ve been working on this field for a mighty long time. Truth be told, I don’t know exactly how long I’ve been here doing this. All I can tell is, when I started, I didn’t have a beard and it definitely was not gray and long, if that tells you anything,” he might reply.
“Okay, but this labor upon which you are embarked, what do you call it? Will it ever be completed? Who will benefit from this work?” you ask in a slightly perturbed, almost disgusted tone.
“If you must know, I’ve been working to level this playing field for jobs. Seemed like a fairly simple project when I started, whenever that was. I’ve used dynamite. I used earth-moving equipment, big stuff, with huge engines. I’ve used lasers and picks and shovels and even disked the field with a mule, and I’m no further along now than when I started,” says the old guy.
“I like that idea, a level playing field for jobs, huh? Sounds reasonable, but will it work in Cape May County?” you respond.
“See that boulder yonder in the middle of the field? It’s the one that sticks way up high? Well that rock I nicknamed Politics. You know why?” bearded guy asks.
“Because I cannot, under any circumstance, get this playing field level until I get rid of that boulder. I tried 20 sticks of dynamite, no dice. I tried a front-end loader, nothing. I’ve tried to drill into it with diamond-tips, can’t seem to touch Politics or even scratch the surface. So there it sits, smack dab in the middle of my playing field, just like on the day of creation when the good Lord wiped His hands on his overalls and declared the work done,” said the old boy.
“You expect when you’re gone, I mean, if you ever decide to walk about from this odd idea of a level playing field for jobs, will this field ever be done and level for anyone who is really qualified and needs a job?” you inquire.
“How long have you lived in this county? Don’t tell me, I don’t really want to know. I tell you this work I’ve been doing for years, it’s just never going to come to an end as long as that boulder out yonder sticks up out of the ground.
“Now you’re a young whipper-snapper, and you think you can take over my work and level this playing field, why, go right ahead. Maybe you all can do what I never could. I sure would like to see this level playing field for jobs here done and fenced in by the time I walk up there among them clouds,” says the old guy.
From the wild and dusty 1800s came the admonition “Go West, young man.”
Perhaps the bearded old prophet would fitly advise young pilgrims of this day, seeking gainful employment in the public arena, “Register right, young folks, register right!”