Work and War Metaphor

Yesterday AM, I went to the first proper job interview I've had, well, EVER. It was for a provisional position as an academic advisor here at CMU. Provisional means short-term, like a 5-month long temp assignment; there would be an opportunity to apply for a year-long contract for 2006-2007, but that's only if the Academic Advising budget allows for a year-long contract to happen.

Academic hiring processes are mostly paper-related, involving things like a CV, letter of application, personal statement/teaching pihlosophy, evidence of teaching effectiveness, blahblahblah. You aren't even offered an interview unless your portfolio is exactly what they're looking for. I'm pretty sure most academic would take a look at my CV and say, "Wow, John, this girl's credentials are totally AVERAGE," and then they'd chuck it in the bin with the sandwich crusts and rotten bananas. So, interviewing for an actual job is a big change for me.

I was very proper. I wore a collared shirt and a suit and high heels. But I still tried to look cool and not stiff. I answered the question, "Tell us about yourself," by focusing primarily on employment and educational history. I even asked questions of my interviewers, such as, "What are the technical competenices involved in this job?" I left it feeling pretty OK about it all.

This AM, I went on my dear friend Munka's livejournal, read the first few lines of the entry, and laughed out loud: "Work sucking big ogre balls" or something like this. That Munka! Gets me EVERY time. Anywho, her comment, combined with my interview of yesterday, made me begin to consider how often people talk about work in war metaphor: such as, "John, I was with you in that meeting; we were fighting on the front line," or, "Let's bring out the big guns," or, "John spent some time in the trenches, focused on that deadline."

Could someone shoot me?