PHDs

Perhaps you have come across those who have developed a Personal Myth, an autobiography that befuddles even the most scrutinizing individual. I know a woman who, like students that speak well but say nothing of  substance,  this lady, let's call her Imagene, having limited funds, was not able to attain a university education and therefore, decided on it as her DIY project.  Ima, the dear, accessed an instant on-line Masters Degree for a good price. She had met those with real degrees who made little sense most of the time and she considered her common sense would suffice as an educational background as good as any other. Her employers seldom checked the  document that appeared to originate from a country honoured as being honest and reliable. They simply trusted and wrote in the name of the school and the degree and left it at that. With her oak framed certificate, Imagene was able to move freely about the job market,  although mainly in short bursts. When it was discovered that her performance did not match her credentials, she was usually asked politely to leave. Every employer regretted that this was necessary since Ima made wonderful Ooey Gooey bars on Friday staff treat days. Imagene would be missed for some time after she left a position.  Ima didn't appear to worry about these moves, she simply made new copies of the blank certificate using the latest equipment at the library and filling in the blanks at the bottom with whatever sort of specialty was required for the work she chose to do. Most of the time, she found her qualifications were received without question. In one office, because she was nearest the bathroom that offered a first aid kit, Ima was forced to dole out band aids for  wounds such as broken fingernails and heel blisters.  She felt that she had found her niche in the medical field and thus for her next position, filled in the bottom blank on her certificate, Medical Treatment Advisor or MTA. When she took on the new job, a humble one to be sure, at the local hospital, she hung the framed certificate on the wall and waited for comment. Her fellow work-mates were very impressed by the elaborate frame and document, but said nothing so not to appear ignorant of an MTA degree. Even the doctors who happened by, gave the document quizzical looks. Since the job was temporary, Imagene was, not long after, installed in a newspaper office. Out came the frame with a new certificate and this time it read, Journalistic Production Clerk. The designation hung on the wall beside her keyboard. Unfortunately for Ima, crusty journalists do not rely on decorum as in the medical field, and they came right out and asked, "What in the hell is a JPC? Never heard of it." Ima, insulted,  moved on. Actually, as far as I know, Ima didn't stay long at any job but she met interesting people along the way. Her imagination seemed to carry her from one field of expertise into another. When she was old, she had accomplished in a dress box, dozens of her degrees.  One of them finally worked out for her.  At the age of seventy, she found a facility that  needed someone to deliver snacks and do small errands for the staff and residents, keep the dining chairs in order and read and write letters for the blind in the home. The busy staff did not bother to read the certificate on the wall in her room that was also her new office. Ima smiled as she dusted her PHD certificate:  Patient - Home for the Demented.