I would make a great butler.
I mean I’ve got the qualities. I am loyal to a fault, I like dressing up and mixing drinks and preparing for guests. I like being tidy and there is always a method to my madness. Lists dominate my life, so organization comes naturally, if a little eccentrically, to me. I’m a fairly intelligent chap, knowledgeable in various trivia, and well-travelled. I believe myself to be a discreet man when I have to be, and pride myself on being able to resist the urge to spill the plumpest of beans.
The butler’s collar is that of the lightest blue. The work is not especially taxing, but rather rewarding in both short- and long-term ways. The camaraderie shared between butlers and the house’s other service drones comes with the job, and whether cavorting about with the maids or cajoling the chefs for a pastry, it would like having a second family. Plus, the servants’ quarters’ inherent proximity to my place of work means no commute. The job security can’t hurt, either.
A life of servitude fits me specifically because it’s like being rich without all the problems. I live in a nice house/castle, I eat well and dress well, but at the end of the day I’m not upper crust, it’s just my job. Off the job, I could dress down and hit a bar and shoot some pool with the locals and not be rejected by the blue collared worker bees.
My Achilles heel is of course the fact that I’m not British, nor do I have an interesting accent. The only way to circumvent this problem is to live and work in a place in which my accent is interesting, compared to the local dialect. Rural England might be a good place to start looking for work (I hear Pemberley is hiring), or maybe the South, on some ex-plantation still aspiring to regality and greatness. But, you know, without the slaves. Or the racial strife. Pretty much just the mint juleps and white suits.
DFTBA
I mean I’ve got the qualities. I am loyal to a fault, I like dressing up and mixing drinks and preparing for guests. I like being tidy and there is always a method to my madness. Lists dominate my life, so organization comes naturally, if a little eccentrically, to me. I’m a fairly intelligent chap, knowledgeable in various trivia, and well-travelled. I believe myself to be a discreet man when I have to be, and pride myself on being able to resist the urge to spill the plumpest of beans.
The butler’s collar is that of the lightest blue. The work is not especially taxing, but rather rewarding in both short- and long-term ways. The camaraderie shared between butlers and the house’s other service drones comes with the job, and whether cavorting about with the maids or cajoling the chefs for a pastry, it would like having a second family. Plus, the servants’ quarters’ inherent proximity to my place of work means no commute. The job security can’t hurt, either.
A life of servitude fits me specifically because it’s like being rich without all the problems. I live in a nice house/castle, I eat well and dress well, but at the end of the day I’m not upper crust, it’s just my job. Off the job, I could dress down and hit a bar and shoot some pool with the locals and not be rejected by the blue collared worker bees.
My Achilles heel is of course the fact that I’m not British, nor do I have an interesting accent. The only way to circumvent this problem is to live and work in a place in which my accent is interesting, compared to the local dialect. Rural England might be a good place to start looking for work (I hear Pemberley is hiring), or maybe the South, on some ex-plantation still aspiring to regality and greatness. But, you know, without the slaves. Or the racial strife. Pretty much just the mint juleps and white suits.
DFTBA
