Bo Goins: Ghost Union Organizer

Looks like I get to add "Ghost Union Organizer" to my resumé, and Matt must remove "Ghost Youth Minister" from his, at least until he either tightens up his transitions or he consistently uses a capo for his acoustic guitar.  

In all fairness, my task wasn't much of a stretch. Apart from the apparition, that was just a normal conversation I'd have about wages, hours, safety concerns, and benefits that I'd have with any worker. And I'm almost always covered in motor oil, so working for a ghost auto union is believable, so long as you believe in a ghost auto union.  

The same cannot be said for Matt.

On appearance alone, the overlap between Matt and a youth minister is band tees and novelty socks. Matt looks less like a spiritual advisor for teens and more like a Guitar Center manager. Less like a guy trying to get you into Heaven and more like a guy with a sign that says playing "Stairway to Heaven" is prohibited. 

So let's say you're a spiritually trapped mascot. A lost popmetal roadie approaches you, tries to turn his folding chair backwards but gets it caught in a wallet chain, and asks you, "You know who else doesn't care about your credit score? Jesus Christ."

We have to face facts: Matt was never going to win this bet. Maybe with a haircut, an entirely new wardrobe, an obnoxious cologne, and some minor league baseball tickets, he could be a passable pastor for preteens. Until then, I think he's gonna retire further attempts to connect with spirits via wacky shenanigans disguised as relay races. 

I've got to run though. I've got a ghost union card to deliver to an undead chicken today, which means I need to actually create a ghost union card. And technology being what it is, I need to get a ghost union website up just in case. (Not all ghosts have the desire or capability to get online, but I've been burned before. It's an easily avoidable L.) 

Plus I still owe a visit to a poltergeist that is literally three raccoons in an outdoor furniture set.