My alma mater recently invited me back to serve as a Career Week panelist. Along with a temporary parking pass, I've been sent a list of questions I should be prepared to answer. Some seem obscure, while others border on hostile.

This got me thinking about the wide range of possible inquiries. Is it true you were unemployed and ballooned to 230 pounds the summer after you graduated?

"Next question."

Has any career advice you've given ever actually panned out?

"Next question." [Covering microphone.] "Are we screening these?"

Are there any fictional companies, from sitcoms, that you think would make good employers?

"Great question," I'd say, preparing to wow them with my thoughtful reply. "Here are seven places I'd like to make my mark."

Employer: Mr. Drummond's Company
Show: Diff'rent Strokes
Job: Change Agent

Phil Drummond was the Angelina of his time – rich and sexy and adopting kids of other races way before it was cool. While he lived a life of luxury, his company was not always the best corporate citizen. They were behind those sugar-filled vending machines in Arnold's school. And there is very little evidence they valued the rank-and-file, as indicated by the attempt to put Mr. Drummond's old disc jockey friend out of work in Portland.

But where you see tooth decay and disloyalty, I see an opening. As a Change Agent – an intentionally vague and shallow term to minimize actual responsibility – I'd work to sway public opinion. To win us friends, I'd impose a wide range of green initiatives. As an occasional recycler (cans, not paper), I'm uniquely qualified. I even have one of those fancy fluorescent light bulbs. But just one. It's dim and hurts my eyes.

Employer: Malibu Sands Beach Club
Show: Saved by the Bell
Job: Lifeguard/Volleyball Judge

In high school, I was a cashier at our local A&P supermarket. Seven other classmates I'd put in the "good friends" category were among my co-workers. The hardest part of the job was not laughing hysterically in the face of all the unintentional comedy. We had signs and a looping public address announcement imploring customers with special needs to seek our assistance. This was as far as our disability outreach went. When a man who could barely walk demanded help, our night produce manager (later my Best Man) Brett had to push him up and down the aisles on a swivel chair. That man later refused to be checked out by a woman.

What does this have to do with the Malibu Sands? Well, nothing, really. But since I very much enjoyed working a crappy job with a bunch of friends, I'm sure working a crappy job with a bunch of friends in Malibu would be far superior. Even with the irascible Leon Carosi as boss.