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Having decided to devote himself to "Maps, Not Rocks," Clambo began to devote some of his thinking towards the attainment of a professional career. As impressive as two degrees are, Clambo had to face the facts that he only did it to bring up his woefully low GPA. He had to try to become a graduate student if he ever hoped to raise enough money to arm his clam army with more than spittle and mud.

Clambo applied to two universities in New York State, not wanting to move too far from the clam flats, his friends, and his current female companion (not necessarily in that order). Clambo waited impatiently to hear from these schools, and soon summer vacation became a reality. The Clam Messiah remained in Buffalo, searching for a job.

He applied to a few local temporary agencies, in an attempt to garner beer money (or is it clamwater?). Clambo was given what had to be his oddest job. He went to work as a clerk for Harlequin Books. You know the company that publishes the steamy romance novels? Same company.

The Messiah was put to work in the data entry department checking errors manually. Here was the modern day electronic sweatshop, workers hunched over terminals. If clams ran the world, this would never happen. Clambo hated his job, and he expressed this emotion every day by saying repeatedly, "I hate my job."

One of the tasks they had Clambo perform was checking to see if applicants to the book club lived in a prison. You see, in addition to the cheesy romances, Harlequin also published cheesy action adventure titles under a company they acquired called American Eagle. When you sign up for the book club you get a pen knife (as opposed to signing up under Harlequin where you get a set of cheap flatware or equally cheap jewelry). All of these items are dangerous in a prison, so when they do data entry the system didn't allow them to enter in anyone who was in the same zip code as a prison. Clambo had to manually check the address against a big book that had prison listings. The King of Clams did feel good about this part of the job, he was saving the lives of convicts and guards all over the country.

But the people who bossed Clambo around, as if he were a mere peasant, wanted to hire him for the whole summer. They asked him if he would like to work upstairs in the mail room. He would continue to work at the same wage during the same shift (4 - 12pm). The Clam Messiah told the bosses he'd have to think about it, knowing what his answer would be already. Can you guess what it would be, knowing that Clambo already had enough beer money for the summer?

As if to consolidate Clambo's decision, the Clamlord's boss began a tale. "We had one woman who was working in the mailroom who got her hand caught in the mail-sorting machine. She reached in to get a piece of mail that was stuck, I think she was wearing a bracelet, which she wasn't supposed to be doing. Anyway, the back of her hand got caught in the machine, and she had to have 85 stitches. There was so much blood, they had to clean it up with a mop."

Ho boy! This all sounded like more fun than clam leaders should be allowed to have! Clambo graciously said no. His employers insisted that this kind of thing didn't happen often, but Clambo knew that the world of romance novels was not in his future.

One night, after arriving home at 12:30 in the a.m., Clambo discovered that one of his friends had gotten sick all over the kitchen table. You see, this person had come over to play cards, and Clambo's roommate Tom had gotten him drunk. Clambo instantly declared, "I'm not cleaning it up. You got him drunk, you do it." And with that, Clambo headed out to spend his well-earned beer money. Upon returning home from the corner bar, Clambo discovered that the offending individual was still in his abode, threatening to get ill again.

Clambo and Tom lent one of God's most pitiful creatures what little help they could by giving him a blue washbasin (the "Blue Buddy") to be ill in. Then, they stayed up most of the night laughing at him. Clambo was still drinking a very large vodka and coke he had walked out of the bar with.

Early the next morning, Clambo was awakened by a very loud ringing phone. Tom answered it, and Clambo's pounding skull thanked him. Tom knocked on his door.

"It's SUNY-Binghamton on the phone," Tom said.

Clambo had heard from them a month before, and they had stated that they were thinking of accepting him. Clambo looked at the clock: 9am, four hours of sleep. He sat up quickly, grabbed the phone and said, "GOOD MORNING!" He utilized that exaggerated voice one uses with police and other officials to convince them of sobriety.

Apparently, Clambo had sat up too quickly because everything was spinning, and he felt some bile rise in his throat. The person on the other end announced that they were pleased to accept him to the Geography Department, and offered Clambo an assistantship. The offer was paid tuition, and a $7,300 stipend per year. Clambo fought to contain his excitement, and his lunch.

The departmental chairperson on the other end of the line told Clambo that he had to accept now, immediately, today. If he did not, his award would be given to someone else. Clambo had yet to hear from the other university. So he told the official on the phone that he would call her back in a couple of hours.

Clambo tried in vain to get through to SUNY-Albany for an hour, and only received a busy signal. Clambo, still hung over, and very tired, called SUNY-Binghamton and accepted.

To this day, when people ask Clambo why he went to school in Binghamton, he responds, "I was hung over when they called."