How to get an interview here!

Our recent craigslist ad for a dishwasher got the following epic response!

Ahoy Citizens of Gilt Club,

I humbly offer, in consideration for the roll of Dishwasher, my talents as an adaptable and tenacious young gent with the qualities to to be a devastatingly skilled scourer of dishware.

When you lock cold gaze on the aspiring young cubs who come throwing down their charters of apprenticeship before you, upon what axis are you evaluating their fitness for the cleansing of cutlery? It is written (it is now) that the courage beating in the ribs of the true soap-thegn comes from the treacherous road of surfactants of stubbornness. What glyphs are spelled by the surprise on those faces when they go untouched by rain? They say: This person was not born to the crash of tin and blasting purification of glass; no, this one has earned it through hell-bent audacity.

We are past that age when lead and calcium warred for the sanity of emperors, yet amongst ten thousand sweltering armies of pans and ladles live the waiting spirits of submerged Theran amphoras, born in ancient ablutions of lye and saltwater. There is no doubt in our minds. Some are not meant for the scalding mists of this place--then to some others are given the hearts to see past the bleached wastes of feast-bowls to the gleam as of those Zagros-glazed Babylonian gates, to subsist on the ambient nutrition of kitchen din and gallows humor.

I mean to say: I can wash dishes. A year ago I went to visit my old school pals. .....I did not warn them ahead of time. I arrived on the outskirts of the town, threw most of my luggage into a dry creek and walked to campus, a ghost in the sunset. I had come unprepared--I was vain of this fact, probably for the sake of impressing a woman.
I knew little and less.

I stumbled at last upon the apartment where I expected to find a few old comrades, details of address slyly (I thought) pilfered from old unsecured records. None were home. Around, the wheatlands rustled warm and humid and dark. The rain woke, slow and thick, and I went back to this deserted house and leaned against the doorframe. Behind me the unlatched portal swung open slowly beneath the idle push of my elbow. I entered, announcing myself hesitantly. No one. The signs did not match my expectations. Placards with feminine names adorned some of the hallway doors. I had been too long without sleep to care. I settled on the couch and waited, dozing in and out of waking.

I stirred to the sounds of the rain outside intensifying and dim memory of half-heard unfamiliar voices that must have passed earlier. Dawn imminent, I was then nearly sure that my information was obsolete and my pals since moved out. I remained uncertain whether any who abided there had failed to interrupt my rest through ignorance or gentleness, but I felt grateful for their hospitality, even if it was accidental. I tarried for the house to awaken, hoping the current residents could offer some direction as to where my friends had moved on to. In the kitchen sinks I went to work, meditating over the cleansing of a young household's long accumulated store of dirtied and abandoned diningware.

Murky daylight and the yawn-filled greeting of a confused resident saw me almost finished with the task, dripping bowls stacked high, sponge molded to my grasp. Some few minutes later I was faced with the other housemates to whom I explained my circumstance. They were very understanding and accommodating, offering details to the new lodgings of the comrades in question. Know: This is hospitality.
The wandering into mistaken houses has not (alas) quite become habit, but skirmishes with cauldron and goblet have. Those trespassers who fell beneath onslaught of Telemakhean dart might have learned a lesson from stint at basin and bristle. We did not come here to do small things: To rinse a bowl is a gateway offering, a shout of claim over a new castle, a last quiet farewell to fading valley pass. Glacial melt, silty eddy, soaked clay, tidal foam--the hand knows all these and would know them again.

I mean to say! I want to wash dishes for you folk. You need someone to sanctify sullied serving ware-- Who goes into the forest of silver and baked clay? Whose hands are sped, strengthened by daydreams, coiled unto precision in that fog where eyes fail? I would be that dishwasher.

I am available to work any days and hours. I can be reached at any time, (503) xxx-xxxx or by this email address. Thank you for your consideration.