Job Schmob

By Tiber

As I‘ve said, since I lost my job, I’ve been back living full-time at my parents’ house. With my old bedroom up here on the third floor, they still don’t know and I figure once I get a new job, I can move out again and they’ll never have to know.

So I went on a job interview today. I looked good. I felt good. I arrived at the office where they were hiring and I rode up on the elevator with some other guy. Was he going for the same job? He looked pretty average. Less than average.

We both got out on the same floor just as two employees passed by, saying that the company was only going to interview one more person. I eyed the clown next to me and the two of us took off running full-tilt down the hall, towards the company’s doors.

We both saw the two executives coming out of said doors and the clown made what I have to admit was possibly the better decision. He stopped.

I kept going, however, and sailed over the execs’ frantically ducking heads, as if they were high-jump hurdles. I did clear them, which I think somebody ought to be grateful for. But then I landed on the receptionist’s polished desk, skidded across it and sailed right onto a table where a cake was being set out to celebrate another employee’s new citizenship.

My shoes took out half the cake but really, what was worse was that the resume I was clutching in my hand met the match of the girl who’d been lighting the cake candles and caught fire. The woman, whose “Congratulations, Citizen Alma” party it was, mistakenly thought, since I now was holding a flaming torch in my hand, that I’d been hired for her party to impersonate the Statue of Liberty. There was a split second, when I thought, hey, maybe I can at least get paid for that, and I proudly held my resume torch up high, when of course, another split second of thought would have reminded me of the fire sprinklers.

The woman in the ruined red outfit (as opposed to the women in all the other drenched, ruined colors) must have known I sometimes play sports because she tried to make me a new cup from an ice bucket. Despite the pain, I would have thanked her for her accurate choice in the size department but Security was already escorting me out of the building. I think the usual line is “Clean out your desk and Security will escort you out of the building.”

I never even got the desk.

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