Yo! Brah!
I'm sitting in the cramped waiting area to which the bitchy secretary has banished me. I look up at all the plaques on the wall and snort to myself about the fact that they are all for making charitable contributions...not for any type of excellence. If they had a plaque up saying "Presented to [COMPANY NAME] for killing 1000 Grizzly Bears with their bare hands." then I would be impressed. These plaques were the equivalent of the "participant" ribbon I got every year in the grade school Olympics for coming in 1000th place in the slow kid relay. These were the kind of prize you get when you donate the monetary equivalent of a spray-painted, styrofoam ball diorama of the solar system in a shoe box to the science fair. Cheap fucks. No wonder they couldn't afford a pleasant receptionist. I sit there in the hard plastic chair and imagine-slash-wish hideous physical conditions on her that might justify her being ugly both on the inside and the outside. "I bet she has hemmerhoids the size of Manhattan." was my first thought. Then I gave her Mad Cow Disease. (In my head I used the words "Bovine Spongeform Encephalitis" because I am very proud that I know the real name and will trot out that nugget any chance I get...even in my own head.)
Just as I'm sitting down and looking at the questionable assortment of sport / car / pop culture magazines I could peruse, I hear his voice drift over the cubicle's 3/4 wall.
"Hey! Dude! I'll be right with you!"
Okay...first things first. If you're going to be shouting across the office anyway(s), what's the point of the receptionist? She could be out tripping people as they leave the bakery with their wedding cakes or biting mailmen or something. Secondly, Did you really just call me"dude"? I mean, if all the business etiquette classes I've snuck into are correct, shouldn't YOU be trying to impress ME as well? "Dude" does not impress, "Dude" says you've got serious issues abandoning your wild nights of date-rape and pseudo-homosexual ritualism from your time at Phi Omega Tau. (I made that up...you don't have to be in a fraternity to be a date-rapist...it's just more likely.)
He comes sweeping around the corner and in a moment I size him up, as he does the same to me. He is shorter than he likes to be, wears what GSG calls "low power shoes" (She is my point person for all shoe related facts. Seriously. If you could solve global warming with shoes, she'd know how to do it.), and is balding in that way that says "I'm really uncomfortable about my hair loss, so I'll mask it by acting like a frat boy." He, of course, sees me as a handsome, swashbuckling, rogue-scoundrel-genius. That's how everyone sees me. Especially me.
Him: So, Did you have any problem finding your way here, Bro?
Me: Nope. No trouble.
Him: Alllright! Well...just sit down here in this conference room and I'll be right back! You want a Red Bull?
Me: No, thanks. I'm good.
He doesn't high-five me at this point. The universe collectively gasps in amazement.
We sit down and have the interview. He is flailing around in his chair like someone is trying to light his balls on fire. He asks the necessary questions. And when I give honest answers that show my concern about not meeting all the criteria set forth in the job description he comes back with "Yo! You could totally do this job, Dude. Trust me."
Anyone who says "Trust me." is trying to fuck you. It's a known fact. Like the capital of Texas, or that I am a fantastic lover.
So we do a little more interviewing, but basically he says he's going to "put a good word in for ya, brah!" when he talks to the actual employer.
I have to take a moment and sit you down to discus the word "brah". "Brah" is only appropriate if your name is Keenu Reeves and you're playing a character named Bodhi* opposite Patrick Swayze in a movie about surfing. Otherwise, you'd be better off just screaming into a megaphone. "I'm a douche!" Like maybe sing it to the Lone Ranger theme: "I'm a douche! I'm a douche! I'm a douche, douche,douche!" "Brah" indicates you are so severely disconnected with your own reality that you actually think you are cool enough to pull this atrocity of speech off. You're not. No one is. (Except Bodhi).
After it's over, I exchange surly parting glances with the AA, and try to work feeling back into my mangled hand. Turns out someone likes to play the "Squish your fingers with my rugged handshake" game. He was sweaty too, which made the whole thing like shaking hands with a mop-wringer. I walk back to Ham, fiddling with my keys and wondering if maybe I'm being tricked in some way. Seems like the only possible explanation.
*I actually had to go to the Point Break IMDB page to verify he was called Bodhi in the movie...he was, except I was spelling it "Body", which my English-speaking friends tell me is pronounced differently. Thanks, fuckers!
totally point break....without the masks or such stuff. wonder what chemicals would their hair show - oh wait, he's losing his. it must be those brain sucking lights from Joe versus the Volcano. (the movie Tom and Meg are ashamed they made)
and FIRST! LOL
On this blog,"Only!!" might be more appropriate. :)
Hail Kip, he's back!
"You want a Red Bull?" Bwahahahahahaaaaaa! It never fails to KILL me when people offer that, brah! It says, "We're driven around these here parts!"
Someone waived me on at a stop sign last night and it made me miss your blogs:p Darn you straight to Heck.
~OM
Well I'm back now and I did miss all this. It was good to take a break though. Had a chance to recharge and think up some new shit. Wo0t!
This is my favorite line: "He is flailing around in his chair like someone is trying to light his balls on fire." That visual brightened my morning. :)
My 5 year old has recently started saying "Trust me" every time he wants something. Last night I told him, "I trust you... but not on this."
Oh, wait! Dude, am I supposed to be talking about you, BRAH? LOL! Because if you say "dude" you can also use "brah" in the same sentence. Trust me!!! (Grease is oozing off my red bulls.)
What a bizarre "interview." Run, dude, run!!!!
...CajunSoleil
If it were a direct hire position...instead of an agency, I would be long gone. Now I'm just interested to see if this putz can get me an interview.
On this blog "only"???
Pfft you still have a loyal swarm of swallowers.. or is that followers?
Eh, same difference.
We're still here reading there's just no kudo's so we get confused.
~wink~
Hey! Hi!
I continue to be stunned by all the people who still read this silly crap.
Yay me!
You should totally take this job, dude.
No one has probably ever complained about your wild nights of date-rape and pseudo-homosexual ritualism.
What did you used to call them again?
Oh right...Wednesday.
I hate to do this, because it solidifies my tool-ness. If a girl can be a tool. But Bodhi is Patrick Swayze, and you say he plays opposite him. Reeves is Utah.
*hangs head in shame*
So, seriously, "Dude", "Red Bull" and "Bro(Brah)" all on ONE interview? That is freaking amazing!
HAHHAHHAHHAHAHA!! I even looked it up! Holy Shit. A+ for you!
I am the tool and now I have to fire my fact checker. (Also me).
Awesome.
I can still remember when the surf scene finally hit Milwaukee back in the late 90s. The first time a guy called me bra I shot back, whatever g-string.
The effort I put forth in trying to hold in a guffaw while reading the "light his balls on fire" bit with my boss 3 feet away and unaware was monumental. I think I strained something...
@floyd: I remember when it hit Pittsburgh. It was like a wave of idiocy that swept across the nation leaving us all to call each other "Bro" and wonder if we sounded like as big a tool as we felt.
@Sungodly: My work here is done. Hope you didn't rupture anything!
He's a lazy arsed interviewer. He didn't want to be there, didn't want to give you the job but was too damned polite to call you and put it off.
That or he fancied you...
Dude, you only get a high-five when you ACCEPT the Red Bull invite. Duh! I spent a LOT of time in frat houses in college in AUSTIN (the capital of Texas, so you know it's good) and became the "Norm" of the party circuit, so I'm a qualified frat translator. They were actually not a bunch of date-rapists, but we're talking the late 90s and girls were really easy and stuff.
Dude, we should SO have another DISCO party!
@foxx: Well, who could blame him really?
@xo12: Oh I was just funning about the frat boys. They are a lot less rapey than I make them out to be, I'm sure.
Is that the office you'd be working in? I'd watch out, there seems to be a lot of perineal discomfort going around.
(I almost wrote a rash of perineal problems, but that's just silly.)
The Lone Ranger song made me laugh out loud.
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