Hey Bloggers,
I hope I don't dissapoint or lose my faithful readers, but I feel my blog is about to branch out in new directions. I'm for reals, ya'll (that one's for JD, one of my underground blogfans). My life isn't funny or interesting enough to blog as much as I would like; therefore, my blog will henceforth become more of a journal. The unavoidable result is that some future blogs may be serious, boring, annoying, inflammatory, offensive, gassy, etc. I apologize to my readers if this is a turn off, but I love to write and this freedom should enable me to write more frequently. The beautiful thing is that you don't have to read it.
Also, thanks to the infamous JD, I have graciously acquired some recording software to begin working on my freshman album "Spaded" or "Songs from a Drivethru Window." I also hope to colaborate with his band Murky Forest for some instrumental tracks on their sophomore album. I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, I will continue posting lyrics from the songs so that you can begin committing them to memory for future campfire sing-a-longs.
Thanks to everyone for you patronage.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Could it get any hooter, I mean hotter in here?
Dearest Bloggers,
It has been a fortnight since my last post, for I have been hard-pressed of late to find the quality of blogging material that my fine young readers expect and demand with a tyrannical appetite. And no, I don't talk like this in real life. I just prefer my blogs to come off like an episode of "Dawson's Creek" (props to Lynne for whom that reference would have been impossible to make without). The story that follows is an emotional rollercoaster for me and is the fantastic conclusion of one of my lifelong ambitions. On the other hand, it is an embarassing and incriminating story that is intended for mature audiences for sexual humor and partial nudity. The following happened between the hours of 12pm and 3pm on January 09, 2007.
It was a slow day at work, so I was already planning on taking longer than my usual hour at lunch. Because of my previous holiday travels, it was time to get the oil changed. Hooters restaurant is the only eating establishment within walking distance of the Big 10 Tires, so this is where I usually eat when I get my oil changed. It just gives me another lame excuse for going there beside all the other lies that justify it like "They have great wings" or "The prices are reasonable." When everyone knows the real reason I or any other XY chromosome darkens the door of said establishment . . . the sweet tea.
I am always leary of oil changes because I feel like I am being taken advantage of. There is always something wrong. This time, it was my drive axle. And being the "turn the other cheek/take my cloak too" kind of guy, I always give in to the recommended repairs. Lucky for me, Hooters had plenty of sweet tea to quench my thirst for my lunch date would be much longer than expected.
So that you can truly visualize and appreciate this little scenario, I will go into Tolkienish detail(I know Jules will appreciate this, sorry to all others).
Upon opening the door to the diner, I raised my sunglasses and propped them on top of my temple. I was casually attired in khaki Dockers slacks with an green plaid Ivy Crew long-sleeved button up shirt, untucked of course (spared no expense). I carried two textbooks under my left arm to study during lunch. I often carry things with my left arm as a form of exercise so that it can keep up with the exponential growth of my dominant right arm. The smaller of the two textbooks was an exotic animal drug formulary. The much thicker and more impressive of the textbooks was that of avian medicine and surgery, 3rd edition.
The fragrance of chicken wings and draft beer flooded my olfactory. I looked around for a hostess only to spy a long legged Asian beauty on roller skates and the custom issue orange and white coming my way from across the restaurant. I watched as she gracefully threaded the traffic and tables in a serpentine pattern and listened to the sound of her wheels on the hardwood floor. She asked me what I was studying, and I humbly told her. Her eyes grew to twice their size when she heard the word "medicine." I could only foolishly think to myself, "Maybe, this doctor thing does work after all."
Throughout my meal of wings, fried pickles, and delicious sweet tea, my waitress kept sitting down with me, flipping through my textbooks and asking me questions about my job, telling me about her chinchilla, and making other small talk. It was honestly nice to have someone to talk to, but I figured she was just working on a big tip. After I finished my meal, I recieved the call from Big 10 to find that my stay at Hooters would be much longer. I could have left, but 3 hours in Hooters is far more entertaining than 3 hours at Big 10 watching one of the three TV channels they pick up with the antenna.
After eating and about 30 minutes of post-prandial studying, my ADD was kickin' in, yeah. I soon found my section of the restaurant was quickly accumulating waitresses. Apparently, I had been seated in the section where Hooters' girls hang out when business is slow. In short time, I was surrounded by scantily clad women with unnatural proportions and even more unnatural pseudo-tan legs. There is suprisingly a lot to be learned from these wing-slinging wenches. They are really a carefree, funloving bunch. For one whose everyday work can be quite stressful, this was a most welcome relief.
Most of the tables around me were bubbling over with bittersweet excitement over a mandatory meeting that occurred previously that day. The guest speaker at said meeting was a local plastic surgeon who was offering payment plans for any Hooter girl who wanted discount breast augmentation. It turns out that Hooters corporation strongly encourages female employees to have work done to help the overall industry and boost third quarter earnings. (I wonder if the male employees feel left out.) Most of the girls were giddy with excitement and were shamelessly handling their business right in front of me trying to imagine what they would look like when the metamorphisis is complete. When I finally quit staring, my waitress asked me my opinion. I honestly said that I was a little disgusted by it, which was obviously the correct answer for her. She said she was never getting any work done, and we continued to discuss how unfortunate it is that some women resort to such lengths to either feel good about themselves, impress someone, or even make more money. I earned some definite brownie points for my staunch opinion on this matter.
I was suprised at how persistent my waitress was at working on that tip. She ended up staying at my table for 1.5 hours talking to me, only to get up a few times to check on her other tables. I actually had quite a nice time hanging out. We watched scrabble on ESPN (that could be a whole blog in itself). We talked about our lives and what we do when we are not working. She told me some stories about some guys she had punched out, you know, the basic ice breaker small talk.
Overall, the experience was interesting. With that many beautiful women around me touching themselves, I finally felt like the rock star that I have always aspired to be. Now, I can just go back to being a humble public servant. But maybe one day in 3,000 miles, I will see my Asian angel again and give her that tip she worked so very hard for.
It has been a fortnight since my last post, for I have been hard-pressed of late to find the quality of blogging material that my fine young readers expect and demand with a tyrannical appetite. And no, I don't talk like this in real life. I just prefer my blogs to come off like an episode of "Dawson's Creek" (props to Lynne for whom that reference would have been impossible to make without). The story that follows is an emotional rollercoaster for me and is the fantastic conclusion of one of my lifelong ambitions. On the other hand, it is an embarassing and incriminating story that is intended for mature audiences for sexual humor and partial nudity. The following happened between the hours of 12pm and 3pm on January 09, 2007.
It was a slow day at work, so I was already planning on taking longer than my usual hour at lunch. Because of my previous holiday travels, it was time to get the oil changed. Hooters restaurant is the only eating establishment within walking distance of the Big 10 Tires, so this is where I usually eat when I get my oil changed. It just gives me another lame excuse for going there beside all the other lies that justify it like "They have great wings" or "The prices are reasonable." When everyone knows the real reason I or any other XY chromosome darkens the door of said establishment . . . the sweet tea.
I am always leary of oil changes because I feel like I am being taken advantage of. There is always something wrong. This time, it was my drive axle. And being the "turn the other cheek/take my cloak too" kind of guy, I always give in to the recommended repairs. Lucky for me, Hooters had plenty of sweet tea to quench my thirst for my lunch date would be much longer than expected.
So that you can truly visualize and appreciate this little scenario, I will go into Tolkienish detail(I know Jules will appreciate this, sorry to all others).
Upon opening the door to the diner, I raised my sunglasses and propped them on top of my temple. I was casually attired in khaki Dockers slacks with an green plaid Ivy Crew long-sleeved button up shirt, untucked of course (spared no expense). I carried two textbooks under my left arm to study during lunch. I often carry things with my left arm as a form of exercise so that it can keep up with the exponential growth of my dominant right arm. The smaller of the two textbooks was an exotic animal drug formulary. The much thicker and more impressive of the textbooks was that of avian medicine and surgery, 3rd edition.
The fragrance of chicken wings and draft beer flooded my olfactory. I looked around for a hostess only to spy a long legged Asian beauty on roller skates and the custom issue orange and white coming my way from across the restaurant. I watched as she gracefully threaded the traffic and tables in a serpentine pattern and listened to the sound of her wheels on the hardwood floor. She asked me what I was studying, and I humbly told her. Her eyes grew to twice their size when she heard the word "medicine." I could only foolishly think to myself, "Maybe, this doctor thing does work after all."
Throughout my meal of wings, fried pickles, and delicious sweet tea, my waitress kept sitting down with me, flipping through my textbooks and asking me questions about my job, telling me about her chinchilla, and making other small talk. It was honestly nice to have someone to talk to, but I figured she was just working on a big tip. After I finished my meal, I recieved the call from Big 10 to find that my stay at Hooters would be much longer. I could have left, but 3 hours in Hooters is far more entertaining than 3 hours at Big 10 watching one of the three TV channels they pick up with the antenna.
After eating and about 30 minutes of post-prandial studying, my ADD was kickin' in, yeah. I soon found my section of the restaurant was quickly accumulating waitresses. Apparently, I had been seated in the section where Hooters' girls hang out when business is slow. In short time, I was surrounded by scantily clad women with unnatural proportions and even more unnatural pseudo-tan legs. There is suprisingly a lot to be learned from these wing-slinging wenches. They are really a carefree, funloving bunch. For one whose everyday work can be quite stressful, this was a most welcome relief.
Most of the tables around me were bubbling over with bittersweet excitement over a mandatory meeting that occurred previously that day. The guest speaker at said meeting was a local plastic surgeon who was offering payment plans for any Hooter girl who wanted discount breast augmentation. It turns out that Hooters corporation strongly encourages female employees to have work done to help the overall industry and boost third quarter earnings. (I wonder if the male employees feel left out.) Most of the girls were giddy with excitement and were shamelessly handling their business right in front of me trying to imagine what they would look like when the metamorphisis is complete. When I finally quit staring, my waitress asked me my opinion. I honestly said that I was a little disgusted by it, which was obviously the correct answer for her. She said she was never getting any work done, and we continued to discuss how unfortunate it is that some women resort to such lengths to either feel good about themselves, impress someone, or even make more money. I earned some definite brownie points for my staunch opinion on this matter.
I was suprised at how persistent my waitress was at working on that tip. She ended up staying at my table for 1.5 hours talking to me, only to get up a few times to check on her other tables. I actually had quite a nice time hanging out. We watched scrabble on ESPN (that could be a whole blog in itself). We talked about our lives and what we do when we are not working. She told me some stories about some guys she had punched out, you know, the basic ice breaker small talk.
Overall, the experience was interesting. With that many beautiful women around me touching themselves, I finally felt like the rock star that I have always aspired to be. Now, I can just go back to being a humble public servant. But maybe one day in 3,000 miles, I will see my Asian angel again and give her that tip she worked so very hard for.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Worst Christmas Ever
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through my head
were feelings of nausea and desire to be dead.
Sorry, Bloggers. I thought I had it in me to recreate this holiday masterpiece to describe what was my holiday nightmare, but my creative license has not been renewed just yet.
Christmas Eve, as I lay there with visions of sugarplums dancing, I tried to contort my body into a fetal position, for there was no room on the couch. I could not sleep, for I had an uncomfortable feeling of restlessness and anxiety that I could not shake. I thought I might just be nervous Santa would not show with me in the living room to catch him, but I quickly dismissed this as nonsense. Nonsense, because Santa is too fast to see with the naked eye anyway. He's like Matrix fast. Nevertheless, the anxiety never left. Like a spirit, it haunted me all night. I honestly prayed just to make it to morning as I counted down every hour, but it was hopeless. The dreaded beast was upon me.
It was 5 am, Christmas day. I had almost made it to daybreak, but the beast was fast at my heels. I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck, and I thought I heard him whisper, "Look, it's Santa." Foolishly I turned forgetting about the whole Santa/Keanu thing, and that's when the beast sucker-punched me in the gut.
I emptied my stomach (to try to put it nicely) about every two hours until about 3 that afternoon. You see, instead of stuffing myself and gaining some weight this Christmas, the Burger King I ate the day before had other plans. Oh, I'm sorry B.K. I can't prove it was you that poisoned me, and even if I could, I can't stay mad at you with all your cool video games. But if anyone is looking for a great crash diet, I will gladly give you the address of this fine establishment.
I did not move far from that couch for the next three days. I royally ruined all of my family's holiday plans because they all felt guilty leaving me there alone. But I did get to take in alot of crappy television and film. Do you mind if I share a few with you? I didn't think so.
1. The Today Show
Not really a lot I can say bad about this show. The people seem fairly normal except they are really happy and excited that it is morning.
2. Live with Regis and Kelly
The only thing saving this show is the Rege. He is pretty funny, and I think he knows that his show and his cohort are a joke. But I don't think he minds because it is easy and money is pretty good. Kelly is really annoying, and is lucky she is pretty.
3. Martha Stewart
This is ridiculous. She pulls out about 15 different items you need to take care of your shoes, and the audience goes nuts. Who has time to do all this stuff? I would have to take a day off from work just to do some annual maintenance on my Newbies. She also brags too much about how she used to model in France. I think I would respect her more if she bragged about how she used to be in jail and show us some of those cool prison tats that she got.
4. Oprah
Nevermind.
5. Teletubbies
I really don't want to talk about these guys because everytime I do, I can feel my blood pressure increasing.
a. What are these "things" teaching our children? They barely speak the Queen's English, and when they do it is always in fragments.
b. They always watch these stupid movies on their bellies which takes up the majority of the episode because they watch it twice. The only good thing to be said about the video is that at least it is usually in English and can be educational if you catch the metaphors. When I was four, I was catching metaphors, but I am a rare exception.
c. The gay one, Tinky Winky, I believe his name is. I know we can't prove he is gay, but everyone suspects it. Well my gaydar was going off on the episode I watched where he was running around carrying a purse. Come on BBC, won't someone think of the children?
6. A Different World
This many angry black people scare the white out of me.
Well, I think that is enough for now, for I'm sure I have offended and scared enough of my readers, of which there are two.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Confession
Dear Baby Jesus,
Please forgive me for wasting 30 minutes of my existence while watching the last half of the new hit reality show "Identity" hosted by the everso charismatic Penn of the magical duo Penn and Teller while waiting on an hour-long rerun of "The Office" to air. I also would like to petition you for the strength to repent and break my addiction for writing ridiculous run-on sentences with unnecessary alliteration and feeling proud of myself for it. I know this is a pathetic waste of precious blog space and an uncouth slap in the face of those who wake up every morning and have to live with poor grammar skills.
Thank you for the chicken-flavored Ramen noodles that you have provided for me and a large pot where I can cook up a lovely double-batch for my dinner.
Thank you for my Casio keyboard on which I just so brilliantly picked out the theme song from "The Office." Thank you for using this to show me why I am still single.
Please give me sufficient rest and pleasant dreams tonight even if I stay up late and watch Family Guy and Aquateen Hungerforce on Cartoon Network so that tomorrow at work I won't try to spay a male cat.
Thank you reading my blog. Feel free to drop me a comment.
P.S.
Thank you for all the endorsements that made this blog possible.
Please forgive me for wasting 30 minutes of my existence while watching the last half of the new hit reality show "Identity" hosted by the everso charismatic Penn of the magical duo Penn and Teller while waiting on an hour-long rerun of "The Office" to air. I also would like to petition you for the strength to repent and break my addiction for writing ridiculous run-on sentences with unnecessary alliteration and feeling proud of myself for it. I know this is a pathetic waste of precious blog space and an uncouth slap in the face of those who wake up every morning and have to live with poor grammar skills.
Thank you for the chicken-flavored Ramen noodles that you have provided for me and a large pot where I can cook up a lovely double-batch for my dinner.
Thank you for my Casio keyboard on which I just so brilliantly picked out the theme song from "The Office." Thank you for using this to show me why I am still single.
Please give me sufficient rest and pleasant dreams tonight even if I stay up late and watch Family Guy and Aquateen Hungerforce on Cartoon Network so that tomorrow at work I won't try to spay a male cat.
Thank you reading my blog. Feel free to drop me a comment.
P.S.
Thank you for all the endorsements that made this blog possible.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Blogger? Hardly knew her
Style: To be sung to the tune of "Yesterday" by The Beatles
Yesterday. The prettiest client ever looked my way, but I was at a loss of what to say. So I began to vaccinate.
Suddenly. I'm not half the vet I used to be, and her cat's claws are sinking into me. Three explicatives came suddenly.
Why she was so hot, I knew not, she wouldn't say.
I said not enough cooler stuff to make her staaaay.
Yesterday. "Wow!" was all that I could think to say. My female staff considered going gay. Oh, I can't believe I made her pay.
Why she had to leave, I want to heave for what I said.
I stared a bit too long, and now this song's stuck in my heaaad.
Yesterdead (Sorry, I had to rhyme with head.)
Yesterday. The prettiest client ever looked my way, but I was at a loss of what to say. So I began to vaccinate.
Suddenly. I'm not half the vet I used to be, and her cat's claws are sinking into me. Three explicatives came suddenly.
Why she was so hot, I knew not, she wouldn't say.
I said not enough cooler stuff to make her staaaay.
Yesterday. "Wow!" was all that I could think to say. My female staff considered going gay. Oh, I can't believe I made her pay.
Why she had to leave, I want to heave for what I said.
I stared a bit too long, and now this song's stuck in my heaaad.
Yesterdead (Sorry, I had to rhyme with head.)
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Table for Two
Hey Blogheads,
If anyone is still reading my nonsensical ravings and was wondering, yes I am still using my George W thesaurus. For this week's installment, I would like to reconsider two humorous observations I made this week.
The first act opens with two young men in their late 20s to early 30s entering an upscale Mexican restaurant. Both of our heroes are casually dressed and moderately attractive. Both characters are immediately and violently pierced by the jagged stares and furrowed brows of other restaurant patrons. The two young men look at each other each having a certain uneasiness in their eyes. The host greets them. "Table for two," he cries out like a death sentence at a decibel that the guy on the deep fryer comes out to get a good look. The two humiliated men are led to a table with the best lighting right in the middle of the restaurant and hesitantly sit down.
In hindsight, I should have ordered a beer instead of a cosmopolitan. But seriously, it is an unfortunate circumstance in the 21st century the connotation that is assumed when two decent looking gentlemen enter a dining establishment at night. I am not here to judge because I have been guilty of the inquisitive stares as well. But being on the recieving end is no picnic. It doesn't stop at restaurants, I have recieved these looks in grocery stores, coffee shops, church, etc. Well, maybe not church, not yet at least. I don't think I'm alone in these feelings. I feel that there are more of us heteros out there who are being wrongly accused just because we enjoy having dinner with a friend who just happens to be a guy. Girls can luckily get away with it, and here are two theories why. It is either because it is more acceptable for two girls to hang out alone or lesbianism is not frowned on as much as two dudes.
The second act will also probably not be appreciated due to lack of experience on the readers' part. Therefore, I would like to include a homework assignment in this brief story. The other day when I was killing time before a job interview, I went to a local guitar store. The thing that always makes me laugh about these stores is the cacophony of noise that is produced by an army of electric guitars cranked up to eleven with enough distortion to make Metallica blush. Saturdays are the best time to go. This is when all the middle/high school rockers are there showing off for their peers. This past Saturday, I was fortunate to witness four of these prep-school hippies wearing their backwards hats fully equipped with self-inflicted scuff marks and fraying, and all four were rocking out simultaneously to different tunes in different time signatures. I know none of my readers (if anyone still reads this crap) appreciate this now. I want you to, desparately I do. So, I challenge you to visit a store over the holidays and report back to me on the comments with what you saw, heard, and smelled. This assignment is worth 100 points which represents 1/4 of your overall grade for this semester. Don't dissapoint me.
If anyone is still reading my nonsensical ravings and was wondering, yes I am still using my George W thesaurus. For this week's installment, I would like to reconsider two humorous observations I made this week.
The first act opens with two young men in their late 20s to early 30s entering an upscale Mexican restaurant. Both of our heroes are casually dressed and moderately attractive. Both characters are immediately and violently pierced by the jagged stares and furrowed brows of other restaurant patrons. The two young men look at each other each having a certain uneasiness in their eyes. The host greets them. "Table for two," he cries out like a death sentence at a decibel that the guy on the deep fryer comes out to get a good look. The two humiliated men are led to a table with the best lighting right in the middle of the restaurant and hesitantly sit down.
In hindsight, I should have ordered a beer instead of a cosmopolitan. But seriously, it is an unfortunate circumstance in the 21st century the connotation that is assumed when two decent looking gentlemen enter a dining establishment at night. I am not here to judge because I have been guilty of the inquisitive stares as well. But being on the recieving end is no picnic. It doesn't stop at restaurants, I have recieved these looks in grocery stores, coffee shops, church, etc. Well, maybe not church, not yet at least. I don't think I'm alone in these feelings. I feel that there are more of us heteros out there who are being wrongly accused just because we enjoy having dinner with a friend who just happens to be a guy. Girls can luckily get away with it, and here are two theories why. It is either because it is more acceptable for two girls to hang out alone or lesbianism is not frowned on as much as two dudes.
The second act will also probably not be appreciated due to lack of experience on the readers' part. Therefore, I would like to include a homework assignment in this brief story. The other day when I was killing time before a job interview, I went to a local guitar store. The thing that always makes me laugh about these stores is the cacophony of noise that is produced by an army of electric guitars cranked up to eleven with enough distortion to make Metallica blush. Saturdays are the best time to go. This is when all the middle/high school rockers are there showing off for their peers. This past Saturday, I was fortunate to witness four of these prep-school hippies wearing their backwards hats fully equipped with self-inflicted scuff marks and fraying, and all four were rocking out simultaneously to different tunes in different time signatures. I know none of my readers (if anyone still reads this crap) appreciate this now. I want you to, desparately I do. So, I challenge you to visit a store over the holidays and report back to me on the comments with what you saw, heard, and smelled. This assignment is worth 100 points which represents 1/4 of your overall grade for this semester. Don't dissapoint me.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
New Job
Dear Bloggerinos,
I was just settling down to a warm bowl of chicken soup pie. It's actually quite good, and if you would like some for your Christmas dinner table, you had better get your orders in soon. For simplicity just include your order with the usual comments and praise of yours truly.
I got a new job yesterday, and I wasn't even looking for one. It just goes to show how much God loves and wants to bless us. It was one of those spontaneous job interviews to see how well I thought on my feet. Obviously, I did quite well. Starting this Monday, I will be tying bags closed in a secure fashion so little fish cannot escape into the floorboard of automobiles thus making small children cry. That really is my job description. Unfortunately, like my previous occupation, this too is a highly stressful job, but the hours are much better. This job really just fell into my lap. Let me tell you how it happened.
I was at the local pet store and was planning to purchase some roomates for my 5 year old fish "Buddy." There was no help in sight. So I sojourned down the dog biscuit aisle to find a young clerk arranging a display of doggy Christmas stockings. The following dialogue ensues:
Chris: "Excuse me, miss."
Charming Clerk: "What!?"
Chris: (Taken aback and fighting back laughter) "Could I possibly get assistance with some fish?"
Charming Clerk: "Michelle! You busy?"
Charming Clerk #2: "Yeah!"
Charming Clerk: "Ok, so you want some fish?"
Chris: "Yes, please."
Charming Clerk: "Alright. Sorry about saying 'What' earlier. It has been a long day, and I'm 'bout to get off. Which ones do you reckon you want."
Chris: "How 'bout. I mean how about one of these orange gouramis and that pleco there."
Charming Clerk: "Alright. Hey! Are they supposed to be that skinny? Oh my, look at that one. Ooh, that's gross. (As she pointed at a fish belly up in the adjacent tank with some scavenger fish taking advantage of their roomate's unfortunate mishap) My, they sure are tricky to catch. Got'em. Hey, do you mind tying this bag up so the fish don't get out. I would do it, but my hands are wet. That'll be $7 even, and you might want to keep your reciept in case one of them dies on you. There is a week's warranty.
And that is how I came to be an employee of the local pet store. Pretty smart interview process if you ask me. I'm sure it really weeds out those who can't handle the pressure when they are put on the spot. It will be such a privilege to work for someone who thinks outside of the box like that. The ironic part is that I had just come from another job interview and merely wanted to buy some fish. Well, needless to say, in the end they made me a better offer. The financial incentive was just icing on the pie; because honestly, they had me at "What?".
I was just settling down to a warm bowl of chicken soup pie. It's actually quite good, and if you would like some for your Christmas dinner table, you had better get your orders in soon. For simplicity just include your order with the usual comments and praise of yours truly.
I got a new job yesterday, and I wasn't even looking for one. It just goes to show how much God loves and wants to bless us. It was one of those spontaneous job interviews to see how well I thought on my feet. Obviously, I did quite well. Starting this Monday, I will be tying bags closed in a secure fashion so little fish cannot escape into the floorboard of automobiles thus making small children cry. That really is my job description. Unfortunately, like my previous occupation, this too is a highly stressful job, but the hours are much better. This job really just fell into my lap. Let me tell you how it happened.
I was at the local pet store and was planning to purchase some roomates for my 5 year old fish "Buddy." There was no help in sight. So I sojourned down the dog biscuit aisle to find a young clerk arranging a display of doggy Christmas stockings. The following dialogue ensues:
Chris: "Excuse me, miss."
Charming Clerk: "What!?"
Chris: (Taken aback and fighting back laughter) "Could I possibly get assistance with some fish?"
Charming Clerk: "Michelle! You busy?"
Charming Clerk #2: "Yeah!"
Charming Clerk: "Ok, so you want some fish?"
Chris: "Yes, please."
Charming Clerk: "Alright. Sorry about saying 'What' earlier. It has been a long day, and I'm 'bout to get off. Which ones do you reckon you want."
Chris: "How 'bout. I mean how about one of these orange gouramis and that pleco there."
Charming Clerk: "Alright. Hey! Are they supposed to be that skinny? Oh my, look at that one. Ooh, that's gross. (As she pointed at a fish belly up in the adjacent tank with some scavenger fish taking advantage of their roomate's unfortunate mishap) My, they sure are tricky to catch. Got'em. Hey, do you mind tying this bag up so the fish don't get out. I would do it, but my hands are wet. That'll be $7 even, and you might want to keep your reciept in case one of them dies on you. There is a week's warranty.
And that is how I came to be an employee of the local pet store. Pretty smart interview process if you ask me. I'm sure it really weeds out those who can't handle the pressure when they are put on the spot. It will be such a privilege to work for someone who thinks outside of the box like that. The ironic part is that I had just come from another job interview and merely wanted to buy some fish. Well, needless to say, in the end they made me a better offer. The financial incentive was just icing on the pie; because honestly, they had me at "What?".
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