Archive Articles

Dreams of Fish
Fragments
The Seven Deadly Social Sins
My Enemy
San Francisco, Strippers, and Satan
New Town
Interviews with the People in My Neighborhood
First Dateh
Reunion
Tasty Recipes
Job Search, Pt. 1
Republic, Pt. 2
Scientology
The Girl Who Works at Tower Records on Thursday Afternoons
Meat Market
Fun Pranks
My Best Friend is My Dentist
Tips For Scoring With the Ladies...

Linsroll

Job Search, Pt. 1

My last job paid well and had a distinguished title. The company was a darling of the business world and a goldmine at the stock market. People would ask me what I did for a living and, when I told them the company and the position, they would say "Wow. I can't picture you as the type to work there." Apparently, the company did not think so either and I was laid off after eight months.

As he walked me out, my former boss shook my hand vigorously and wished me the best as he told me what a pleasure it was to work with me and of how he admired my skills. As I have done in the same situation many times before, I questioned his sexuality. When he didn’t respond, I asked him if he wanted to take a close, close look at my genitals. He seemed very angry and acted like he wanted to hit me, but I'm sure that deep down inside, he got the joke. Even if he didn't, I wasn't bothered. It was just one less job reference and another burned bridge. Sure, there were several thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of bridges on that list, but what did it matter? There must have been many, many more – up to a dozen left, all seasoned for a burning.

There was a severance package that fortified my already decent savings account. Fortunately for me, I had already been saving up for months to buy a car much like the Firebird from the hit 80s movie, Smokey and the Bandit. Several thousands of dollars were already stowed away in a savings account. As usual my love and admiration for Burt Reynolds had paid off. Unfortunately for me, though, I would not own a vintage 1982 Pontiac Firebird anytime soon. Cash, for once, wasn't a pressing issue. A better future, however, was.

There were many opportunities open. I could find another job or I could stay at home. I could help others or I could help myself. With all of the choices laid out in front of me, it was hard to make a decision. Instead, I decided to turn to the bottle. It was a wise move. Drinking turned out to be a lot of fun. The days turned into nights and the nights brought adventure. Along with having daily hangovers and getting convicted for public urination and drunk driving, I had also managed to lose all of my friends. It was clear that I should stop, but I was not born a quitter. When my money ran out, it was decision time again and I decided to let the world around me determine my next career.

Crime was on the rise. My apartment was located alongside a high school and once I went to my car to discover two kids smoking “grass” in my carport. As they walked away briskly I yelled to them, “YOU YOUNGSTERS QUIT YOUR SHENANIGANS AND GET YOUR WICKED REEFER OFF OF MY PROPERTY!!!” Even those ruthless words could not describe how angry I was. If the police were there, I thought to myself, they would certainly have taken care of those hooligans, incarcerating them and taking away their “wacky weed.” It angered me that kids these days would show up just anywhere thinking they could smoke their “dope.” I decided that I would be a cop.

Being a policeman, I would have been able to do what I have always secretly fantasized about for years: putting kids, minorities, and poor people in jail where they all belonged. I made the drive to the local station to fill out the application but was disappointed to find that people with prior criminal records were not allowed on the force. Personally, I felt that my record should be overlooked on the basis of my enthusiasm and, besides, how serious of a crime is indecent exposure? Now there’s a victimless crime if I ever heard of one. I don’t want to get into the details of my run-ins with the law, but let’s just say they were all simple misunderstandings. I was no criminal, I explained to the receptionist who gave me the application, I was merely a man with pants that did not fit and maybe a little too much to drink. She told me to leave unless I wanted to add more to my criminal record. A familiar thought crossed my mind: that I would have to look elsewhere for answers.

Recent Updates