I Need A Drink
So, I went to an open job interview earlier this week at ShoWare Center in Kent, WA. The position was membership to the changeover crew; the people that convert a basketball court into a hockey arena or a Pink Floyd concert. The Craigslist ad said interviews would begin at 2 PM and run to 4 PM, so I arrived at about 1:50 PM, feeling good about showing up ahead of time.
Before I go further, let me explain what I expected to find. Honestly, I thought I'd be the only one there. I mean, who the fuck uses Craigslist to find a job besides desperate jackasses? OK, so maybe there'd be a handful of us.
Of course, as per the theme of my life, my expectations were annihilated as I made the right turn into the car park (haha, I said "car park") of the east entrance. There was a messy queue of about 40 people waiting for the doors to open. Shiiiet. A once-in-never moment in my life occurs in that I'm actually early for something and I'm like, an hour late! So what'd I do? I looped around the lot and got the fuck outta there.
But, somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I had to at least try. Instead of going home, I went to Kent Station, which is conveniently right across the street from ShoWare Center, and walked around for about twenty minutes, mulling my decisions over the PS3 demos at Game Stop. Eventually, I figured that I shouldn't let my "nice" clothes go to waste - I was wearing a black Stafford dress shirt that I got from JC Penney, some khaki skater-ish slacks that I fished out of a bin at Goodwill and a pair of black dress shoes that I got from Ross. I got mad style, son - and so I sucked up my insecurities about failure (because this venture was definitely going to bomb for me. My extensive résumé includes getting a high school diploma after two schools and five years and my job experience as a temp. Fuck me, it sounds even worse when I try to be funny about it) and went back to ShoWare Center.
Cool, no line outside. I got out my deathtrap that most people believe is an automobile and walked toward the clear double doors. As I get closer, I realize that the line is inside. And it looked to be about 70 strong now. Damnit, I shouldn'tve pussied out before. Doors are locked, but a cute Asian girl pushes them open for me. I figure that she probably isn't there for a job; no, she was most likely banging one of the white recruiters. Or all of them, who knows. I get in line, stick my hands in my pockets and waited.
I took a closer look at my fellow hopefuls. All sorts were there, of all ages, ethnicities, and social groups. A couple of grayhairs, a guy who looked my age (imagine a post-op Avril Lavigne) and everyone else in between. Some wore dress clothes, like myself, whereas others thought it appropriate to show up in their oversized Northface jackets, fitted cap at a tilt on top of their do-rag and denims that hovered just below their ass cracks. A couple of women, too. I'm sure the sexagenarians and those without a Y chromosome were automatically ruled out because hey, this type of job doesn't require wisdom nor a delicate touch. MANPOWER, BABY!
...
Know what everyone had in common? Everyone looked tired and not a little forlorn. No one talked to each other or even looked at each other. We just filled out our applications in silence, got in line quietly and waited as if afflicted with lockjaw. It was depressing as hell. Of course, my sympathy for my companions didn't extend beyond wishing there were enough jobs for all of us; if the interview process involved a gladiatorial display of worth, I would've gladly kicked the ass of anyone of those losers if it meant I got that awesome minimum wage position.
Just kidding. There was a guy with one-arm (unless he felt cold and held one of his arms under his shirt like a bitch) that I hoped got a spot on the crew. Dude mighta had like, four one-armed babies that he had to feed.
(Oh wait, it doesn't work like that.)
So, I stood in line for about an hour and a half in my amazingly comfortable (sike) dress shoes. Two groups of recruiters were calling people up in groups of five, but there were just so many people, though the interviews took about 5-10 minutes for each five-man group. Eventually, I got to the front. At this point, I decided to take a gander over my shoulder. Yup, the line was just as long as it was when I first got there.
I tried my best to look eager, yet manly. Sat up straight, nodded along as they spoke, laughed gaily at their clever quips. (Except for the laughing part. If I had done that, I wouldn't be writing this right now, but rather hanging from a tree, decomposing with my belt around my neck.) They said that they would make their decisions that night and would call those they deemed worthy of such a lucrative career opportunity the day after. I felt relatively good about my chances as I left. Apparently location, punctuation and transportation are a big deal because past workers didn't live closeby and were always late because they had to rely on city transportation. Score. I have a car, live ten minutes away and have absolutely nothing going on at the moment so I'd always be on time.
That was Monday. Today is Thursday. I have not (yet) gotten a call from those assfucks. I can cling to the hope that was bestowed on us as we left the interviews, that the turnover rate for this job is high, but I won't. Oh well. I do hope that one-armed guy and the Engrish-speaking Vietnamese guy I was interviewed with got a callback. I am comforted by the fact that my situation is not as dire having to provide for a one-armed family or being under pressure to open up a successful noodle restaurant.
Choke On This, Fatboy Vol. 4
Before I go further, let me explain what I expected to find. Honestly, I thought I'd be the only one there. I mean, who the fuck uses Craigslist to find a job besides desperate jackasses? OK, so maybe there'd be a handful of us.
Of course, as per the theme of my life, my expectations were annihilated as I made the right turn into the car park (haha, I said "car park") of the east entrance. There was a messy queue of about 40 people waiting for the doors to open. Shiiiet. A once-in-never moment in my life occurs in that I'm actually early for something and I'm like, an hour late! So what'd I do? I looped around the lot and got the fuck outta there.
But, somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I had to at least try. Instead of going home, I went to Kent Station, which is conveniently right across the street from ShoWare Center, and walked around for about twenty minutes, mulling my decisions over the PS3 demos at Game Stop. Eventually, I figured that I shouldn't let my "nice" clothes go to waste - I was wearing a black Stafford dress shirt that I got from JC Penney, some khaki skater-ish slacks that I fished out of a bin at Goodwill and a pair of black dress shoes that I got from Ross. I got mad style, son - and so I sucked up my insecurities about failure (because this venture was definitely going to bomb for me. My extensive résumé includes getting a high school diploma after two schools and five years and my job experience as a temp. Fuck me, it sounds even worse when I try to be funny about it) and went back to ShoWare Center.
Cool, no line outside. I got out my deathtrap that most people believe is an automobile and walked toward the clear double doors. As I get closer, I realize that the line is inside. And it looked to be about 70 strong now. Damnit, I shouldn'tve pussied out before. Doors are locked, but a cute Asian girl pushes them open for me. I figure that she probably isn't there for a job; no, she was most likely banging one of the white recruiters. Or all of them, who knows. I get in line, stick my hands in my pockets and waited.
I took a closer look at my fellow hopefuls. All sorts were there, of all ages, ethnicities, and social groups. A couple of grayhairs, a guy who looked my age (imagine a post-op Avril Lavigne) and everyone else in between. Some wore dress clothes, like myself, whereas others thought it appropriate to show up in their oversized Northface jackets, fitted cap at a tilt on top of their do-rag and denims that hovered just below their ass cracks. A couple of women, too. I'm sure the sexagenarians and those without a Y chromosome were automatically ruled out because hey, this type of job doesn't require wisdom nor a delicate touch. MANPOWER, BABY!
...
Know what everyone had in common? Everyone looked tired and not a little forlorn. No one talked to each other or even looked at each other. We just filled out our applications in silence, got in line quietly and waited as if afflicted with lockjaw. It was depressing as hell. Of course, my sympathy for my companions didn't extend beyond wishing there were enough jobs for all of us; if the interview process involved a gladiatorial display of worth, I would've gladly kicked the ass of anyone of those losers if it meant I got that awesome minimum wage position.
Just kidding. There was a guy with one-arm (unless he felt cold and held one of his arms under his shirt like a bitch) that I hoped got a spot on the crew. Dude mighta had like, four one-armed babies that he had to feed.
(Oh wait, it doesn't work like that.)
So, I stood in line for about an hour and a half in my amazingly comfortable (sike) dress shoes. Two groups of recruiters were calling people up in groups of five, but there were just so many people, though the interviews took about 5-10 minutes for each five-man group. Eventually, I got to the front. At this point, I decided to take a gander over my shoulder. Yup, the line was just as long as it was when I first got there.
I tried my best to look eager, yet manly. Sat up straight, nodded along as they spoke, laughed gaily at their clever quips. (Except for the laughing part. If I had done that, I wouldn't be writing this right now, but rather hanging from a tree, decomposing with my belt around my neck.) They said that they would make their decisions that night and would call those they deemed worthy of such a lucrative career opportunity the day after. I felt relatively good about my chances as I left. Apparently location, punctuation and transportation are a big deal because past workers didn't live closeby and were always late because they had to rely on city transportation. Score. I have a car, live ten minutes away and have absolutely nothing going on at the moment so I'd always be on time.
That was Monday. Today is Thursday. I have not (yet) gotten a call from those assfucks. I can cling to the hope that was bestowed on us as we left the interviews, that the turnover rate for this job is high, but I won't. Oh well. I do hope that one-armed guy and the Engrish-speaking Vietnamese guy I was interviewed with got a callback. I am comforted by the fact that my situation is not as dire having to provide for a one-armed family or being under pressure to open up a successful noodle restaurant.
Choke On This, Fatboy Vol. 4
- Basia Bulat - Before I Knew
- Tegan and Sara - I Know I Know I Know
- Tamar - Purified
- Lisa Lavie & AHMIR - Whatcha Say (Jason DeRülo cover)
- Regina Spektor - That Time
- Regina Spektor - The Calculation
- Dave Barnes - Grace's Amazing Hands
- Ted Leo and the Pharmacists - The Sword in the Stone
- Missy Higgins - Sugarcane
- Robert Plant & Alison Krauss - Stick With Me Baby
- Sia - Day Too Soon
- The Shins - New Slang
- Paul Oakenfold & Brittany Murphy - Faster Kill Pussycat
- Weezer - Butterfly
- Ennio Morricone - Un Amico