Better Luck Next Time

Last week I had an interview for a position with a pharmaceutical company in my area.  The job was in line with my past experience and the tasks involved were very similar to another position I had held with the same company several years ago.  The interview, in my estimation, went fine.  This means that I believe I strung words into comprehensible sentences, plus I didn't drool or fart even once.  Today, I received word that the manager I interviewed with had chosen someone else for the position.  I took the news politely, thanked the interviewer for their time, and placed the phone back in its cradle.

Then I spent the next two hours wondering what the fuck I did wrong.

This, of course, is a useless exercise.  One self-designed to raise your blood pressure, fuel your feelings of inadequacy and keep you from your sleep.  Useless because the only person who knows exactly what you did wrong ain't telling.  So you're left to speculate, and unless you think it might be that moment that you took the switchblade out of your pocket, flicked it open and started cleaning your nails, you're never going to know.

Ten years ago, I thought I'd never have to be on the receiving end of an interview ever again.  But then, shit happens and there you are.  Of all the interviews I've been on in the last decade, I'd say I'm successful in getting the position 40 percent of the time.  I really don't know if that's good or not.

When I first started interviewing, I read all of the "how to's" on presenting yourself and what to say.  Now I can report that most of the garbage that I read was horse shit written by people who don't know their ass from a hole in the ground.  If you have any common sense at all, you know not to dress like a pimp or whore, don't spend more than 5 minutes describing your criminal background, know the name of the company you're interviewing with and don't light up a cigarette during the interview.

Believe it or not, I did smoke during my first interview after college.  And I got the job!  Ah, those were the days.  In the last ten years I've had interviews that lasted two days, interviews that I knew were over before they even started, interviews where I wasn't hired, but was told later that I had good ideas that the company had since put into practice (Thanks Guys!), interviews where the manager wanted ideas on how to handle her personal problems and one interview where I questioned the interviewer why he was wasting my time and walked out.

And life goes on.  I'll sit here and smart a bit for a while longer, but as I write this, I have a headhunter maneuvering to set me up with another interview ... perhaps in a couple of days.

And as Eliot Ness (played by that fine actor Kevin Costner) said to Al "Scarfacio" Capone (played by that other fine actor Robert DeNiro) in the epic motion picture "The Untouchables" ... "Never give up the fight until the fight is done".

Whatever that means.

They Roam The Streets

The other morning, I pulled into my driveway after going out for junk I thought I needed.  As I was unloading the truck, I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and looked up to see a young guy, about 22,  bounding up the drive wearing a t-shirt, shorts and tennis shoes. I'll call him Alvin, because I never did get his name.

Alvin:  Don't beam me up Scotty! (I guess I looked startled)

Me:  What do you want?

Alvin:  Good morning sir!

Me:  What do you want?

Alvin:  Has there been a girl come up to your door this morning?

Me:  No.  What do you want?

Alvin:  Well, I'm a college student, and I'm playing in sort of a scavenger contest with a bunch of other young people, and the winner gets a 2,000 dollar scholarship to college.  So I need your help.

Me:  What do you want?

Alvin:  Well, to get in the spirit of the contest, I need you to inspire me.  So, what do you do for a living?

Me:  Nothing.  I haven't worked for two years.  Go away son.

At that, I turned around and walked into the house.  I heard him chirp "Thank you!" as I went in the door, and expected that to be followed with "asshole", but it wasn't.

Several hours later, I went out again and saw Alvin standing on a street corner near the house.  He must have recognized the truck, because he stared at me kind of sullenly.  After I passed him, I looked in the rear view mirror just in time to see him finger me.

He must have been having a bad day trying to be "inspired" by ill-tempered old men.

HSR #40

Several weeks ago, I received a cute little green and gold postcard in the mail informing me that my 40th high school reunion was drawing near, and that a huge bash was being planned during whatever season in 2010 that the majority of respondents decided would be the best time to have the party.

I get these "invites" every several years, which baffles me because it seems like school reunions should only be held in years with multiples of ten.  But my high school likes to have them on offbeat years like 13, 27, 34 ... there seems to be no logical progression to it.

Normally, I'll toss these invitations in the trash on the way into the house, but I held on to this one for some reason and read the whole thing several days later.  I recognized the chair person's name because her complexion and hair style during high school reminded me of someone of the Shaker faith.  All she needed was a bonnet and a long gray dress and she would fit the image exactly.  I'm positive she wasn't a Shaker, but if she had wanted to be, she was almost all the way there without even trying.

And she had her maiden name as her middle name, so we all would know who she was, which was helpful.  I'm not sure when maiden names as middle names for women started to become commonplace, but it must have been many moons ago.  Jan did the same thing, and I can see why she did it.  She has a fine maiden middle name, but I only use it when I'm irritated and yelling at her, as in "Janis Gail, where in the goddamned hell is the mayonnaise?"

As I read through the card, I saw that they had created a web site that you could join and include a picture and a little blurb about yourself.  Kind of like a facebook info page.  I thought that this was cool, so threw my name in and added the picture and blurb.

After I was approved by the all powerful sitemaster, I started looking to find out who else had joined, and was a little disappointed to see that out of 300 graduates, I was only one of about 20 who had signed up.  Even more disappointing was the way some of the people had represented themselves.  Most people had put in a picture and a nice little one paragraph summary of their life on earth over the last 40 years, but a small number had either just put down their dumbass screen names, so you had no fucking idea who they were, or a dumbass screen name coupled with a cartoon or caricature, or both plus a stupid blurb.  I swear, one guy (I guess it was a guy) identified himself as Dicklicker 1348 with a tired caricature of Groucho and blurb describing himself as an ultra-leftist with a penchant for bondage.

Christ, some people never grow up.

As has been the case with past reunion "pledge drives", I have no intention of attending.  High School wasn't a real exciting time in my life.  I was a poor student, had no real interest in any class or instructor and  traveled in just a small circle of friends.

And I get into enough awkward situations in everyday life without planning months ahead to spend an uncomfortable evening with a group of people I have no interest in, plus drive 500 miles for the privilege.

The only possible way I would do this is if I were assured that I could learn the true identity of "Dicklicker" ... but then I'd probably be disappointed anyway.

It's What Separates Us From The Apes

Today I spent several hours filling out paperwork at a "nationally known" contract temp agency so that I could interview tomorrow with a "nationally known" pharmaceutical company for a short term position pushing miracle drugs on unsuspecting Europeans.

I've worked for this agency before and we had a pretty good relationship until I turned down a position for medical reasons.  I thought it was cool, but I guess it pissed my rep off and he's blocked me in various ways from applying with the agency for anything with the "nationally known" pharmaceutical company.

After finally realizing what he was doing, I wrote him off as a total asshole and gave up on applying for anything through his agency.

Last week, I received a call from one of his cube mates at the agency, wanting me to come in and re-up, as there was a position open at the "nationally known" that she wanted me to interview for, because she thought I would make a reasonable fit.  Now, these people don't call you out of the kindness of their hearts.  They work on a commission, and the more people they place that their clients like, the more likely they are to be able to place more people.  Kind of like a pimp, I guess.

Anyway, I showed up this afternoon at the agency and start filling out the mound of paperwork.  By the way, I drank a bottle of water on the way over because I knew I would have to go to some lab afterwards to stand and deliver a piss sample, but as it turns out, there's a new way to screen out junkies from gainful employment.  It's kind of like a DNA swab crossed with an early pregnancy test, instead you pop the stick in your mouth and slobber all over it instead of pissing on it.  Pretty cool.  You hold it in your mouth like a thermometer for two minutes and then dip it in a tube of shit hooked up to some other shit and in less than a minute, it turns color if you are using one of the big four: pot, coke, meth or heroin.  Of course I passed and let out an enthusiastic "Yay", which caused the rep to look at me strangely.

While I'm filling out the paperwork, lady rep says that the total asshole rep knew I was coming in and wanted to chat with me for a while.  Fucking great.  But of course, I smiled and said that I'd be delighted to see him.  God I'm a whore.

Midway through signing my name to documents swearing that I won't try to overthrow the government or pinch the collective butts of my co-workers during my time of employment, Mr. Total Asshole walks in, shakes my hand with great gusto and wants to know everything about what I've been doing.

So, for the next 20 minutes, we did small talk.  His health, my health; his wife, my wife; his kid, my kid. Then we both harumphed that we'd better get back to it and said goodbye.  I finished up my paperwork and left.

When I got home, I mentioned to Jan that I had talked with Mr. Total Asshole, and she asked me how that went. And I said that it went fine.  Let's face it, unless you just hate another person to the core, you're always cordial ... or at least you try to act like a rational human being.

After all, it's just business.

Augering In

Holy hell in a handbasket.  When I started this innocent little "entryway" project last weekend, I had no clue that it would take on the characteristics of the chain reaction that ends in a nuclear explosion.

Last week, I thought it would be a good idea to get rid of the crummy linoleum that we had in the entry way since the house's inception.  So, I started to buy the things I thought I would need to complete it.  In my mind, all I would need were boards ... shit I had everything else I needed.

I thought.  Five days after I started, I finally laid the last board in the entryway closet late this morning.  Ahhh, done.  Shit ... yeah, I'll be done after I weather proof the doors, paint the inside of the doors, paint the inside of the closet, paint the trim and new closet door, trim and fit the new closet door, install the trim ... and this doesn't even include the stuff I have to finish in the basement after I ripped up most of the subfloor because of the water damage.

So far, I figure that this little project of mine has cost almost seven hundred dollars and 40 hours of labor.  And I'm just half-done!  I mean, if I wanted to hire me to do this job, I couldn't afford me!

The Money Pit

And everything else is going to hell around here while I fiddle-fuck with this project.  The lawn needs mowing, I have to get ready for two interviews the first of next week, and a bunch of other things that I've let slide.

The way I figure it, the beginning of September will be here before I can find a natural stopping point and rest.

But, I bitch now.  In a couple of months, I'll have forgotten all about it.  And I'll find something else to drive me batshit.