I have had some rotten jobs. I spent two days working at CVS and being treated like a doormat from a fifty year old Indian man. If your fifty and working as the manager at a CVS, then suicide may not be the worst idea. Not everybody in life has a purpose and those that don't end up managing teenagers at some random store. The sad part is how serious they take their jobs. They are nobodies that try and pretend they are worth a damn.
About one week ago I went on a job interview that I was uninterested in and I met another nobody that believed he was worth a damn. We'll call him "Doc. Cock". I sat down in his office and was told that he called me in too soon. (Was this guy kidding, did he seriously want me to leave and come back?) The job was to tutor college students with learning disabilities. It seemed like the good Doc, Cock had a learning disability himself. His glasses so thick that you wondered if you could give him the middle finger and he wouldn't notice. Then I was finally called back in.
"Do you know who I am?"
"That is Dr. Cock." (He wasn't a medical school doctor, just a jerk that needed a title.) He then tried to teach me how to pronounce his name. Then he began to ask me to spell eligible, accommodation and pundit. (How random?) I should have asked him, "What won Best Picture in 1971?" see if he would have known The French Connection. I hated this guy with a passion and the interview had just started. I couldn't tell what was scarier unemployment or having to work for this jerk. He now felt the need to play therapist in the interview. Which no one should ever have to endure for a ten dollar an hour job.
"So tell me about yourself."
"Well I was born on September 3, 1982." I sarcastically said.
"That is a great start, what do you remember about that day?" I couldn't tell if he was for real or I was on Candid Camera. Then I did something really dumb on my part that I never do on interviews. Maybe I was possessed by Linda Blair from The Exorcist. (Yes, my second William Friedkin reference and here's my third, I think Dr. Cock was in Cruising.) I started to tell the good doc everything you should never bring up on an interview. Subconsciously I think I knew what I was doing. Then for some bizarre reason, I told him I don't like therapy. That I didn't get his whole profession and all you needed was some really good friends to talk with. He was so full of hot air that he didn't shut up for the better part of an hour. I got a few words in but not much.
Here are some tidbits from Dr. Cock (Is this who we really want helping college students):
"I think you could actually use some therapy, you seem to have mistrust and anger issues. You see therapy is like cleaning out a closet. I'm in my room and trying to clean it up, so I shove everything in the closet and now I have to stand against the door to keep it shut. But guess what the phone rings do I answer it and let everything fall out?" (You don't have a cell phone? That would solve everything.)
"Anthony, you have anger and mistrust issues. You could use therapy because you don't seem to trust doctors". (So every one is blindly supposed to listen to doctors like mindless zombies.)
"You know my son is also Anthony and he has epilepsy too and the doctor had told him the bigger he gets the less it will affect him. Have they told you that?" (No, I go to doctor's with half a brain.)
"You must be doing something wrong to be unemployed".
"You know I'm Italian so I have connections. So no hissy fits here because I'm not above cement shoes".
Writing is my therapy and having typed this up I already feel better. I'll never forget his lame attempts to be funny and his constant voice changing. I think he needs to speak with someone? Last Monday they gave me the job and had to assign me my hours, and on Thursday they called to tell me I don't have the job. So for four days I thought I was employed. Well back to Craigslist, I hear they have erotic massages on there? Maybe I can do that for a living?
Coming Soon to this theatre:
Ode to Cinema 1