Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Now for Something Completely Different

FYI: This story involves gas and feces so if that's not your scene, I would just move on to the next thing you're going to do to waste time.

I am a wonderful interviewer and job getter, despite my lack of basic sentence writing skills and words. This is proven because I have been laid off or "released" from two jobs in about the same amount of years and yet was able to find work within a month of effort each time. It is also possible that I have very low, depressing, bottom feeder, job standards. Either way! Sometimes, even us amazingly smart and skilled people, make mistakes.

Back when I was working at the first job that I hated, it was pretty easy to look for jobs while working. Unfortunately, I had only worked at my job for maybe 7-8 months during my hunt and it was also at the height of the recession so recruiters were looking for more decent, jobless types - if they were looking at all.

A common job posted on Careerbuilder comes from recruiters for receptionist positions that pay $50-75k/year plus bonuses. Because I thought being a receptionist mostly meant answering phones like a total cunt and doing my nails, I was pretty sure this was my dream job. I replied to one such ad and got a call back almost immediately, inviting me for an interview the next day.

One of the tricks that I was employing at the time was to take a handful of laxatives the night before so that my stomach would feel nice and empty for the interview. The meeting was at 10 so I figured if I took my crap capsules at 10PM the night before (allowing for the 8 hours they take to kick in), I would be shitting between 6 and 7AM and interview ready by 8, giving me plenty of time to get to Midtown.

The shits never came. I did some yoga exercises that I had heard instructors say "encouraged things to get moving." I laid flat on the ground - stomach down, I rolled around on the ground, I did crunches... nothing was helping. Eventually, I had to start getting ready because I had basically pushed myself to the last possible minute. Because of this, and a delayed train, I had to sprint to my interview in heels and a wool suit. Needless to say, I was a little disheveled when I got there but I scooted into a bathroom and attempted to pull myself together.

I have a bit of a problem where, once I stop moving after sprinting or doing anything athletic, I start sweating profusely. It is at least 15 minutes of continuous sweating under normal circumstances and it is not very professional. I had to go back in for my interview though, so I sucked it up and prayed.

I met with the woman, let's call her Bunny, who would be interviewing me and she was very well put together. I, meanwhile, sat down and immediately realized that I had to shit RIGHT NOW. My intestines were yelling "WHAT IN GOD'S NAME ARE YOU DOING HERE?! BATHROOM - NOW! GO!" and my brain was pleading with them to chill the fuck out because we had business to do. Meanwhile, my nervous system was getting increasingly stressed like, "Guys, can't we all work together here? Although, Digestive's got a good point - she's not gonna be able to hold on for much longer!!" so my sweating worsened.

I managed to make it through the meeting with some discreet perspiration removal moves like pushing my hair out of my face and grabbing a bunch of sweat with it. Or reaching into my bag to get something and rubbing my face on my sleeve as I went in. Mostly though, I would wait until Bunny seemed to be distracted and make tiny, ladylike (read: massive, lumberjack style) dabs at my face.

The second part of the interview required a computer test where I was brought into a large, open room with about 10 computers. As soon as I sat down, I realized my situation was becoming more and more dire and that I had no choice but to relieve some of the pressure on my stomach. Bunny walked out of the room and I released a smooth, silent fart and felt loads better. Then I started breathing and almost died. The air around me choked my senses and I almost felt like my eyes were burning. I thought of Fat Bastard when he said, "Everyone likes the smell of their own brand," and knew that no one in their right mind could enjoy the toxic waste air that was engulfing my body.

Approximately 30 seconds after the death air escaped my body, another interviewer walked in and directed a very prim looking girl to the computer RIGHT NEXT to me. There were computers on the other side of the room and instead, they brought her into my hell trap. Terrified and shamed, I turned and glanced up at the interviewer who was furrowing her brow and turning her lips down in pure disgust. I tried to mimic in order to look like I was also wondering who had a small animal crawl up their ass and die but it was too obvious considering I was previously the room's sole occupant.

I don't think I have to tell you that I never did get a call back for that job and no, prim girl and I did not become best friends by bonding over the death scent that surrounded us. There is one lesson the 5 or so people that read this blog should take away from this: If you're going to abuse laxatives, always have a backup plan because otherwise you may sprint-waddle away from your interview, clenching your asshole and destroying the nearest McDonald's bathroom. And that is not a great way to start out your day.

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