Credit-wrecking broke. Now I have to get a real job. I got hooked up with a recruiting agency. They represent “cool” companies. You sound “cool” if you work there. Squinting into spreadsheets just like the Fonz. Silicon Valley related shit, which means they pay you a fuckload of money to answer a phone. 65 grand a year plus OT, which is a king’s ransom to me. I’d be wearing suits made of gold and smoking fine cigars. For me fast living is buying two pints in a bar at four bucks a pop instead of pounding a pint of hobo brandy outside and then drinking water. Fast living is getting the brakes fixed on the car, instead of hoping you don’t have to stop fast. Fast living is not waiting until you’re getting five collection calls a day from Verizon, five collection calls a day from Time Warner. A text from Progressive saying “We’re sorry you decided not to stay with us.” You’re meant to say “WAIT! I NEVER MEANT TO LEAVE YOU, HERE’S MONEY!” This is Verizon Wireless with important information regarding a change to your account. Market researched words. Words that made the most lab monkeys press the button. Important information regarding a change to your account: give us money. Continue reading
AAAAHHH money money money money money. Relax. You have enough to pay the credit card bill. OKCupid coaching will pay enough to register the car. Unemployment will come through. You can bill work for leads. Everything will be fine. Except it won’t because you have no god damn money. You have no god damn money. Your credit is destroyed and there is no way you will get a job, ever. Ever. You worked beneath your talents for eight years and this is what it got you. Nothing. You saved nothing, learned nothing. You were miserable for nothing. Now you are miserable for less than nothing.
Let me say this again: there are no jobs out there. Back in Spring when I didn’t want to work, I still dutifully applied. I applied for jobs for which I am fully qualified, overqualified. I took care on my resume and cover letter. I have hired people; I know to keep it short. Nothing. I had one interview, a group interview. A Beverly Hills residential Realtor™, a white man the color of an Irish Setter, made 20 of us complete 2 hours worth of tasks that simulated being his assistant. Other than that it was finance scams. One interview– no, one group bake-off– for over a hundred resumes. And I’m good. Continue reading
This woman is never going to come through with the money. The check with the funds was returned to her client, she says. It was money to turn my apartment into a Home Office. Insufficient address. It will be re-sent to me today by UPS or Fedex. The sufficient address was on my resume. The sufficient address was presented clearly in the body of an email. But the check was returned. How long until they ask for my bank account. I give it two days. I know you prefer to be paid by check. But in the interest of time can we send a Western Union money transfer. Can we wire it directly to your account. We will need your routing number, account number, online banking password, and Social Security number. Her English is out of Google Translate. She is in Thailand for eight weeks teaching a seminar. She is a portrait photographer. I am unaware of a market for eight week portrait photography seminars in Thailand, but– what if. She offered me the job. The unemployment claim form says: did you REFUSE any work? Continue reading
I’m writing to apply for the (TITLE GOES HERE) position you posted on Craigslist. Per your request, below you will find a detailed cover letter. My resume is also attached.
Or rather, a .pdf of a medium-resolution color portrait of my scrotum is attached, entitled “Delicious Tacos Resume.” Taken during the recent heat wave. Note the varicose veins. Like the back of your eyelids when you blink after lightning. The hairs, uniformly white. Wiry. I trim vigilantly but the brain coral contours of the human sac ensure that I’ll have missed a few. They grow to inordinate lengths. Form elaborate kinks and curls. Take on lint. Chunks of skin. Brown and pink wads stuck to them, hideously dangling. I have the balls of a one hundred twenty year old man, in other words. But rest assured I am of prime working age. Continue reading
They shoot my porno tomorrow. In some hotel room in Fontana. Two men, one woman. They didn’t tell me it was a hotel. I wrote it for a boardroom. I wrote it for our boardroom, in our office; after all we have the keys.
It’s corporate themed. A boss fucks his secretary and forces his married underling to participate. Light D/s stuff. They pitched it to me and I had an angle. Do it as a sexual harassment seminar. If we had the money, the whole video would be a parody of a corporate training video. Sarah has walked in on supervisor Frank bending Cathy over the copy machine. What action should she take? Jim, an outside vendor, has ejaculated in Wanda the shipping clerk, despite being asked to leave his fluids on her face, neck and chest. What might Wanda be feeling right now? Choose all that apply. Continue reading
Bob Marley writes:
Since you know so much about careers, I wanted to ask for your personal opinion on which would be wise for a young lad in England to pursue.
I’ll take to heart whatever your decision may be.
Work is fundamentally evil. No matter what, it will make you unhappy. If you do what you love as work, you will come to hate it. Maybe this is not true of rock stars. But no future rock star ever asked for career advice.
So it doesn’t matter what you actually do for work. Live cheaply, and work at the place with the most pretty girls. Continue reading
It’s almost 7:30. I had a long commute. I worked hard. I did well at work. Found people looking for buildings. This is my job now. I drive out to the desert and sit in an office at a veneered desk and talk into a phone. In front of me is a giant monitor filled with a grid of warehouses located in a desert county, along with names and phone numbers. I call the place, try to find out if the person is interested in moving. If they are, I get money.
Maybe a lot of money. A piece of the deal. Warehouses are typically leased for periods of ten years so a lot of money changes hands if one of these things come through. But before that happens I have to punch in a lot of phone numbers off this white grid. I am in an ill fitting suit; behind me men walk around and chatter in other ill fitting suits. Their shoes are newer than mine but we pretty much look the same. Talk into the phone and try to make money come out. Outside my window are mountains. An apartment complex. Trees tossing in the desert wind, occasionally a bird. No one gets naked in the apartment windows, ever. Still, I keep a vigilant watch. Continue reading
You’re sitting there in a tiny cubicle in a moldy beige room with acoustical tile and you are separated from a bear sized homeless man with a loud booming voice by what is basically urinal divider. You have a headset on, an old one with one foam earphone and a curly wire going into a battered phone. You are listening to a cavernous hiss. And then it beeps and your back tenses and it’s showtime.
“…. Hello? HELLO!!???!!!”
The person on the other end of the line has been listening to silence and clicks for five seconds. They are tipped off to what you are. Because the autodialer waits for what it thinks is a human voice to connect you. The person is already pissed off. You have a dumb terminal in front of you. It’s the 21st century but you have a monitor with green block letters on black from the 70′s with what is putatively the person’s name and address, but a lot of times it’s empty or some guy who was about to get fired had put in “Harry Stiffey, 69 Cumshot Drive.” Continue reading
There is no purpose to my life. No purpose to getting out of bed. Still. What was my purpose before? Pleasing assholes who can’t be pleased, who were mercurial and cruel, for barely enough money to live off of, and nothing to look forward to but a lifetime of climbing up from the bottom of the assholes to the middle of the assholes. Chasing the privilege of being scared of the assholes above you and contemptuous of the assholes beneath you. Seeing people under you as simpering, grating disposable strivers, dogs rolling over when hit with a stick. Fuck that. You think things suck now, remember how much they sucked before. You think going to work would stop you from being nuts but work drives you nuts, too. Just in a different way. This way I can go nuts on my own terms.
There is danger in solitude but there’s worse danger in the company of idiots. I’ve seen the movie industry, the TV industry, the book industry, what these things are really like. There is no place for me in this world. I’ve done some traveling, some writing, I’ve met some girls, made some friends. Seen the stars in the desert, whales breaching in the ocean. Attack ships on fire off the rings of whateverthefuck. But mostly it’s been drinking and jerking off in my sweaty apartment. Fine. It’s what I was born to do.
Are you PASSIONATE about finance? Rock star Executive Assistant needed for C-level exec at up-and-coming boutique firm. Ideal candidate is a detail-oriented, motivated self-starter. Thick skin and ability to handle tricky personalities a must. Salary standard with opportunity for growth. Bachelors degree, five years industry experience required.
They’re all like this. Because these people are all liars. In order for them to pay you they demand that you be a liar too. Are you passionate about finance? Of course not. No one is. No one is even passionate about money; they go after money because they have no passion and don’t know what else to do with their lives. But we want you to be motivated by passion, not a paycheck. Because we don’t want to pay you. Continue reading