"Can I top off your coffee? Can I get y'all anything else? How's y'all's day goin? Isn't wonderful outside, I just love this sunny weather!"
"Listen, generic waitress at IHOP, you brought me enough food to feed a concentration camp, I'm only half-finished with my Denver Omelette yet I've already had to fashion a crude extra hole in my belt using this butter knife and the acid from your jet fuel-coffee, and my stuffed French toast is going to make me a "priority" candidate on the heart donor's list. So piss off! Oh, and could you be a lamb and bring out some of those hash browns. Their simply delightful!"
In Seattle, I soon realized that some of the people were avoidant, impersonable, sometimes rude, dry, and ultra sarcastic. Then I realized I had just described my personality. Yet if you retort with a sassy comment they freeze and their eyes dilate like a raver after an all-night ecstasy binge. Here's an example of me sitting on a stool in a local bar.
"Hey man, can I please get a Mac and Jac Ale?" moment of silence while bartender cleans other side of the bar.
"No."
"Umm, why not?"
"'Cause we're out."
Normally, granted, I would have gone with the flow and just ordered something else. But I had been on my sixth interview in five days and I was tired off polishing myself and lying about my extroverted, socially acceptable personality.
"Okay. Let me get a Bass and a cheeseburger, hold the mayo and your sarcasm."
"Hey man, chill, I'll get your beer."
Whatever.
Friday I went on my third interview with a financial company. I was tired being the eighth interview in a week's time. The first interview with this company was mostly factual getting to know the company. They broke us off into two groups of ten afterwards interviewing us individually.
"Tell me about your experience with annuities."
"Oh, there delicious! My favorite candies as a kid were Skittles and annuities."
After realizing my lack of financial background and meeting the other candidates, I realized my chances were slim. A majority of the people were middle-aged, either bankers or having a full list of serious sounding credentials with numbers besides them that I understood as well as a differential equations class. Oddly enough, I was invited for a second interview.
The numbers were cut in half. The second interview we were given a dreaded personality test. I opted for the physical challenge. At which point a muscle bound, meathead named Malibu, who wore a body suit of spandex and long-flowing blonde hair and a Germanic woman bodybuilder with a ponytail named Ice took me off to the main conference room where they exposed me to a series of grueling yet rewarding challenges. I tied my "strong" tie around my forehead to prevent hairspray-sweat from my eyes and irritable dry skin. Malibu climbed a post where he shot tennis balls at me through a Mad Max-esque pitching machine. After I cleared his obstacles and hit the bulls-eye by hurling my brief case at the target, I was greeted by Ice who dared me to pass her as she guarded the door to the individual interview room. Given my fear of muscular women and my love for animals I took the trap door to the lion's lair leading to a second interview door. I distracted and calmed the great beast with half of my Odwalla bar and the remainder of a flask of hooch in my coat pocket.
I was granted a third interview at which point myself and two others accepted the job. I started training yesterday for my series 6 and 63 exams. Anyway, the weather is quite lovely.
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