The Tempest Online™

~ Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc. ~

Hi…Can I Fuck Up Your Order?

Posted by Daniel on August 4, 2008

So it’s come to this.

Earlier this morning, I was on the cell phone talking to my girlfriend, Deschner, about our similar situations trying to find work. He lives in the Kansas City Metro area (on the Kansas side). It was one of those weird conversations because he and I usually laugh our asses off at everything all the time. This time, however, it had a more somber mood. We wished one another best of luck in each others endeavors and talked about all the rejections we’ve gotten during the long application process.

Right after that phone call, Seth and I were, once again, sequestered in the bedroom on the PC and laptop searching for more job prospects and discussing the rather slim (to none) alternatives. Should we just give it until the end of this week, then if no jobs materialize, just pack it in, beg for the money for gas then move our asses back to Kansas City?

None of the options left a very good taste in our mouths.


Like a beacon of light from the heavens (or was it bird poop)…like wafting through a field of four leaf clovers (and tripping on a leprechaun turd)…like the beauty of a solar eclipse (seen through binoculars)…and like a visit from the good fairy (who uses a sledge hammer as her wand)…

…it comes.

The call I’ve been waiting (?) for.

Yes, bitches, I landed the primo job of a lifetime. One that would make that bitch, Amorosa, moister than a Duncan Hines cake over. One that shows me that the fates have finally, after all this time and stress, smiled upon me.

That’s right…We’re shittin’ in tall cotton now. I promised Seth I’d have him fartin’ through silk before his birthday (August 6), and I don’t disappoint. Of course, I’ll be granting that wish from under a fucking hair net!!!

They called me to see if I still wanted the job.

Hmmm…lemme see…

Eh…It’s a livin’.

  • Got no job.
  • Got no job prospects
  • Got no gas to LOOK for jobs.
  • Got no money to PAY for gas to LOOK for jobs.
  • Got no hope.
  • Got no pot to piss in nor a window to throw it out of.
  • Got no choice.

“Sure I can be there Wednesday at 4 for orientation!! Okay then, bye! Oh, and thank you so very much, ma’am.”

Goin’ To The Chapel And I’m Gonna Get Sweepin…Oh how the mighty have fallen….or has he?

See, the way I see it, I could be crushed that I have had to ‘lower’ myself down from being an accountant to doing whatever at a fast food joint. I suppose this could make some people (Deschner!!!) laugh their asses off and be grist for the rumor mill for YEARS. But I have to approach this from a different angle.

There are people out there who have fallen from higher places and are still waiting for someplace to land (Deschner!!). Who am I to sour my puss at what happens to be, at the very least, an opportunity for us to stay in California and work our way up to having a life together? I can be a lot of things, but ungrateful isn’t one of them.

Now, that’s not to say that I don’t have an assload of one-liners building up, just bursting at the seams as it were. After all, even though I have to keep the stiff upper lip (while I’m working with a bunch of hair-lipped punks), there must be laughs, even at my own expense.

It’s going to be hard…no, not the work. Not even the kind of work or where it is or even the type of business it is. No, the hard part is keeping my big mouth shut.

If you haven’t guessed by now, I tend to say just anything and everything that comes into my head…whether it’s appropriate or not. And with this job, so much shit came to mind when Deschner and I were talking for the second time today.

(I called him to brag that I had, in fact, landed a job before he did. Yeah, I was braggin’!!) (kill me…kill me now.)

I unleashed a string of job-related zingers that had Deschner pissing his pants. And if you’ve ever met Deschner, you’d know that the more he laughs, the redder and raspier he gets. This afternoon, judging from his end of the phone, he must have looked like a beefsteak tomato…okay, with a cigarette sticking out of it.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth here (and I’m not talking about what they make the Jumbo Jack with)…I appreciate the opportunity to, once again, become a contributing member of the taxpayers that Bush and his asshole friends have come to depend on. Even if it is at minimum wage.

What blows my mind is that right after I talked to Deschner (see Scott, I talk about you more than you think), there were several more calls that came in asking me to come in for interviews. You’re right, Scott, when it rains it pours. Trouble is, the other “interviews” look to be for bull shit “jobs” that require you to sell insurance after you’ve paid for their seminars. So in my case, when it rains, it pours baseball-sized hail.

So, again, here we are. Where just hours ago, we were planning some kind of move (tail tucked neatly between our legs) back to Kansas City, by hook or by crook…Now we are looking at this job (such that it is) as a means of starting a life. Sure, it’s going to be hard, and it’s going to take a bit of time to save up enough to move into a place of our own. But it’s a start, and after all the stress and strife Seth and I have been through for the past 9+ weeks trying to get a foot in the door here, in some small way, we’ve accomplished just that.

Let’s just hope that my smart mouth doesn’t cause that door to slam on our feet. 🙂

Anyway, here’s to Jack and all he’s going to provide us (what, a lifetime supply of curly fries??). For as long as I’m “married” to this job, and thereby him, I’ll do my best to keep a clean house and serve only the Sourdough Jacks that fell on the floor once…okay, maybe twice. Jack does love his profit.

I wonder what our kids will look like…

The bastard son of Jack & Dan.


One Response to “Hi…Can I Fuck Up Your Order?”

  1. I just stopped by your blog and thought I would say hello. I like your site design. Looking forward to reading more down the road.

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