— 14 August 2005 —
My first words when I got the job were, “Thanks for this opportunity. I really appreciate this.” But I thought, “Do I really want to make a living doing this?”
I was shaking his hand. Smiling. He was smiling too. I thought, “Do I really want this job?” I had actually struggled, as in jumping through many hoops, to get to this point. This handshake. This damn smiling.
It had taken him four weeks to get back to me. When I interviewed he said, “You sound perfect for the job. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Of course, he never called. I went back. “Slipped my mind, I’ll call tomorrow!” And of course, he never called.
I called again. “He’s not here.”
I called again. “I’ll give him the message.”
I called again. “To leave a message, press one…”
I gave up. At the time I said to myself, “Who needs it. It’s just a pisser job anyway. Right?” Everyone agreed with me, as friends do. And then he called.
“Never got the messages. Lost your app. Finally found it when I opened a different folder and there you were. Can we set a time to talk scheduling?” I said yes, and went over right away. Finally, a job. A schedule I liked. Good benefits. Pleasant atmosphere. And there I was again, shaking his hand and smiling. And he was smiling back at me.
And then I thought, yes actually took the time to think while standing there shaking hands and smiling, “Molds break. Break yours.”
The hand shaking was dragging on, the smiling was beginning to hurt. I felt his hand pulling away, so I grasped tightly and smiled real big. And broke my mold.
“Fuck you, jack,” I said. “I’ll tell my story walkin’.” And I did. Walk that is. Right out through the double doors.
Sometimes it’s a good thing to look in the face of genuine opportunity and say, “Fuck you.”