Buy my car wax

It's getting down to desperation time on the job front.  I mean I'm 'this' close to swinging a sandwich board over my head and selling myself on the street saying "Free hugs for food" or "Will give rubs for cash."  Hmm.  Perhaps I'm not quite that desperate.  But it's bad, dude.  Bad.

I went in for a 'test run' as a waitress at a local gay cafe called ICE.  It's across the street from a gay gym and all the occupants are pretty much gay and very, very H.O.T.  I am not gay.  I am not H.O.T.  I am not a male.  This might be the reason that after an hour of setting the tables and doing nothing but making things awkward for everyone by my femaleness, I got the boot.  Head Gay says, "Sorry to waste your time.  I don't think you'll be a good fit."  I also think he said this because of the Wet Dream that walked in while I was "working" and looking for a job.  I was secretly relieved because as soon as I set the first table I thought to myself, "Shit.  This is gonna suck.  I hate waiting tables."  Luckily he did all the awkward bad news bit for me.  So.  I don't think I'll be a waitress.  I know I'm giving up early but I seriously hate waiting on people.  I'd rather eat my dirty sneaker (and it's filthy!).  

The next day I attended a second interview with what I thought was a job in customer service for a phone company.  Wrong.  Those sneaky fuckers.  It turned out to be the marketing company of the phone one and several others.  The first interview was a group interview of about 5 people and none of us knew what the job entailed except you had to have "experience in customer service."  I thought it was gonna be a sit-down desk job talking to clients.  Oh, the ignorance.  There were the stereotypical psychological questions including the crazy inkblot ("What do you see?  A butterfly or a man who has killed his family?"), seemingly random questions that tell them your sexual orientation or some such, and a shitty math equation I'm shit at.

I got a "Congratulations!" text that said to meet for the second interview in the morning.  I rock up to the place in my finest and see about 15 other people in the front room.  There are 4 big screen tvs blasting sexually explicit music videos to the chagrin of all us suits.  It is a very surreal experience to be sitting in an office reception area at 9:30am with suited up strangers watching and listening to the Bloodhound Gang's "Baby, you and me ain't nothing but mammals so let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel."  Sweet.

We're finally herded up like cattle and brought into a tiny room with the most uncomfortable plastic chairs in existence.  If I hadn't had second thoughts before they are flitting through my head at this point.  But I stay.  Because the guy talking to us is cute.  He's nice.  He's smiling at me.  Aww, isn't that nice?  He must be a really good person.  Hi, cutie, I see you.  But wait.  What is this?  Why are you talking about me selling stuff?  I don't do that.  No siree.  It's not really my thing, see?  I hate people who do that to me.  Pushy bastards.  I am not a pushy bastard.  And I wouldn't want to buy this crap in the first place.

Ooooh. Kay.  Mr. Cute Liar is now telling me I will have to give a presentation to the other 15 candidates on why they should buy car wax from me.  Alarm bells are dinging and it's not so much the fact I have to try to push this product on people who wouldn't want it, anyway, but that I have to do public speaking.  Fuck that.  I'm OUT!  As soon as McGrinburger walks out the door I pick up my purse, walk out the door in front of everyone, signal the deceitful hottie, hand over delicately the pad of paper and pen he gave me and said, "I'm sorry, I don't want to waste your time but I can't do this."  And I left.  Kind of sad, though.  Because now I miss him.  I think we really bonded.

So, sales and waitressing are out.  The search continues...