Well, I'm at work on interview day. We get a rush shipment of stuff that takes me an extra 20 minutes to process before I can leave. I'm sweaty, I'm filthy, and I have 15 minutes to get to campus on time, and look somewhat presentable. Not an easy task, particularily with my appearance.
I decide that the only way to feasibly do this, is to change into my "interview" clothes at every single stoplight, and at any instance where I don't need both hands on the wheel. Which, is gobs of fun, for those of you who've been in such tight situations.
Well, I hit the first stop light. Right on. Without even taking my foot off the clutch, I rip my oil-stained shirt off and reach for my "sub-intellect" formal shirt that makes me look both competent, and less chubby. Before I can put it on, I am distracted by some strange noises that are coming from the car next to me. Curious, and with 15 more seconds of red left, I look over. To my surprise, I see a red Honda Civic coupe, and in the car are two blond-haired/blue-eyed females making cat calls at me and frantically waving dollar bills in the air! I blinked, figuring I was delusional from stress, but they were still there when I opened my eyes. Propositioning me to get in their car and do something with my "money-maker." I really couldn't make out what.
Naturally, I handled the situation like an intellect should. I stuck my pecs out the window, flexed the ol' biceps, and drove away. And I was feeling pretty damn sexy too. So sexy, as a matter of fact, that I tried the whole muscleman with the heart of gold routine on the lady who was interviewing. I don't think it worked, since I got neither the job, nor any form of "digit."
Of course, the memory of those two females more than made up for it. And you two ladies, whoever you are out there, Thank you. I've never felt more cheap in my life..................and it feels good.
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I've noticed that there is an ethereal quality about the waitresses in Asian resteraunts. Think about it, when you walk into a resteraunt, you bump into one of two types of waiter types. There's the overly-optomistic. tip groveling type who is always blond haired, blue eyed, and has more teeth than a human mouth should. Pleasant has they may be, it's still pretty apparent that you are nothing more to them than an extra 2 bucks on top of the bill. Or you meet the suicidal types, who do it because they just couldn't get the job selling makeup at the mall. They're pissed, and they want you to know it. With them you always get your food thrown at you, with nothing but sneers and sarcasm.
But you never see these people working in Asian resteraunts. The waitresses there have this calm collected quality that just resonates with power and strength. With them, you always get this feeling that they are saying "Yes I work here, and I bring you food, but I am still powerful! My inner strengh is greater than your culinary demands!" It's really fucking intense, downright intimidating. Especially to me, because that kind of shit just has me in awe, that I always end up making an ass of myself.
For example, I was eating at the "Great Wall Buffett" and excellent local establishment, full of strong waitresses with tons of inner peace. Now normally, I can eat a meal with a fairly high level of sophistication. Meaning, I can eat without getting crap all over me, and swallow before I talk. However, in the presence of such intense waitresses, I became...........a monkey.
I spilled sweet and sour sauce all over myself, and this on a day I was wearing white. And while I usually can open up a crab with a decent degree of efficency, that day it was not to be. Bits of shell and crab meat were strewn all over the table. I even managed to get a claw to fly halfway across the room. When the waitress came to clean it up, I was almost compelled to start crying and beg for her understanding "Please, oh great one, forgive me! I live in the desert!!! I know not how to eat such exotic foods!"
This ethereal women who patiently cleaned up after my fat, uncultured ass also had the greatest sense of timing I have ever seen. It seems that they would come to check up on us and refill our drinks, only when I had a shitload of food crammed into my mouth. It never failed, if my cheeks were bulging like some hideous gerbil, they were there. Asking me if I wanted another drink, or a napkin or something. And there's no salvation from a situation like that. You just can't transform into a slick and sophisticated human being from that kind of a pose......try as I might. And the waitresses were so kind. They'd just look at me with a patient smile and would give me a slight shake of their head, as if to say "You poor slob............enlightenment is just going to pass you by."
I would really like to know what kind of training they put these girls through. It has to be something, because normal waitresses don't act this way. It's like, "Well, what's your excuse for not being bitter?" Get with the program or something.
I think one day, I would like to work for an Asian resteraunt, just to see first hand what these girls go through to get so powerful. I only hope I am worthy of it.
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Several months ago, I was caught in some real hard times. I was falling further and further behind in my bills, and no matter how many resumes I sent out or how many interviews I managed to get, I just couldn't seem to do better than assistant carpet cleaner money (which, popular to contrary belief, ain't jack!) A lot of you have been in this financial purgatory, so you can probably understand the depression I'm going through at this time. I was doubting my self-worth on a daily basis. How could a guy like me, who's college educated, experienced, and willing to do just about anything to earn a regular paycheck, not get hired? I got turned down by the Family Dollar to stock cheap shit on shelves, my esteem was on the floor being kicked around.
So one night, after a particularily depressing day of more bills, and no way to pay them, I decided to go out for a little walk, one of the few luxuries I could still afford. I was walking around the neighborhood, trying to wrap my head around this little "slump" of mine. I just couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong. I mean, it had to be me right? That much rejection had to mean I was doing something wrong.
I stopped in front of a pool of water and took a good look at myself. It was then I decided that maybe it was time to do away with the Boogie Man. Maybe I was too old to be angry and outspoken, and I should just mellow out and get with the program. I could invision myself with a clean-shaven face, short hair in a fashionable style, and a polo shirt. I could make it work.
Now the question was, should I? I mean, I'd still be me right? Even without the black clothes, the long hair, and the attitude, I'd still be able to look in the mirror every morning and be content with who I am.....wouldn't I?
I looked up to the sky and said to God, Buddha, or whoever was listening; "Alright, you got me at my most desperate. I'm willing to give it all up here. I need to know what to do next. Please tell me, am I supposed to change, and be someone else?"
At that exact same moment, a cat who was stuck in a tree let out an angry meow that sounded auspiciously like "NO!" I took it as a sign and still remain your Boogie Man.