The Job Interview Part 1

Originally posted November 9, 2008

First of all, let me apologize for not posting something sooner than this.  I hit what we in the business call “a cavernous slump of creative inactivity brought on by a clinical lack of motivation and perpetuated by addictive procrastination.”  That’s an industry term.  I took a vacation, went out of the country for about two-weeks and just fell off the map in terms of performing, writing, etc.    It’s taken me a while but I’m finally getting back on the horse, I’ve made my way to a few shows, wrote a couple of new jokes, and hopefully will be filling KonkDaddy.com with hilarious anecdotes.  Now, onto the business at hand…

The job interview is one of the most dreaded and nerve-racking experiences in modern American Life, followed closely by public speaking, asking a girl out on a date, and member initiation by your local MS-13’s street gang.  The formal attire, the cheap attache case, the falsified details of a resume.  All of these factors fill the powder keg of awkward waiting to be lit up by your faux pas, blowing any chance of gainful employment to Kingdom Come.  This pressure is tough to handle even for a season veteran of the business world, let alone a college student with graduation on the horizon.

I had had bad interviews in my past.  One time, on a phone interview, I realized I was in way over my head and started running out of breath during my sentences.  It got to the point where I was considering hanging up the phone on the recruiter mid-sentence, hoping I could blame it on a bad connection.  Maybe she’d believe I was being chased by a dog during the phone interview and my personal safety took precedence over the formality.  This however, was not even the strangest or worst job interview I ever had.

It was late February.  I had a few phone interviews with a guy running his own web-business. During the course of the interviews, I could barely ever get a straight answer from him.  “You’ll be doing a little bit of this and a little bit of that.  There really are no typical days,” my prospective employer explained.  If you’re thinking, “That sounds like it’ll have something to do with porn” you’d be wrong, but I can’t say that I didn’t follow the logic at the same time.   All probability would point to a new business on the internet probably having something to do with porn, the manufacturing or distributing of.  But I certainly didn’t have the looks or the moral flexibility to become involved in that, but it was my only job prospect at the time so it was the best career choice for me by default.

Sorry to let you down, but it wasn’t porn.  I SEX just wanted to get you intereSEXted in the story.  Because studies show that the word SEX is an eye catcher and will draw people in.

Gotcha! (Don’t worry, there’s a lot of base humor to come)

The website was a job posting board for entry-level careers.  (See, you would have stopped reading if I didn’t lead you by the genitals into the next paragraph).

The interviews went pretty well, despite the fact that I had no clue what the job was about, no real business experience and didn’t have any idea as to what was going on (just in general).  The owner, a fella named Brian, who was very successful in his own right at his day job at a big corporation, wanted to set up a face to face interview out in Philadelphia.

“Sure,” I said.  “Where in Philadelphia?  The business district?  Market street?”

“Well…It’ll be more in the suburbs of Philadelphia,” he replied.

“Like where?”

“Like at my house.”

“Oh…”

This was a little suspect.  I knew the guy worked out of a home office, but damn!  Take me to a Starbucks, rent out some office space, do something to make me feel like I might NOT be abducted and used as an indentured servant!  This seemed bogus to me.

“Can you pick up my daughter as well.  She goes to Penn State and needs a ride home,” he added.  “I figure if your driving here on Saturday and she needs a ride, why not to kill two-birds with one stone.”  I desperately wished to become a bird.

In what turned out to be a very poorly timed road-trip, my friends all decided to travel from State College, PA to Hermitage, PA; near the Ohio border in order to spend a night at my buddy’s Dad’s house.  He owned a bar and we all liked to drink for free,  so it seemed like a good idea.

We loaded up the car and made the three-hour drive to the Western side of the state.  We arrived at 9:00 PM and were drunk by 10:00, raging drunk by 11:00, sloppy drunk by 12:00, and incomprehensible dancing Cro-Magnon man drunk by 1:00.  Luckily, one of my friends had the presence of mind to stay sober enough and he was able to drive us back to the house we were staying at.  But he didn’t want to leave yet.  I grabbed my friend’s keys went out to the car, laid down in the back seat and wrapped a sweatshirt around my head to stop the world from spinning off of its Axis.

The car ride was short and crowded.  My friends kept the sweatshirt tightly wrapped around my face, not because they wanted my beautiful face to stay warm, but rather to quarantine the barf that would surely erupt from my gullet to the smallest location possible.

When we arrived at my friend’s dad’s house, I immediately made my way to the bushes and proceeded to water them…with vomit.  I’m not sure what effect my chunder had on the pH levels of the soil, but I’m sure it wasn’t good.  Also, for some reason, I have the uncanny ability to speak in complete sentences while producing hot piles of sick.  On more than one occasion, I have been able to maintain conversations with people I am in the presence of while ralphing.  My friend’s dad unlocked his door and spotted me in the bushes.  Keep in mind, this was the first time I’ve met this man, and I know that good first impressions are oh so important in starting a friendly relationship.  So as he glanced at my in the rustling bushes, I became very embarrassed and decided to address the situation.  But I wasn’t done puking yet.

“I’m sorry Mr. Necastro.  I didn’t mean to -*blurch* *splash* – on your bushes.  I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Mr. Necastro exclaimed.  “We’ve all been there.  Just wipe your feet on the mat before you come inside.”

“Will *blurch* do!”  I gave the thumbs up

That night’s sleep was as deep and paralyzing as anyone could have imagined.  I somehow found a vacant couch with one of those hand knitted afghans that are so nice to snuggle in.  However, the daybreak brought a familiar feeling of alcohol depletion.  The entire house was hung-over, but me more so than others.  My head was pounding, my stomach gurgled and some poop was developing an elaborate scheme to find a way into my pants.  I had a daunting task ahead of me.  I had to drive from one end of the Pennsylvania to State College, pick up this dude’s daughter, then drive with her all the way to Philadelphia.  I was looking at 7-8 hours in the car at least.

OK…you’ve spent enough of your day on Konkdaddy.com, go outside for a little bit.  I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow.  (TO BE CONTINUED)

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