So, Do I Install the Active X?

Jesus Christ. I was going to start this off with another installment of Vocational Errors by Your Host Mark (an extremely popular feature here at Flunky Boy...not sure what to make of that) but I've been getting my ass kicked by my current job lately and I can't seem to focus on my ridiculous past occupations. I'll spare you the details but basically I've been attending a whole slew of trainings lately and my function during these sessions is to act as support for the presenter (usually my boss). I stand in the back of the room and wait for people who are having computer problems to call me over. I then scurry (yes, scurry) over to them and hopefully fix whatever issue they are having as well as get them caught up to where the rest of the class is.

Most of the classes have been rather large (30+ people) and although I know that one of the reasons that I even took this job was that I wanted to step out of my "comfort zone" and experience/learn new stuff...holy hell is it draining. We had a small group at a training this morning and I honestly don't know that they have ever used a computer before. I was going from user to user answering some really basic questions:

"How do I get the screen to look like his?" (usually while pointing both at their computer screen and the projected image at the front of the room at the same time. Oh, and their computer screens typically have hundreds of smeared fingerprints all over them)

Um, you click on the folder here.

"What? The little blue link?"

Yea, ok, sure. The little blue link. Click that. It'll open and you'll see what is up on the big screen there. No, you have to actually click on the...yea. Right there. No, use the mouse...and..

"Ooooh!" (and then they beam up at me like I'm magic)

Fuck me.

All of this takes a lot out of me. I know intellectually anyway that doing these trainings will get easier with regard to doing the presentations and getting the message across and all that happy horseshit but I don't think it'll get any easier on my mental energy depletion. After being in one of the sessions I want to go to a nice quiet place for the rest of the day. But most likely I will not be able to do that. Stupid mortgage. I also can't understand why people in these trainings, most of whom are of reasonable intelligence simply CANNOT follow simple directions. At the beginning of each training we mention that they might get prompted to install an Active X control thing and they should go ahead and install it. Literally 5 minutes later I'm running over to someone who has fallen behind because they did NOT install the file and now the program is frozen. "Oh, I saw that but I didn't know I was supposed to install it." Sigh. I'm telling you it hurts me.

Last week I attended a training, not as a presenter OR support staff but as a student. It was one of these touchy-feely classes that companies love so much. Basically the gist of the thing was that people typically fall into several categories based on their personalities and this was a class on how to recognize those personality traits and how to interact with someone who looks at the world differently than yourself. Sounds almost helpful there doesn't it? The problem I think is that I am clearly an introvert and as an introvert I'm fairly certain that I will not use this method to help me "read" people. I don't like people so why would I want to understand their point of view? They annoy me and waste my precious sitting by myself and reading time (and by "reading" I mean playing Grand Theft Auto). I'm not shitting on the class or even the concept of the program but I just know that I personally did not find much useful information there. It really wasn't bad, it just wasn't for me is all. Meh, at least I got a free lunch out of the deal.

So work is still challenging me and right now I think I'm experiencing my typical "change makes me cranky" phase. I don't know when this phase ends as I have always been cranky. I just feel crankier than usual lately. They did find a permanent place for me to sit finally but the rub is that I still ended up with someone sitting directly behind me. Granted there is a little more room in this space but I still get that uneasy feeling of knowing that there is someone else just over my shoulder. Next time I'll post about the time I worked in a factory/warehouse that made toy trains. For reals.

More Jobs that do not Appear on the Resume

Time for another dose of Vocational Errors by Your Host Mark. This one took place right around the same time as the Greenpeace incident. Don't hold me to these dates though as I have no concept of time anymore.

I was still living at home and my morning ritual included me grabbing the paper and perusing the Help Wanted section while dropping the kids off at the pool (you're welcome for that image). I came across an ad for "Motivated individuals needed for IMMEDIATE HIRE with HUGE opportunity to SUCCEED!" or something along those lines. It looks like a pyramid scheme or some shit right? Yea, I didn't know what that meant. Motivated? Fuck yea I'm motivated. I don't want to live here with the parents for much longer please. Huge opportunity to succeed? Sign me the frick up Billy. I told my parents about it and how I was going to the office in downtown Malden to meet with the hiring guy. My dad said that it didn't sound like a legitimate business but I said I should at least try it out right? My mom said nothing cuz she just wanted her $200 a month.

So with my dad shaking his head slowly at me I left to go to the interview. I got to the office space which was right on Ferry St. in this rundown building. I walked in and there was about 10 other guys there who were also responding to the ad. The first thing I noticed is that they were all wearing ties and some even had suits on. I had just a button down shirt (probably untucked) and some pants that I'd probably already worn a couple of times. I sat down amongst the other candidates and filled out the application. When my turn came to meet with the hiring guy he mentioned that he liked my relaxed style which I took as a compliment but he most likely was poking fun at me. He explained that the job was a sales position (zero experience there) in the exciting field (read: risky) of direct marketing (read: pyramid). I nodded a lot and agreed to accept the position (I later figured out that ANYONE who walked into that office and didn't immediately turn around and bail got "hired"). He told me to come back the next day for the sales meeting and then I'd meet the guy who'd be training me. "He's a big up and coming guy in this organization!" he boasted. What organization? You have a pool or morons like me who you're going to have sell shit products to less than bright people. Awesome business plan.

I'd like to point out that absolutely no red flags went off for me at all. Zero. I just thought that I need money and this guy says that he can help me get some. He's in an office and wearing a suit so he must know more than I do right? Well yea, but that's all relative. I went home and told my parents that I got hired and that I'd be going to work the next day. No response from them on that subject. Feh, what do they know anyway?

At the sales/team meeting the next day I got my first glimpse at what this guy thought my future would be. Apparently I'd be super excited all the time and say things like "YEA! GO TEAM (insert name of this guy's shitty company here...I can't remember what it was)!" I'm just not the "go team" kinda guy really. I can't muster up that kind of excitement for...well, anything. I would not classify myself as high energy or Type A. Type C perhaps. Type D even. I just want to do whatever I have to do and please leave me alone. So why not realize this and immediately leave the meeting? Well, I do like money. So with the prospect of perhaps earning some I thought that I can maybe fake the excitement part.

The meeting lasted about 45 minutes and then I met up with the guy who was going to be training me on how to go about selling the products. What products, you ask? Oh, a horrible set of 6 steak knives and a 5 piece reversible belt set (it was 3 leather belts of questionable quality which were reversible and 2 different buckles. You totally want a set don't you?). We jumped into his Caprice and made our way to a super market parking lot in Dorchester. When we got there he parked near the entrance and opened up the trunk where he had boxes and boxes of this stuff. We got out and he immediately started trying to sell knives to people who just wanted to go get some groceries. "Hey ma'am?", he called over to some lady who just pulled up. "You should check out this AMAZING DEAL!" He then would point to me as I would do an interpretation of a Price Is Right model while trying to show how fucking fantastic these steak knives were. "Excuse me sir," he would say while annoying some poor guy getting into his shitbox. "Every man needs more than one belt right? Well this is SIX BELTS IN ONE!" Which technically isn't true. It's more like six belts in one set...or 3 belts in one times 2. I guess that's not as zingy though.

Here's the bizarre thing: people would stop and buy this shit. I think the belt set was like $10 and the knives were $15 or something like that. We would hawk this crap all over the city hitting little strip malls in run-down areas because as he so eloquently put it "people around here will buy anything". Nice. So now I have to deal with that rolling around in my head. I'd like to say that it was right then and there that I decided that I didn't want anything to do with this guy and this "business" but I was still blinded by the promise of "big bucks". Plus, he had been saying how he was going to be moving to Florida soon and would need guys like me to help him get his franchise set up down there. Oh you mean like guys who haven't sold ANYTHING ever, who hate people and can't drive? Those kind of guys? Well hell, I'm yer man then.

After several hours of moving from parking lot to parking lot he decided that I was all trained up and could easily set out on my own the next day. What? Seriously? "Oh jeebus, I think I've fucked up again", was the thought going through my head. "How am I going to carry this crap around? On the goddamn T?" I decided that I wasn't going to accept his offer to move to Florida if asked and I certainly wasn't going to return the next day to continue with this career. Plus, I still had to purchase my inventory. Had I mentioned that part yet? Oh yes, you needed to have a certain amount of crap in stock to sell to people who should know better. One thing I was definitely lacking was moneys with which to purchase goods. So this whole scheme was doomed from the start.

We wrapped up the day of sales and headed back to the office in Malden. He was going on and on about how great it's going to be when he gets to Florida and how much I'm going to love it there (apparently I had landed the job after all even though I never actually heard an offer or accepted anything. That's how goddamn charming I am). We were on Rt. 93 north near the Boston Garden when he said "Oh man, I gotta take a leak. Here, grab the steering wheel a sec won't ya?" I'm sorry, what? I do as instructed and grab a hold of the steering wheel as he turned over onto his left side, cracked open the door and pissed out of the opening. All of this while stuck in traffic. Oh COME ON! What the fuck? Even I could see this for the giant red flag that it was.

We got back to the office and I followed him in to talk to the boss guy. He went in to the guy's office and told me to wait out in the main reception area for a sec. I did and in a few he came out and said the boss guy wanted to see me. WHY AM I STILL HERE? I SHOULD JUST FUCKING LEAVE ALREADY! But of course I don't leave and I go in to talk to the boss guy. "Petey (or whatever that guy's name was...I forget) says your a natural at this! As far as I'm concerned you have a job here!" Oh really? You do realize that Petey if a fucking moron right? Do you know he pisses out of his car door while driving on Rt. 93? Do you know he's a huge racist? I do. I know a lot of nuggets about Petey. I don't ever want to see him or you again. Good DAY, sir. That's what I should have said. What I did say was "Oh really? That's nice of you." Whatta pussy.

I did eventually tell the guy that I couldn't really do the job, not because of the fact that it was an unsustainable business model or that his hiring practices left me wondering about his intelligence or even that the idea of hawking knives to people at 8 in the morning isn't a pleasant prospect; oh no, I couldn't do the job because I couldn't AFFORD to buy in. Yep. Moral standards officially lowered, full speed ahead. He said he understood and I left the office to start my walk back to my parent's apartment. And I still didn't have any money to pay my mom the room and board I owed her. Awesome.

Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter This Cube

I am starting to get used to my new surroundings here at the shiny new gig and so things are better. I still get disoriented when trying to navigate my way to conference rooms (the company occupies space in several different buildings all within a few blocks of each other. This is ok for now but once the cold and/or snowy weather gets here I may be declining meeting requests left and right).

This got me thinking it might be time for another installment of "Vocational Errors by Your Host Mark". Today's story is from 1999-2000. I had been working at ZDNet, happily plugging away at making little HTML files for the website when I realized that my boss at the time (a.k.a the mini tyrant) was not going to go to bat for me and get me the raise that I thought I deserved. I decided that I'd look for another position within the company and that's when I found out about a gig in the department some of my friends worked in. Schweeeeeet. I interviewed (like a champ) with the manager guy and after much inter-departmental red tape and ass kissing I got the gig (I had to straddle both positions for a bit too..I was doing two jobs for the price of one for about a month).

The position as it had been described to me by the manager guy I had interviewed with was right up my alley. It was sort of pseudo-technical with some support work and a dash of creative influence thrown in so that I didn't lose my will to live. Everything was hunky-dory for the first few weeks and then the he called me into his office to ask me if I was interested in going to San Francisco to meet with his boss and get a better understanding of what the peeps out there need from me. Say what now? Free trip to a super-awesome city where my ex-roomie lives? Fuck yea I'll go! I thought that I had finally "arrived". I felt all fancy.

Y'know what's not fancy? Business travel and then meetings with people who clearly suspect that you might be retarded (whoops! I meant "challenged"). The first night in town was kinda exciting if tiring. I got in around 7pm local time and after dumping my stuff off at the hotel I went downstairs to meet the grand-boss guy and his local flunkies. They were going to take some clients out to dinner and had invited me along. At the restaurant we all sat at this big-ass table (there was 8 of us I think) and everyone started chatting. Well, everyone except me. It was becoming clear to me that these people had waaaay more experience in business than I and, at this point, probably assumed I was just as successful as they. Best to keep my yap shut.

The grand-boss dude ordered up this stupidly expensive bottle of wine and talked about the giant house that he was renovating. I had just the year before purchased my house and I thought that this would be a good place to "connect" with him. Yea, turns out he was spending more than double what my house had sold for just on his restoration. I think I might not be able to relate to his "not being able to find a really good banister guy". Oh, plus keep in mind that to me it was the middle of the night since I was still on east coast time.

The next day I went into the office to meet with him and his pit bull in the form of this woman who right from the word "GO!" hated my guts (I was sitting here now trying to recall her name and I can't do it. I must have purged it from my memory...oh crap, I hope I didn't purge some stuff I need too). They proceeded to explain what my job would actually entail and it was light years away from what I had signed on to do. Basically it was all about running reports and meeting with clients and generating revenue streams and... HOLY FUCK!! I didn't even comprehend what the frick they were talking about. I just wanted to crawl under the desk and hope for them to go away. They wanted to know how many people were going to the website and what they were clicking on and if they downloaded and fuck me...it was awful.

I flew back to Boston and tried desperately to be the guy they wanted me to be but I'm just NOT that guy. I don't do marketing and strategy. I can't even plan a vacation for fuck's sake. It got so bad that I would dread seeing the little red light on my phone all lit up when I got into work in the morning. My heart would just sink when I saw that light. Plus, they were calling me with all these emergencies at 5PM California time. Hi guys? Yea, that's fucking 8PM here in Cambridge...I'm not in the goddamn office. There was talk of giving me a beeper but I was able to resist that idea luckily. I can't imagine being at the Pit Bull's beck and call 24/7. Every day I would go home and tell the Wiff that I'm going to be fired. And I wasn't kidding. I really thought that at any moment they would just throw up their hands in frustration and kick me out the door. It was one of the most stressful times in my life so far.

I just did not understand what it was that they wanted me to produce for them. They needed someone who could work closely with the clients that existed and then try to get new clients and drive traffic to the site and get the revenue to show growth and bloody hell I'm an introvert over here people. I went to the guy that I had actually interviewed with and basically asked him what the fuck happened to the job that I had applied for. He was so completely unhelpful in getting anything resolved with the California office. He essentially admitted that he had misinterpreted what it was his boss wanted and yet he either wasn't willing or able to fucking fix it. He still stands out as the worst manager I have ever worked under. So I went to HR to tell them that shit was all fucked up and I had made a huge mistake in taking this job. To their credit they didn't just kick me in the balls and tell me to "buck up, fattie". They actually worked with me to resolve the problem.

Cut to 3 months of hell later and, as luck would have it, there had been a re-organization within the old group that I had worked in. Out had gone the mini-tyrant who ran my little group as well as the perpetually bored, ineffective, Jane-Austin-loving woman that she reported into. In came this woman who had run the department when I first joined the team who was/is awesome, awesome, awesome (hooray for Laura Sweet!!). I found out that the manager position previously held by the mini tyrant was now open and I jumped on that mofo. I begged and cajoled HR and got an interview with my old manager. She asked me if I could do the job without fucking up too much and I said that I'd try (I'm paraphrasing of course). She took pity on me and hired me back. I am still so very grateful for that. She saved me and my sanity.

As a little post-script to this story, after I left that other evil position, they had a really hard time filling it. They eventually hired a few people to do the work that actually needed to be done. The description of that job was so poorly conceptualized that it took a review and rewrite to realize that there was enough work there for 3 separate people. And they had tried to get one big dummy to do all of it. Oh, and we were all laid off eventually. G'night!

So What's This Aboot the Economy Being in the Shitter or Something?

A while back I hinted that I may have some news soon. I'm sure that the interwebs was simply abuzz with people desperately trying to figure out what the news might be. The speculation, ranging from a) "Does he have a vagina?" to b) "Oh god, he didn't get The Wiff pregnant did he? Oh lord help us all if that's the case" to c) "Meh, don't care...wonder if my cousins have posted anymore stuff about the weather on Facebook yet.." (answers: a) practically. b) nope. see "a)". c) yes, of course they have. And they also wrote "LOL" a hundred times too. You share DNA with these people...good for you), was so overwhelming and quite frankly, embarrassing that I had to go into hiding for a little while. It's the life I chose. The life of the author of an amazingly popular blog. I'm talking upwards of six to seven honest-to-goodness hits per week. The numbers don't lie people. Plus, I get at least one person a month from Germany. Granted, they're actually searching for weirdo German porn when they type "Flunky Boy" into the search engine but that's not the point! They come to my site and sometimes don't immediately leave. Top that!

So then, what IS the news? Oh that. Yea, I got myself a new job. That's all. I hadn't really been looking for a job either. I have a decent gig at my current place and I'm so totally lazy that I'd prolly have stayed there for, well, forever but this opportunity presented itself so I checked it out. A guy I worked with at my current job had left to go work for this other company about a year ago and I had stayed in touch with him. He mentioned this position opening up back in what? like March or something of this year. I talked to the hiring manager on a phone interview and when he mentioned the position called for having some people report to me I kinda balked. Look, I've only been in this industry for a little over 5 years now and I don't think that I'm qualified to be someone's manager. Managers need to be able to help mentor and develop the people in their ...HA! oh god, I couldn't get through the whole sentence. I tried...I really did. But seriously...it's true. Plus, I've been a manager-dude before and I didn't particularly like it. I liked the private office part but not so much the solving other people's problems.

So the guy was kinda like "Oh, well...hmmm." and I figured I had just blown the interview right then and there. But I didn't want to be dishonest either. So we chatted some more about my experience and yada yada and said our good-byes. "Damn, damn, damn" I thought. "Stupid mouth! Why don't you say the things that I need you to say?" My mouth had no response. Typical. It'll prolly think of some awesome comeback in the car ride home. Then I hear through the grapevine that the company had gone on not quite a hiring freeze but a cooling period. Ok fine. So, I won't be moving on just yet. S'ok. I gots a job and I can pay for stuff. No biggie.

But it was a biggie. See, I liked the hiring manager guy I had talked to on the phone. The company sounded like they were doing some cool stuff and against my better judgement (at the time) I had become invested. Nothing happened for months and then my buddy IM'd me ("takeiteasytony" on AOL IM, people...look me up!) and told me to check the email that I had listed on my resume. The company's recruiter had been trying to get in touch with me. Hee. I hadn't looked in a while since I didn't think that they were interested. I responded to the email and the interviews got set up.

The interview day came and it was one of those gauntlet type deals where I had to meet with 7–8 people from different departments. Overall I'd say it went well. I was wicked charming. And as it turns out, I kinda knew what I was talking about. Nice.

And then....nothing. For like longer than I felt comfortable with I didn't hear a peep from anyone attached to the hiring. This of course makes me go right to the worst-case scenario. Was it something I said? Didn't say? Didn't do? Crap. Then, finally a phone call from the recruiter dude saying that things went well at the interview and now the head of the department wanted to meet with me. Ok. No problem. "He would like to set up a breakfast meeting at a local hotel. How's 7:30 am on Friday?" Fuck me. Really? Ok. Breakfast at a hotel at 7 goddamn 30 on a FRIDAY. I'll be there.

I make my way to the hotel restaurant and meet up with the dept. head. We sit down at a table and the waiter brings us the menus. Now here's the thing. I had already eaten breakfast because I didn't want to be frickin' STARVING when I got there and then scarf down my meal while this guy tries to get a word in. "Can't talk. Eating." Yea, didn't want that. So I was not at all hungry. This menu was evil too. It had either really fou-fou stuff or straight-off-the-farm fare. There was no middle ground that I could find. Can a brother get a bagel? Nope. It's either a delicate fruit cup placed elegantly in a crystal bowl on a doily or 15 eggs served over a bacon stuffed pig with hash browns. Choose wisely.

Honestly, all I wanted was the damn fruit cup. Maybe a cup of coffee too. Now, I don't know this guy from a hole in the wall so I don't know what kinda guy he is. Is he the super-macho kind who would disapprove of guy ordering the fruit cup? Would that be a deal breaker for this guy? Would he even give a shit? I dunno. Am I over-thinking this? Shouldn't I just get what I want and be done with it? Why am I obsessing over what this guy would think about my breakfast choice? I'm not even hungry for fuck's sake. I'll just order the fruit cup and own the consequences if there are any. Who's this guy anyway? Why is he judging my food choices? What's wrong with a man ordering from the fou-fou side of the menu? Plus, it's by far the cheapest thing on here. Who pays $10.50 for eggs? Assholes, that's who. I'll be showing him that I'm fiscally responsible by getting the fruit cup. I'm getting the fruit dammit. That's FINAL.

"Mark, why don't you order first?" he said as the waiter turned to me. "Really? Ok... I'll have the giant plate of eggs and pork please." Of course I will. And what did he order you ask? Yes. The fruit cup. Well Mother Fuck.

But all that doesn't seem to matter after all. On Friday July 3rd I got the offer letter in the mail and signed that bad boy right away. I gave notice at my current gig this past Monday and this upcoming week will be my final week there. I have nothing but good things to say about my old job. They gave me a shot 5 years ago and I've learned quite a bit since I've been there. I had completely changed careers when I came there and I'm grateful for the opportunities they gave me. I know all that sounds corny but it's the truth.

Wish me luck. This is going to be interesting.

More Fun With Stupid Jobs

Here in a re-occurring theme is "Vocational Errors by Your Host Mark". After getting duly fired from Copy Cop I landed a job at another copy place (what? it was like my calling or something...this was only the second copy place too. There was to be another one in my future). While it was an ok place to work (aside from the fact that it was run by a family [mother, father, son] who also worked there and hated, hated, hated each other. Well, either they hated each other or they fucking LOVED to yell and scream at each other. To be fair, I'm not really sure which it was), even I realized that it was rather limited in its growth potential. Naaaah, I didn't think that way at all. I just couldn't deal with people and their anal retentive copy jobs. "Could you just move the original ever-so-slightly on the glass so that this is so perfectly straight that NASA will be able to use it for measurements?" God. We called those people "Toner Junkies". Or "Assholes".

At that time Amy had landed a new job at a place called Conservation Services Group. She told me that they were hiring and that I should apply for a job there. The company had a program called "Energy Fitness" which from a 10,000 foot view was a way to educate people in some of the low-income neighborhoods in Boston about energy conservation as well as provide them with some free compact fluorescent light bulbs and low flow water products. But the reality of it was 12-15 people crammed together on a de-commissioned airport shuttle bus (with a salvage title because it had been in a fire and it leaked when it rained from the speakers in the ceiling) driving around some of the shittiest neighborhoods while fighting amongst ourselves. We called the bus The Hate Bus to give you an understanding of the love we felt.


Not the beloved Hate Bus but you get the idea.

So I get this job and it turns out that Nat the crew chief and driver of The Hate Bus lived right up the street from me. Nice easy commute for yours truly. A couple of the other guys on the crew also lived right there in Allston so all 4 of us would pile into the bus and then complain about stuff or tell stories about the crazies we'd seen the day before on the way to the pick-up point for the rest of the crew. We each had to do 8-9 appointments a day so Nat had to do a lot of driving up and down the wonderfully planned streets of Boston. CSG had a bunch of people in the office calling customers and trying to schedule appointments as close together as possible but the logistics of actually having all this shit work out were daunting to say the least. Here's quick list:

• getting someone to agree to an appointment (even though it was free)
• actually have that person be home when we showed up
• have enough appointments to keep 12-15 people busy for 8-9 houses a day, every day
• not get any of us killed (which honestly was a concern in some of these neighborhoods)

The best part about all of this is that even though we were in this craptastic bus, wore bright (and I do mean BRIGHT) blue polo shirts with big plastic name tags and had walkie-talkies a 3rd grader would scoff at, a lot of people in the neighborhoods thought we were either under cover cops or at the very least working with the cops. Um, no, we just screw in light bulbs. This became somewhat of an issue when we were in, let's say, more sensitive areas of the city. People just wouldn't let us in. Look lady, I just want to give you some of these light bulbs and get outta here. I promise there isn't a microphone in them (actual question). It was ridiculous.

So the way that this worked was Nat would have a list of the day's appointments and he would drive around dropping us off and then picking us up (we would call him on the walkie-talkies when we finished...remember that this is 1994 here, no cell phones. Actually we had a bag phone on the bus. It was HUGE and blocky and had a range of approximately 6 blocks). On this particular appointment, the house was a triple decker and I had the first floor apartment while this other guy on the crew (good ol' Slimmy) had the 2nd floor. We both finished up with the landlord guy and then went outside to call Nat to come pick us up. Nat radioed back that the landlord now wants us to do the top floor apartment. Slim and I looked at each other, shrugged and trudged up the stairs to the 3rd floor.

When we got up to the apartment the landlord was already there in the kitchen. He let us in and while Slim went around to the different rooms trying to spec out lighting (we tried desperately to make our job sound more important than it really was. Basically he was looking for lamps to screw light bulbs into) while I stayed in the kitchen with the landlord guy filling out the paperwork. There was one room off of the kitchen that he wouldn't let us go into and while that was a bit odd, we didn't really think much of it. Suddenly there was a loud knock at the front door and the landlord guy asked me to open it. I did and was greeted with a cop dressed like a mailman with another cop right behind him with their guns drawn. "I don't live here!" I managed to say as they pushed past me and into the kitchen. The guy's wife was in the stairwell yelling "Praise JESUS! Jesus save us! Lord help us in the name of JEEESUS!!" which did little to assuage my fear of being shot in the face. The cop dressed like a mailman grabbed the landlord guy while the other one walked from room to room all commando-style (and I don't mean sans undies. I mean like Jack Bauer) looking for bad guys. It was crazy.

Apparently this house was under police surveillance for being a drug den or something and although the cops KNEW that Slimmy and I were in there, they decided that this was the perfect time to bust in and arrest the landlord (if I remember correctly there was someone else they were looking for as well who may or may not have been in that room we weren't allowed into). I actually had to have the guy sign the paperwork just before they slapped the handcuffs on him. We followed the cops and the guy and the Jesus-yelling-wife downstairs and out onto the sidewalk. The cops had actually showed up in one of those little mail trucks (no, I didn't cross my fingers, I was still kinda freaked out) and parked RIGHT BEHIND that was our beloved Hate Bus. No WONDER people thought we were in kahoots with the cops.

Nat called us over and Slimmy and I got in the bus and we sat there for a second saying "goddamn, we're never going to get another appointment in this neighborhood again". It only just occurred to me now that maybe that was a good thing.

How Did I Get Anywhere?

I was talking to someone about work, the economy and other happy subjects when the subject of getting laid off came up. I thought a minute about it and I realized that since 1991 I have been laid off 4 times (FOUR! Twice from the same company!) and fired twice from various positions. I really have a stellar record there don't I? Sheesh. But what I thought I'd discuss here is the first of the 2 firings (since the second one is pretty run-of-the-mill stuff).

In 1991 (on my birthday actually! Happy birthday to me!) I started a job at Copy Cop (oh, by the way, Copy Cop doesn't make copies anymore! Weird right? At least I don't think they do. Their website seems to be more geared towards digital print and computer stuff). I knew some people who worked there already and it seemed like an ok place to work for a guy with no marketable skills.

I worked at the store on Milk St. (corner of Broad St.) which I don't think is there anymore. The manager guy was a bit of a schmuck (ok, he was a complete schmuck) and we had our differences. By 1993 I ended up getting transferred to a different store (oy, I just remembered that they called them "precincts". God, that's so asinine) where although I was no longer working with a dummy, I still wasn't thrilled about my position. I somehow got it in my head that I should be a supervisor and/or manager-in-training or some shit. I really thought that Copy Cop was missing the boat on the Mark O'Malley braintrust working for them in Precinct 2! They disagreed.


The manager of the Milk St. store as
envisioned by Dave Blanchette

So because of this I decided that it was time to look elsewhere in the reprographic industry. I saw an ad for a manger position in Harvard Sq. working for the arch enemy of Copy Cop: Kinko's. The job interview was set up and all I had to do was get the day off, charm the pants off of those folks at Kinko's and then I'd be running my own store! Please keep in mind at all times that I had ABSOLUTELY no management skills/training/instinct what-so-ever. But the job I had being a shitty job had very little in the way of benefits (bennies don't come at $7.50/hr) so I had to either call in sick on the interview day (which was a Monday and therefore would call into question the validity of a 23-year-old calling in sick) or come up with a masterful excuse as to why I needed Monday off.

I decided to fake a funeral. Yep. I'm a class act all the way.

On the Wednesday before the interview I went to the manager of the store and told him that my uncle had died and I think the funeral would be on Monday. I told him that I'd have to confirm it with my mom and I'd let him know the next day if I did in fact need the Monday off. I thought that that would somehow make it seem more authentic. I don't know why I thought that anyone would even question the date of a funeral but once again I call your attention to my tiny brain. The next day I told him that yes I would in fact need to take Monday off but I'd be back on Tuesday.

Cut to the weekend. That weekend the "Storm of the Century" was barreling up the coast towards us and when it got here it dumped a stupid amount of snow and generally made life annoying (especially since it came in March when I'm just starting to allow myself to think that maybe winter will please fuck off for a while. But of course it doesn't. March is cruel like that). So, blah, blah, blah it snowed and was windy and crap like that. Monday comes and I go to the interview and completely blow it. Nice one O'Malley.

The next day I drag my sorry ass into work and when I get there, the manger dude (who's name I can't remember...) calls me into his office. That's weird I thought but whatever, I'll go see what's up. He starts off with "How was the funeral?" That's an odd question but I answer, "Y'know, ok I guess." (I have an amazing grasp of the English language) He then says "Oh, ok. Um, your mom called..." and he just let it hang there. It was like the words "your mom called" were still echoing off the walls of the office. Like they were physical entities running around the room crashing into furniture and knocking over things. So I replied, "Oh, really?" Brilliant comeback I'm sure you'll agree. He said "Yeah, she wanted to know how you faired this weekend with the big snow storm and all. I told her that you were at a funeral. With her." Oh lordy. Yep. My MOM called my JOB to see how I was. She NEVER did that before. EVER. Soooo busted.

And then he fired me. Meh, fair enough.

As I was stamping my time card for the last time I thought to myself that 1) god, I'm a dumb-ass 2) lesson learned: if you're going to use someone as your alibi, let them know. 3) don't tempt fate by pretending to go to a funeral when you're not. Oh, and call your mom when it snows a lot.