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asTWISTED byDave: April 2006
::: Saturday, April 29, 2006 :::
Kitten Pictures [Link] Thanks for e-mailing me, Stan.
::: Friday, April 28, 2006 :::
If I could give one piece of advice to any person in history, that advice would be...
I'd tell Abe Lincoln to skip the theatre that fateful day.
::: Wednesday, April 26, 2006 :::
Lowbrow Moment:
(I steal these, not experience them. But, I may have some empathy for them)
I has an A&P class in college. We had an entire week devoted to bodily secretions, including semen. As we are talking about its chemical makeup, and the fact that it is very low in sodium(salt), a very pretty young lady in the front row asked:
"If it doesn't have a lot of sodium in it, why does it taste so salty?"
We were speechless. Sadly, she never came back to class.
Linkfest:- Allan Teger's BODYSCAPES [Link] Here you will find a new perspective on the human form, and enjoy seeing the world as never before.
- Monday Morning Test [Link] Better than any IQ test, check to see if you're really awake. Or falling asleep again.
- GALLERY: Wood Painted Car [Link] Of all the things you could do to a car... I'm 'stumped' why you'd want to paint it like wood.
- Biscuit City [Link] A model city made of... biscuits.
- The Infinite Cat Project [Link] Meow.
- VIDEO: Talking Cats [Link] You've probably seen this one, but why not again, eh? I crack up at that last one.
- VIDEO: Amazing Microwave fun! [Link] Probably not advisable at home, but I'm waiting for Wawatay to start reporting funny shhhh-stuff like that.
- Retrievr [Link] Search Flickr by making a sketch and it looks for images that look like your sketch.
- METAFILTER: Free Learning [Link] My mind is always hungry :(
- SOFTWARE: Hotkeys [Link] It's a "hotkey reminder." Basically, you hold down the Windows key for three seconds when you can't remember the keyboard-shortcut and with the same time that you would have clicked with your mouse through menus the Hotkey program comes up, showing you the keyboard shortcut. Of course, the goal is not to need it, but whatever.
My Usual Self-Questionnaire.
What's playing? The Tea Party - Raven Skies
What was the last thing my TV did? Nothing.
How am I feeling? Why? Not bad, but not great either.
Complete this: "The Weather Is..." Sunny, cool. A few clouds.
Random Comments: Broken promises don't upset me. I just think, why did they believe me?
::: Tuesday, April 25, 2006 :::
You read that right, it said How to Get Up Right Away When Your Alarm Goes Off [Link]
When your alarm wakes you up in the morning, is it hard for you to get up right away? Do you find yourself hitting the snooze button and going right back to sleep? Then this article is for you. And me.
I really, really, really (you get the idea) want to become a morning person again. I guess I'm not helping much out by having a tall, cup of steaming-hot tea right before bed while sitting in front of my bright monitor when I should be doing something less stimulating. But... I'm so used to waking up at a time when I have just enough time to make it to work without being late. Or noticeably late, for that matter.
Cheers.
This is for all the Italians out there, and those who are lucky enough to be married to an Italian, and even to all the friends of Italians.
An elderly Italian man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite Italian anisette sprinkle cookies wafting up the stairs. Gathering his remaining strength, he lifted himself from the bed.
Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands he crawled downstairs. With labored breath, he leaned against the doorframe, gazing into the kitchen. Where if not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven. For there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favorite anisette sprinkled cookies. Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted Italian wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a crumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life. The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife...
"Get out of here! " she shouted , "They're for the funeral."
Been a while, eh?
- Horror Masks [Link] Masks of faces from horror movies. This has to be the biggest collection of horror masks I've ever seen.
- The Beer Belly [Link] A removable spare tire that serves as a stealth beverage!
- Silly: Super Bourbon [Link] That looks sugar-packed.
- Australian Storm Chase Movies [Link] Videos from people insane in the membrane.
- You Can't Make It Up: 50 Animals In Casts [Link] Double-AAAWWWW!!!
My Usual Self-Questionnaire.
What's playing? 8stops7 - Question Everything
What was the last thing my TV did? I watched The Returner, a japanese import. It was pretty good and about a war 80 years in the future with aliens.
How am I feeling? Why? Could be better. You?
Complete this: "The Weather Is..." Cool and sunny today.
Random Comments: Imagine Scooby Doo saying "click hear" heheheheheh. Yuck.
::: Monday, April 24, 2006 :::
(I steal these, not experience them. But, I may have some empathy for them)
Why is it everytime I sit down in public to smoke a cigarette some jerk has to come up to me and say "That's a bad habit." or "Those are bad for you." Like I've been living in a bubble the last twenty years and hadn't heard about that whole lung cancer thing. You don't know me, you don't have any personal interest in my health, why is it socially acceptable to be rude to me, a total stranger, just because I smoke. I'm a polite smoker. I don't sit down next to people I don't know and light up. I don't smoke around kids. I'm certainly not trying to convince anyone else to smoke. Heart disease due to obesity kills more people than lung cancer every year, but you don't see me stopping everyone with a Big Mac in their and warning them they're killing themselves. You know why?
BECAUSE IT'S NONE OF MY GODDAMN BUSINESS! THAT'S WHY.
End of Rant.
::: Sunday, April 23, 2006 :::
It's a wonderfully warm day here in Sioux Lookout. I slept in late then went to communion after I woke this morning. I'm going to spend some time with my nieces then go for a bike ride afterwards. That's my Sunday. Check my Q&A down below for the new questions: "What do you do with your weekends?" and "what would you like to do with them?"
Pictures
Spring... time of rain, thunderstorms and mist-filled mornings.
And in the spirit of the day of Holy Sabbath:
Funny Newspaper Story
A Ukrainian businessman who bought a pager for each member of his staff as a New Years gift, was so alarmed when all 50 of them went off at the same time that he drove his car into a lamp post, a newspaper said.
The unnamed businessman was returning from the pager shop when the accident happened, the Fakty daily reported.
"With no more than 100 meters to go to the office, the 50 pagers on the back seat suddenly burst out screeching.
The businessman's fright was such that he simply let go of the steering wheel and the car ploughed into a lamp post."
After he had assessed the damage to the car, the businessman turned his attention to the message on the 50 pagers. It read: "Congratulations on a successful purchase!"
::: Thursday, April 20, 2006 :::
Tom the Temp #6: "Bring Your Kids To Work" Day @ Transient Insurance Co.
Today is "Bring Your Kids To Work Day" at Tom's placement in the Insurance Office. The office has just opened and everyone is gathered in the lobby, even the people without kids, including Tom. The children are being given a chance to say hello and tell everyone what they think their parent does for the company before the work day gets started. There's even a company picnic down the street at a city park at lunchtime. The Boss makes a point of keeping all doors open and lights on so the children feel safe and more welcome. He makes sure Tom and The Admin know that applies to the Technical Services door too. They don't much like their sanctum disturbed with fresh air or bright light, much less small, nosey humans so they're not happy about it at all. They like their lava lamps, the neon Molson Canadian sign and their numerous monitors to be the only sources of light at most times.
"Tom," The Admin bumps Tom on the shoulder.
"What?" Tom asks.
"Your booby traps."
"Uh, oooooh...," Tom panics. He's set up some booby traps around the office and most of them are likely to be set off by the children, who probably will try and play in those areas, where calls for help won't likely be heard. Adults would probably survive the traps, but these little kids would certainly turn into the statistics their parents write reports on all day. Tom isn't *completely* evil, so he disappears from the crowd and scampers around the office, removing the triggers that set off the various traps. In his haste, he decides to only mangle people that are stupid but shouldn't be. So his new Mangling, Maiming and Killing Policy also includes most teenagers. He returns in time to hear the last couple kids give their little speeches.
As expected, the morning is filled with brats aged five to nine casually strolling into the Technical Services office and asking...
A L L - T H E - S A M E - F R I C K I N - Q U E S T I O N S - ! ! ! !
And they BOTH have to be polite. It's taxing them hard and they're running out of tolerance, in fact they're fighting over the last piece of it just as one of them, this one is a girl about the age of six, comes skipping straight out of the cubefarm, down the hallway and stops right in the Technical Services office doorway. "Hello," she says.
Tom hasn't done anything but bite his tongue since undoing all the booby traps so he's been trying to play a video game between interruptions and when he does play, he's been drooling a tad bit from video-game trance. Inspiration hits him! Taking a cue from The Hunchback of Notre Dame, he does his best Quasimodo impersonation. He stands up, hunched over. He twists up his face, nearly closes one eye and lets some drool pour out of his mouth. The girl stiffens up with fear.
"AAAH, A LITTLE GIRL. HELLO" Tom says in a strained voice, "I LIKE CHILDREN, THEY'RE GOOD IN SOUP." The girl takes a couple steps backward, not knowing what to think. Tom continues his creepy masquerade. He limps forward, clawing at the air in front of him with his right hand. His left arm hangs lifelessly at his side, only swinging to accent his pretend limp. "COME AND GIVE ME A HANDSHAKE!" The little girl screams and takes off back into the cubefarm at mach 2.
Several heads pop up above the cube farm walls, much like gophers in a field, to see what caused the screaming sonic burst. Tom has already stood up straight with his right hand outstretched and put a surprised look on his face. "What?" Tom says in his defense, "I just wanted to give her a handshake." He shrugs his shoulders and goes to sit in his chair again.
"Well done," says The Admin, "now what?"
"We wait." says Tom.
"Let's make it look like we've been working."
"Let's."
A couple of minutes later The Boss is standing at the doorway. "What the hell did you do to that little kid?" He asks.
"I just said hello and got up to give her a handshake, I guess I must have moved a little too fast and spooked her." Tom answers.
That's right," adds The Admin, "I saw it all. She freaked when he stood up and ran out when he moved toward her."
The Boss, having just been handed a perfect explanation, now has to remedy the situation in a much different manner than originally planned: "Well, now that little girl is telling the other kids about a monster in this area. What do suggest we do?"
"Let's give them a monster. Don't we have that mascot costume from old the company baseball team?" The Admin says, pointing at Tom and smiling.
"He's not going to get away with this," thinks Tom.
(GAME ON! Today's match: Tom the Temporary Employee vs. The Administrator. Admin has started the game playing dirty.)
"I agree," Tom says.
"Yeah, he could go around the off-" The Admin says before being cut off by Tom, "And! if I can scare one kid that much just by making sudden moves, think of how many I can completely traumatize with that thing."
"Errr," mumbles The Boss.
"Not a good idea?" Tom asks.
"No."
(Tom: 1, Admin: 0. Tom scores on a turnover! Round one of three ends and it looks like both of the players are here for all-out war. Tom isn't taking any crap from Admin.)
The Admin tries again, "how about Tom sets up an afternoon program to keep the kids busy, just make him promise not to scare the younglings. That way you get your workers back."
"Hey, yeah." says The Boss, greedily.
(Tom: 1, Admin: 1. Admin surprises Tom with aggressive offensive play and scores!)
"Uh-oh," thinks Tom, "I need to kill that idea or find a patsy." So, he says "but the ONLY place to take ALL the kids would be the top floor at the executive offices because the basement is too dark and dirty."
"Umm, maybe that's not such a good idea," The Boss admits.
(Tom: 1, Admin: 0. No goal! Video replay shows play was offside. Round two of three ended.)
"He's still got an hour this morning to clean up the basement and put in brighter lightbulbs," The Admin says.
"Ah ha, good thinking," says The Boss.
(Tom: 1, Admin: 1. Admin ties the game with a clean goal. Round three is over and now we head into overtime.)
"There's some exposed wiring down there," Tom says, remembering a disabled booby trap involving the power box, "I wouldn't want the youngin's having an accident. I don't know which switches in the power box supply which cables so he should to do those repairs. He can also run the program for the kids since that little girl will be there. I'll stay here and hold the fort. I can even surf the web this morning for stuff for the kids to do. I think I should close the door too, as the children probably already think 'the monster' lives in this office. You can tell them you locked me up."
"Uh," The Admin barely stutters, speechless.
"Okay, get it done mister administrator," The Boss says, completely satisfied, before disappearing quickly.
(Tom scores and wins the game 2 to 1. Admin was spanked in front of his mommy with that last play. Tom's defence receives the Star of The Game award for completely shutting down Admin's offence in overtime.)
The Admin glares at Tom while grabbing the toolbox.
"What?" says Tom, "you started it."
"Screw you," says The Admin."
"Turn off the lights and close the door behind you."
"All is well," thinks Tom.
::: Tuesday, April 11, 2006 :::
(I'm taking off again for a bit, so here's another short story to tide you over - D.)
Tom the Temp: Hauling Ass.
Tom the Temp is at a construction site for Sampson Construction today. This week he's been helping The Contractor and The Foreman with supervising the workers and doing some grunt work himself. This morning Tom and The Foreman are heading to the company warehouses to haul some bricks back so Tom can get trained on the forklift at the same time. Aside from the morning "hello" and picking up a coffee along the way, the sound of the road substitutes for silence and it's starting to get to Tom.
He reaches for the radio, turns it on. There's a spanish station playing. The DJ just finished speaking, but Tom doesn't speak spanish so he sits back and listens to the music that's starting. It's stereotypical, not unlike something you'd hear in a hollywood movie or a video game. He was hoping for something a little more mainstream, so he reaches for the dial to change the station. But it merely falls off.
"What the?" says Tom, in disgust.
"Hah," laughs The Foreman.
"How do you change the station?" Tom asks, leaning into look at the hole where the dial fell out of.
"You don't, it's been stuck that way for years, since Pablo was our driver and forklift operator. Most of us have tried to change the station with knives, screwdrivers and all sorts of pointy things. You name it, we've tried it."
"That sucks," Tom says as he turns it off, "I should take some petty cash, buy an El Cheapo Radio and call it 'vehicle supplies.'"
"Go for it."
Silence, yet again.
The silence doesn't last long though, because Tom is part of the ADHD-generation, the one right after Generation X, the one that others tried to name "Generation Y." He asks "Wanna hear a joke?"
"Sure," replies The Foreman.
"Did you hear the one about the little girl who asked her mother why she had to hop around all the place?"
"Nope."
"Her mother told her to shut up or she'll cut off her other leg."
"Hahahah!"
A lull in conversation lasts a while, but this time its The Foreman who breaks the quiet. "Got any other jokes?"
"Sure do." Says Tom.
A few more moments of silence. "Well?" Foreman asks.
"Well, what?" Asks Tom.
"The joke."
"What joke?"
"Tell me a joke."
"Oh... you didn't ask me to tell a joke, you just asked me if I had any more."
"You're funny."
"And sadistic. You still didn't ask me to tell you a joke."
The Foreman just stares at Tom, the road apparantly taking care of itself.
"Okay," Tom says, "I'll stop playing Stupid. There's these two eagles"
"I thought eagles prefer to fly alone?" The Foreman interrupts.
"They could be parents," Tom answers, a bit stunned by the thought.
"Wouldn't one of them be taking care of the babies?"
"It doesn't matter why they're flying together, they're flying along, okay?" Tom is annoyed now
"Okay."
"Right. There's these two eagles flying along and this triple engine passenger jet blows past them."
"How high are they flying?"
"IT DOESN'T MATTER!" Tom yells! (Note from the author: I added another ! after 'yells' for added effect.)
"Woah! Who shit in your Bitchflakes this morning Tom?"
"I think I'm still eating them, can I tell the stupid joke?"
"Shoot."
"Okay, the triple engine jet blows past them and one eagle says to the other-"
"Eagles can't talk," The Foreman interrupts again.
"SHUT THE HELL UP, I'M TRYING TO TELL A JOKE!!! YOU'RE ABOUT TO SEND ME INTO A DIMENSION OF PISSED OFF I HAVE NEVER BEEN IN BEFORE IN MY LIFE AND IF THAT HAPPENS I'M GOING TO RIP YOUR ARM OFF AND FUCK YOU SIDEWAYS WITH IT UNTIL YOU BLEED TO DEATH!!!" Tom screams.
It seems to have worked because The Foreman is pressed up against the driver's side door with a look of terror on his face. "Just tell the joke, man," he squeaks.
"Okay, a triple engine jet blows past two eagles flying together then one eagle says to the other 'wow, did you see how fast he was moving?' Then the older, wiser eagle says 'well no wonder, you'd move that fast too if you had three assholes and they were all on fire."
"Heheh," is all The Foreman manages to laugh before silence once again dominates the conversation.
There's more silence as Tom daydreams about whether he should grab a lot of petty cash to get a CD Player for this truck or just a few bucks for an El Cheapo Radio. The Foreman relaxes and forgets his little scare, but has picked up the pace a bit.
"So I found out who's been stealing my lunches." Tom says, out of the blue.
"Oh?" grunts The Foreman.
"Yeah, it's Edward. Apparantly he didn't like the way I've been riding his ass for incomplete timesheets so he's been taking my lunches."
"So is this an official complaint?"
"Naw, I'll confront him after he steals today's lunch."
"You're going to *let* him take another one of your lunches?"
"I brought two, one for me and-" Tom makes it to the "wu" sound of "one" before being interrupted by The Foreman again.
"You're just a pussy." The Foreman says.
"No, I'm sadistic and mean, I made a special lunch for him," Tom replies.
"I told you you're a pussy."
"And I said I'm sadistic and mean. I added ipacec to the icing inside of a pastry I bought at the store."
"Ipa... what? You're still a pussy. A pussy who uses confusing words."
"Ipacec, it's a natural vomit-inducer. After he eats the cupcake he'll start throwing up until everything in his stomach is out and then he'll dry-heave for a bit."
"Okay. You're a sadistic and mean pussy."
"I also put a laxative in the thermos of soup he's going to drink before the cupcake. He'll be paying for stealing my lunches all afternoon."
"Ooh, snap."
"So he's going to make a mess somewhere, which I'll have someone else who pisses me off clean up. I'll ask everyone if they've seen my lunch today because I think my soup was old. Then when they tell me who's been sick I'll confront Edward and help him at the same time. Plus, when I report to the boss Edward has been sitting in the toilet all afternoon, he'll get his pay cut by that much."
"So he gets a shitty afternoon and you get off scot-free?"
"Yup, or he goes home sick and shits himself in his car then we can try it all again tommorrow."
"How do you come up with stuff like that?"
"Vengeance is a hobby of mine."
"I'm speechless."
"Now who'd you say was a pussy?"
"No one."
"Damn right!"
"We're almost at the warehouses, get ready," The Foreman says, pointing at the big buildings ahead with his lips.
"On it," Tom says, putting on his sunglasses and grabbing his hard hat.
::: Monday, April 10, 2006 :::
The Transient Insurance Company Postal Worker
It's Friday morning at Transient Insurance, where Tom the Temp is the Network Admin's assistant this week, and there's a muffled thumping noise coming from the office cubefarm somewhere. The Admin, quietly snoozing under his desk in the Technical Services office is rudely woken up by this noise. "Tom..." He says. A moment passes. Silence.
"Tom" He repeats. Another moment, more silence.
"TOM!!!" The Admin finally yells out, "go check out that thumping noise!"
"What thumping noise?" answers Tom, finally...
"Listen."
"For what?"
"The thumping noise."
"What thumping noise?" Tom says with a smile.
"THE FUC-" The Admin stops himself, realising Tom is playing stupid and he always wins at this particular game. "Just go see where it's coming from."
"No." Tom says.
"Why not?"
"You haven't done any work yet this morning."
"The hell I haven't I'm working right now."
"You're sleeping under your desk, yelling at me."
"This is a work-related meeting with the topic of you doing some leg work around the office to take some work load off of me."
Silence.
"I'm still not going to go," Tom says.
"I can't wait to hear this excuse."
"Listen"
"For what? I don't hear anything."
"Exactly, the thumping stopped so I'm going back to playing Quake 4."
"And I'll go back to sleep."
"We'll high-five for our teamwork skills later on."
"K."
Forty-five minutes and roughly a couple hundred dead monsters later the thumping starts again.
"Damn," Tom thinks to himself, "I'd better go hide before he wakes up again."
"Tom," The Admin wakes up.
"What thumping noise?" Tom says, as he gets up to check it out.
"Just go." Tom hears as the Technical Services office door swings closed behind him.
Tom struts past the cute secretary, who seems a little perturbed. "She must know more than I do," Tom thinks to himself but yet he continues further into the cubefarm. With the thumping getting louder Tom knows he's getting closer. He turns around the corner and sees one of the Call Center Drones hitting his head against his soft, sound-proofless, fabric-covered, feces-coloured cubical wall.
"Uh-oh," Tom thinks to himself, "I thought I recognised this music. This Drone going to go postal pretty soon."
Tom turns around and rushes back to the Technical Services Office, his facial expression now matches the secretary's. She tries to ask him a question as he jogs by but he quickly blows her off with "sorry babe, you're on your own. I'm outtie."
Tom bursts through the Technical Services office door, slams it shut and tells The Admin "Let's get the hell out of here. Off to an early lunch then drinks are on you all afternoon."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Remember that bet we made for when the first person at call center is going to go postal? Well it's not next month yet so I win and drinks are on you."
"Let's take the back stairwell."
"High five?"
*CLAP*
::: Saturday, April 08, 2006 :::
(I steal these, not experience them. But, I may have some empathy for them)
"you know what, i don't think i'm going to mix different types of alcohols in one night of drinking anymore," he says.
he then proceeds to drink (in the course of about three hours):
-one whiskey sour
-one homebrew beer
-one large glass of wine
-one irish car bomb
-three bud lights during beer pong
-one ridiculously strong vodka drink, also during the same game of beer pong
and he tops it all off with a shot of tequila.
he then proceeds to pee all over himself and his friend's couch, and show the entire room his penis.
...i guess it was the thought that counts.
::: Friday, April 07, 2006 :::
Tom the Temp #3: Tom the Temp's Interview at Steadfast Temporary Employee Agency
Today Tom's hanging around outside his ground-level apartment. He lives in an old renovated hotel and without work today, he is bored-out-of-his-mind. He's been job searching and waiting for a reply from someone, ANYONE. He's got a job at Sampson Construct, but they don't need him today or this week. Also, Tom's bills are getting high and his kitchen is going bare. Today's lunch will probably be stale saltines and McDonald's Sweet & Sour Sauce.
Sitting in a lawn chair, Tom's stomach fondly remembers the last time he was able to afford their deals. *gurgle* says his stomach, obviously annoyed at Tom for having been such a slacker lately. The phone rings and he scampers inside to answer it. "Hello?" "Hello, is this Thomas..." says the girlish voice at the other end, pausing to try to pronounce Tom's last name.
"'Tom' is fine," Tom tells the woman then asks, "who's calling?"
"This is Sherry, I'm a recruiter for the Steadfast Temporary Employment Agency."
"Oh, hello. Did I get the job?" Tom tries his luck.
"No, that is to say, not yet. We liked your resume and would like for you to come in for an interview."
"That sounds alright, when do you want me to come in?"
"Anytime this week is fine, just call ahead. In fact, we're interviewing all day today."
"Okay, well how about I show up right after lunch?"
"That would be fine Mister..." she pauses again.
"Call me Tom."
"See you later, Tom."
"Bye."
*click*
Tom looks up the address and decides to leave ASAP. He makes a fast commute on the city bus, it only takes fifteen minutes. He finds the building and enters. "Uh oh, the waiting room crowd looks bad," thinks Tom, "it looks like I'm the only one in here without a Communications Degree from some university." He takes a seat, mildly perturbed at his chances.
A custodian emerges from an unmarked door. The room appears to be a broom closet whose handle has no apparent lock. "Security risk," thinks Tom, as he happens to see various things in the broom closet before the door closes, one of them being a stack of "Out of Order" signs.
Tom wishes he brought a book or something because he figures "it's painfully obvious interviewees are treated like mere cattle. Then after they're hired, they're probably treated like valuable prime cattle, ready to be sold off to clients." Images of a slaughterhouse enters Tom's mind. He realizes its getting hot in the waiting room, so he needs to find a bathroom to wash his face.
Tom finds a bathroom. It's not that big, but has three stalls, a trough urinal, a few sinks, an old rotating towel machine and a blow dryer. A man dressed in a suit leaves a stall and makes eye contact with Tom, it's a most awkward moment. They both look away in a hurry and Tom notices another person still in a stall. He walks to a sink and looks at himself in the mirror. Aside from a little sweat he's ready for this interview so he washes his face and drys off with the blow dryer. After the blow cycle, Tom goes to leave the bathroom, he turns the light off. Just then, the guy calls out from the stall "Hey! I'm in here."
"I know," Tom says before the door closes behind him, while thinking "less competition."
Tom grabs an "Out of Order" sign and places it the washroom door and takes his seat. "That's that," Tom thinks, having completely eliminated one person. He looks across and once again makes eye contact with the same man who was in the washroom. Obviously, the guy's facial expression is that of surprise. Tom mouths out "less competition" and the guy across the room relaxes, even smiles a bit and gives Tom a thumbs up.
"THOMAS - uh..." A big, surly-looking woman announces, tripping over the bit of text that is Tom's last name.
"Present," Tom says.
"You're next for interview, come on in," the woman says.
Tom thinks to himself "hey... I recognize that voice, it's the H.R. Clerk who nearly blew out my ear with her voice last week." He departs his seat and follows the butch woman, who looks like she cuts down forests in her spare time.
"Have a seat mister...." she says, tripping on Tom's last name, "Thomas-"
"Tom is fine," he cuts her off.
Toms sits down in the most obvious chair, because the chair in the far corner would be a stupid choice. He wants a job and a pretend corner office won't cut it during an interview. A man in a dark blue suit introduces himself "Hello Tom, I'm Ed. I'm the temp manager for Steadfast, the woman who led you in is Wendy, one of our Human Resources Clerks."
"Wow, it has a name," thinks Tom.
"This is Anthony, he's one of our Temp Coordinators," continues The Temp Manager
"And finally, this is Tricia, the Human Resources manager."
Tom quietly panics, having just seen something on her face... a mole just to the left of her nose. "It's big and hairy. It probably has a name around the office," thinks Tom before finally saying "hello everyone, I'm Tom."
Tom's interview quickly starts after that, the questions are expected and none catch Tom unprepared, but he can't help but keep looking at the H.R. Manager's mole, eventually he begins to use "mole" as a syllable, generating great discomfort for all involved and maddening the interviewer with the mole.
The interview committee glances at Tom's curriculum vitae and portfolio, asking questions about his hobbies and talents. Tom of course, answers them happily, but is getting more and more distracted by that mole. The interview finally takes an unexpected turn as the committee starts asking very odd, but familiar questions.
"Ah ha," thinks Tom, "I recognize these questions, they're from a stupid online IQ test. I know these!" The remainder of the questions swing by easily, Tom even has to restrain himself from answering before they have a chance to ask the questions. They get to the last question when Tom glances at the mole. Bam. Tom forgets everything and doesn't even hear the question. He goes over it in his mind "When subject A leaves Town B and individual C leaves City D then.. um.. $#*%!!! How long did they take and what was the angle again?"
Just then Tom recollects barely enough from algebra 101 to make his neuro-memories retrieve the brain pain of too many variables: He thinks to himself: "x ,y, a, b, c - give me an integer - please - I don't know what the hell Vanna White saw in those vowels." He stalls for time. "Could you restate the question, please?"
The Temp Manager asks again, but now Tom's brain is fried. Baked by the mole. All he can recall are books he's read in the past. Luckily, one of them was The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe and in it was a robot that came up with the ultimate answer of "42." So he blurts it out.
"Amazing," says The Temp Manager who's obviously... amazed. "No one has gotten it without the help of an algebraic calculator," adds The H.R. Mole Monster. Tom glances again, but quickly looks away.
Tom is suddenly aware that The H.R. Boss has noticed his lingering glances. (This last glance lasted a minute while he was thinking.) Now, she'll obviously become nightmarish to talk to, akin to a monster. She becomes hostile. "Tom, do you have *any* criminal background?" asks The H.R. Mole Monster. "I don't have a criminal record," Tom says, "if that's what you mean." They're now locked in a battle of wits and now Tom doesn't see himself stepping foot in this building ever again. He gives into his fighting instincts.
"What about violence? Do you have a history of violence?"
"No, but accidents happen where I’m blamed."
"Explain."
"My lab partner in high school once tripped on my book-bag and poked her face with a hot knife, resulting in a dark scar to the left of her nose." ("Direct hit," thinks Tom.) The whole interview committee is now blushing for various reasons.
Wanting to end this as quickly as possible, Tom asks "May I ask a question?" Everyone freezes and goes silent; they're stifling laughter like they know what he's going to ask. There is a few moments of very tense silence before it is shattered by the Mole Monster: "and what would that be?"
"Are you being mole-evolent towards me?" Tom asks the H.R. Mole Monster directly, "because I'm sensing a harsh attitude emanating from you."
"No..." The H.R. Mole Monster growls, "I'm just beginning to have a bad day and unless your attitude improves you are going to have one too."
"Yes, you're right. I apologize. Let's not make a mountain out of a molehill"
Open giggles everywhere except for the butt of the joke, who is red with fury
Then The H.R. Mole Monster takes her turn and asks "Now, for your very last question: What would you do when your boss," everyone turns to The Mole Monster, "tells you that the department is getting a surprise visit from the CEO, he or she is expecting a certain project to be completed and it's on your desk, unfinished?"
"Well," Says Tom, "I'd yell out to you: HOLY MOLY! DISTRACT HER WITH YOUR FACE!"
Laughter everywhere, except for The H.R. Mole Monster who screams "THAT'S IT! GET OUT!"
Tom scampers out of the interview room quickly, stopping just in the outside doorway to hear The Temp Coordinator call out to him, "hey wait, Tom!"
Tom stops dead in his tracks and cranes his neck around, one hand still on the door handle, "what? Should I run faster?"
"No, you got the job, you impressed all but one of us," they share a nervous giggle, "you can come back later on and this really should be the last time you see her. You'll be dealing with clerks from now on. We basically run this place."
"That's good to hear."
"Yeah, just stop in late this afternoon and everything will be ready."
"Okay, I'm going to go die of laughter now."
"Ha! Just one more question."
"Shoot."
"How do you pronounce your last name?"
"For you to properly pronounce my last name, I'd have to tear your tongue down the middle and dislocate your jaw."
"Ah, forget it."
"Sure, spread the word to call me Tom."
::: Wednesday, April 05, 2006 :::
A boy was constantly wandering in and out of his home, leaving the front or back door wide open.
"Once and for all, will you PLEASE close that door!" his mother pleaded one day. "Were you born in a barn?"
"No, I was born in a hospital," he replied, smirking, "... with automatic doors."