I've been looking for a new job for some time, so long, I don't know what I'd do if I get one.. I'm not fresh, or eager, and I'll likely just wave away the interview questions with disdain, if they ever even happen. In an attempt to counteract my encroaching apathy, I had a fake interview the otherday, with myself. In this encounter, I ran over every interview I could remember, in my mind, until I answer each with ease. Surprisingly fun. The one most wince-worthy was when I got called in to an interview as the press-release, media guy and kiddy-fun-man for a fledgling toy company a few years ago. At first it went swimmingly, the man and woman were both robotics geeks and we had a good immediate rapport. But then they called me on something I said: 'I have an inventive mind.' I guess they took this quite literally, and so asked me what I had invented. I had very limited examples at hand, so, thinking quickly (and obviously not thoroughly) told them about a towel I'd come up with. I call this the 'head-butt' towel. The concept is rather simple, but clicks with something everyone wonders about: when I last dried myself, which part of the towel did I use to dry my head and which my genitals? The towel would be huge, and split vertically into black and white. The black bit saying 'BUTT', the white 'HEAD'. This confession was met with absolute silence, other than the sound of me sucking on my teeth. The interview became awkward and basically terminated one slender minute later. I didn't get the job. I would have hired me on the spot. Like the release of all good ideas into the ideational stratosphere, someone caught it with their dream-net and made it happen. Even down to the colouration. Bastards.
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Meanwhile, I'm at a 'stand and be counted' crux of my life. I have no job. My relationship with Isabel is over as of this past week, and I've been cut from Isabel's blog links. I'm down to my last $8. McGill has a collection agent after me. Telus is threatening me with social castration (not that that'll make much difference these days). My sister's going to Kenya for 2 months, but I haven't yet spoken to her. I haven't eaten since Friday and counting (other than a slice Steve-o boughted me yesterday). I feel like one of those white dried-out turds that noone'll touch, not even a sniff from the mangiest dog. Yet, I have something good to relate. Something that I'll take with me for life.