Sometimes the hardest job is finding one.
I guess if I had to put a time on it, I would say it all began at about 7:40 Monday morning. My alarm had been set for 7:30 but, like a fool, I had not switched it on. It was at this time that God decided I needed to be awakened so He woke me as only He can — I am of course referring here to intense gastrointestinal discomfort (and by discomfort I mean the overwhelming desire to be dead).
After relocating to the bathroom, I shortly thereafter discovered the cause of my pain. It is the pain that causes so many to suffer without impunity. It is the pain which reaches into the lives of every man, woman, and child on this planet, the pain which stretches from the lowest depths of the sea to the peak of the highest mountain. This pain has a name, and it is Pokeman. Sorry, I just live each day wondering if my life is somehow incomplete because I am the ONE person who can not begin to fathom my culture’s obsession with bad Japanese animation. Now back to our regularly scheduled drama…
Having already ironed my interview clothes, I continued about my morning routine as normal, with one exception. I forgot to do one very important thing before I went to my interview. This is perhaps the most important thing to do before going to an interview, and I forgot to do it. Yes, I forgot to put on deodorant. I guess this isn’t so important if you live in the Great White North (this is Canada for all us ignoramuses in the U.S.) where such things as perspiration and humidity are nothing more than theoretical concepts that can be duplicated only in a laboratory vacuum. But in the South, during the month of July, this was not a slick move on my part. I’m not sure exactly what the temperature was, but let’s just say that I definitely possessed the potential to, in the olfactory sense, resemble a mobile sewage treatment facility.
I’ll just let you know right now, that I am ever so thankful for AC in my car! This was my only saving grace. I didn’t want my friendly interviewer, Mr. Darrell Williamson, to think I was trying to smuggle aging fruit into his workplace. If this becomes a recurring oversight, I may have to leave little reminders for myself which, now that I think about, might be a really bad idea — especially if I’m out with a girl. It’d probably not be in my best interest to transport my date in car whose interior read something like, “DON’T FORGET DEODORANT!!!” or “REMEMBER TO WEAR PANTS!!!”
Anyway, my appointment was at 9 a.m., so I left my apartment at 8:15 thinking that I’d have plenty of time to reach my destination, which was about 25 miles away (if that). Again, I was wrong. I-40 was backed up so far that there was a line waiting to get onto the on-ramp. It took 10 minutes to travel the entire length of the ramp by which time I was mildly concerned about making my appointment. Finally, I got onto the highway and found the cause of the backup. Directly ahead was an enormous sign telling mankind of the thrilling message which brings peace to the tormented heart and joy to the grieving — namely, “LEFT LANE ENDS. MERGE RIGHT”. So I did. Everyone did. The sign said to. This effectively reduced the entire interstate to a single lane at rush hour. It was only two miles and twenty minutes later that I discovered that the sign reading, “LEFT LANE ENDS. MERGE RIGHT” was in reality supposed to read, “LEFT LANE DOES NOT END. DO NOT MERGE AT ALL”. It was probably just a typo.
By God’s grace I did make it to Iomega at exactly 9 a.m. … just in time to wait. So I sat around for a few minutes by the front desk waiting patiently on my interviewer, Darrell “Webster” Williamson. Eventually he brought me back into his cube to conduct the interview. After having me sit down, he told me I hadn’t filled out an application, and with that, he proceeded to take me back to the front desk where I filled out my application. Now, this application was a thorough application. In fact, this application was SO thorough that I expected by the time I was done, that it would be able to tell me definitively whether or not I had prostate cancer. It just went on and on asking all manner of foolish and irrelevant questions such as : “What is your mother’s maiden name? Explain.”
While I applied by the front desk, good old Darrell took off for some other section of the building — I’m thinking somewhere in the Yugoslav Republic judging by the length of time he was gone. As I sat there ensuring for the 27th time that I had in fact spelled my name properly, person after person would come in, apply for a job, have a brief interview, and leave. All the while, I waited for Webster’s return. I firmly believe that during this time, I saw entire generations of applicants come and go.
When I had finally developed liver spots and felt death was imminent, he returned and took me back to his cube. Again. After I cautiously took a seat, he informed me that he had a position open for me in the production department. Now this might have sounded like a neat opportunity except that, during the brief eternity I spent maturing by the front desk, I overheard a lot of discussion in the human resources department.
From what I had ascertained by means of evesdropping, several employees had consistently been in all manner of trouble at work including chronic tardiness and a strong propensity for swearing at their superiors. The initial plan was to fire them but instead management decided to move them into the production department as a disciplinary measure. This gave me a certain bias against working in production, if you can imagine, but I decided to take a look at the job anyway.
Webster brought me out into the warehouse to take a gander at the awesomeness that is … Iomega. This was the biggest building into which I have ever set foot. The facility is so massive that it was once nominated for the 7th Wonder of the World but lost out to the Sphinx because the judges inadvertently happened upon the production department, which was so tragic that the building was instantly condemned.
So we made our pilgrimage across the floor to the land of production. Here I viewed the most pathetic working conditions that I have ever seen. It was just a massive assembly line where everyone stood all day long and had one task to complete, over and over and over and … Basically, most people’s job descriptions would look something like “PUT DISK DRIVE IN BOX”. I couldn’t help but wonder, should I be hired, what my business card would look like. Perhaps something like:
Timothy Stephens
PUT DRIVE IN BOX
Iomega Corp.
Of course, they’d probably be more professional than I’ve given them credit for.
Timothy Stephens
PUT DRIVE IN BOX ENGINEER
Iomega Corp.
Yes, that’s it. Anyway, It frightened me that Darrell actually thought this was in my field. I guess it is, much in the same way that banana harvesting is in my field. Long story long, I told him that I was looking for something a little more challenging. You know, a job where I might learn something. Or at least a job requiring that I had, at some point in my life, learned anything at all.