Time For a Change

Sometimes the role of DFM can get to you. Nobody appreciates the work I do. My subordinates are an unruly and distinctly insubordinate lot. They regard me as a self-important poofta who spends most of the day sitting at the desk in the shack that I call my office making up stories. My boss thinks I am too soft on the crew and that “productivity should be higher.” What freaking productivity? We are a dump for crying out loud! The customers are never happy. They think we should be open longer. So that they can bring their trash here whenever it pleases them. Spoiled affluent fucks that they are. The take and leave areas are not organized enough. Some of the containers are full and need to be changed. The place smells funny. I hear it all. Being the one in charge can be a thankless burden.

So it is that I have been looking around for another job. Not openly, of course. No sense jeopardizing my current situation. But, you know, just shaking the bushes and seeing what flies out. So I decided to update my resume. Some of my accomplishments needed a bit of creative editing, and after a few outright lies, I had a document that would make your knees wobble in anticipation.

Not surprisingly, the other day I was called in for an interview for a position at a local Ivy League university. The job was at an outfit called Center For Meteorological Studies. The title was Manager of Global Warming Data. I was psyched. Especially when I arrived for the interview, when I was greeted by the department secretary - a tall thin (not skinny) blonde with skin like alabaster and admirable ta-tas. I thought this was looking quite promising, and was thinking nice tits, when she asked if I would like some coffee.
“Nice tits,” I answered. Oops.
“Excuse me?” she asked without a sign of humanity, or appreciation for the compliment.
“I meant yes please I’d like some coffee, black, no sugar. “ She gave me a look, like I was a large pile of smelly rhino dung, and then turned to fetch the java. This would require some finesse, I mused.
After a minute, she returned with a cup of coffee and placed it in front of me. Her manner was distinctly abrupt and cool. Most women find me charming. Perhaps she is a lesbian I thought. I looked at the coffee. It could have been my imagination but it looked like a glob of spit swirling in the center.

The interviewer turned out to be a big shot professor. Richard Dick, PHD. I sniggered a bit when I heard his name. I like to ease the tenseness of the interview situation with some light badinage.
“I bet that goes over well with the ladies, eh?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, at a bar – hi I’m doctor dick, professor of probes, VP of Vaginas. I bet it gets their attention…”
I could tell by the way he was glaring at me that he was not tuned into my ice breaking humor. I deftly changed tact.
“So tell me about this Global Warming job thingee. Is the world coming to an end?”
He regarded me quizzically and looked at my resume again.
“It says here that you have a ‘Master’s in Meteor studies’, is that a typo?”
Maybe he did not appreciate alliteration.
“Well, maybe I did embellish just a tad,” I admitted,” but I have read some articles of the subject, you know in Scientific American. Those meteor showers can get heavy. Thunder and lightning, too probably.”
“You are talking about meteors – falling objects?”
“Yes. So this job is to find out why they are causing global warming, right?” I grinned knowingly.

Later on, I was back at my desk in the cobb shack at the dump, reflecting on the experience. I really did not think Dr. Dick would have made a good boss anyhow. He seemed a bit on the pretentious side. And way too serious. It turned out they wanted a weather expert. No doubt, he would hire one of those babes on the 11 O’clock news with tits like Bombay mangoes.
Fine. I didn’t need the hassle. Besides who really gives a crap about global warming? I opened the paper to the Help Wanted section.
The ideal job for me must be out there – somewhere.