Ignoring Intuition: A Brief Discourse
This is Dayv
Part 1: The Bar
5:30 EST
Let’s talk Friday at your favorite bar. After a long week at the office, you arrive early to catch those highway robbery happy hour prices. I mean, sun-still-up, bank-still- open early. By normal-people-binge-drinking o’ clock, which roughly falls around 10 pm, you will fire up those crosshairs to hunt for female game. While your stats on this particular event often prove to be bronze metal at best, you have four things going for you on this specific night:
A) You are wearing the newest fragrance of Axe spray-on deodorant.
B) With all the disastrous past Friday nights, probability is in your corner.
C) The mozzarella sticks are damn good.
D) You usually black out before getting rejected, and thus will struggle to remember most/if any of the details tomorrow morning.
11:15 EST
As beast after beast enters the bar, you swear that the general public have abandoned their homes and the town has been repopulated by polar bears. Some are less bear-like than others; a few could even be described as mildly attractive. But alas, you are holding out. It’s still early and the talent can only increase. Does Corona know that you are only paying two dollars for each of their beers? Was an embargo recently lifted?
You strike up a conversation with an attractive redhead, debating who the best SNL Weekend Update anchor is. You are shocked to learn she favors Jimmy Fallon. She informs you that Fever Pitch is her favorite movie “even though it was about sports”. Being 88 percent sure that Norm MacDonald once hosted SNL Weekend Update and recalling that Jimmy Fallon was in that awful movie with Queen Latifah, you think fast and reach for your cell phone, which no one is calling.
1:45 EST
“This band rocks.” Although it is you talking, only one word is spoken honestly. Nothing in the bar comes close to rocking at this minute. Also, the three potheads in their mid-forties on the bar’s stage sound more like a steaming pile of shit than a band. The scantily clad hippy girl dancing circles around you smiles. The two of you discuss how much weed you smoked this week. She is friendly and stupid. A mutual conclusion is drawn that both of you “smoked way too much this week” and make false predictions that you will “have to cut down next week”. There is limited making out which is interrupted as an acquaintance you talk to but secretly hate from class enters the bar screaming you name.
2:25 EST
Well it’s all downhill from here. What was so bad about Jimmy Fallon! You can’t believe you are going home empty handed because of your spite for a man whom every female finds attractive. As your glance is shot toward the hippy girl, (who you can smell from the bar) you witness her sucking face with number four on the night (including yourself). Fuck. You remember the other romantic candidates of the night who were in the running. All perfectly good options that fled hours ago because they will be jogging in three hours.
3:30 EST
A late night slice of pizza topped with pepperoni and regret.
Part 2: Job Hunting
Week 1
I have two degrees. I will settle for nothing less than a corner office and full dental. Companies with ampersands are preferred. AT&T. I would even shoot as high as those with last names. Proctor & Gamble. How does one go about choosing which country club is right for them? Can country clubs have black employees? It’s 2008 but I don’t like the connotations. I look great in a suit. I can’t wait to photocopy my ass!
Week 2
I better apply to some lower-ladder positions just in case. Administrative Assistant; sure. Manager of sales; I like how it rolls off the tongue. Chief of staffing; eh. Maybe if nothing else works out. I can’t wait to be rich. First order of business, I’m gonna purchase a bidet. I will release myself from the white shackles of toilet paper forever. I bet it tickles. Every time I exit the bathroom someone will ask me why I’m laughing. I’ll have to continuously explain that an arctic jet stream of water just shot up my ass. Sounds like a great way to start the day.
Week 5
I don’t know what is taking these companies so long. Wow, my checking account is sure taking a beating. The city of Los Angeles should be rioting over what is happening to my checking account. It’s a good thing my account can’t talk. It would probably tell me that no unemployed person should be ordering dessert post-meal at a steakhouse, you fucking waste. Maybe I should start throwing my applications around the blue-collar circuit. If I could land a closing shift at Foot Locker, I would tie all the shoes in the store together, and never show my face again. Now that’s funny.
Week 8
Yeah hi, I don’t have any experience but I’m sure I could figure out how to work a cash register. I have this retarded cousin, he works in a Burger King as a cashier. He can’t even spell his name. Nice guy. But ya know, Burger King Shop Rite, to-ma-to to-mah-to.
Part 3
Whether the treasure hunt for bar booty or entry level career options, all standards can be temporarily shelved. No priest has ever performed a matrimonial service in Oasis (this is a local New Paltz dive –ed.). Likewise, the only people that work the same blue collar job for over ten years are those who would prefer to have their wedding performed in Oasis. Fat chicks and Big Macs can serve a niche in the life of the collegiate. This has been a non-partisan production. No one genetic disaster asked to be promoted in this work.
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