Had a job interview yesterday.
It was my first since I was canned a little over three weeks ago from the position I’d held for the past 12 years.
My old editor (I work[ed] at a newspaper) was a real sweetie. She retired and the new editor turned out to be the Socratic ideal of a dickwad. A little guy (pictured at left, an actual recent photo of the jackass), he suffers from a Napoleon complex the likes of which I have never seen.
Anyway, I wound up knocking him down during an editorial “meeting of the minds.” Turns out knocking your boss down is a “fire-able” offense. Who knew?
At any rate, the interview yesterday went well and I’m cautiously confident I have the job. It’s a good gig: benefits, insurance, 401K … all the candy. The salary’s no more than I was getting before, but no less, either. And, let’s be real, this is journalism we’re talking about – the pay’s gonna suck no matter where I work.
The best part is I’ll be working primarily from my home office (formerly known as my oldest son’s bedroom). This means that – on days when I have no interviews or staff meetings, at least – I can work in my boxer shorts.
Boxer shorts are infinitely preferable to a shirt and tie. They require no ironing, don’t cinch at the collar and allow easy access to my ass should it at any time begin to itch. My ass doesn’t itch that often, but it’s good to know I can reach it quickly should the condition occur.
I told my potential new employers I wouldn’t be available for work until mid-September, which will allow a couple more weeks of goofing off and one big Labor Day blowout party with the daughter, sons and grandmonsters. Also, it'll give The Lovely Mrs. Taylor and I ample time for a nice vacation to Mackinaw Island, where we will eat fudge, drink coffee, ride bikes and engage in wild motel sex! (If you’re one of my aforementioned kids, please disregard that last statement, as it may cause hysterical blindness.)
Love to write more, but there are fish in the lake. I can hear them calling. Best to answer before I find myself re-employed.
It was my first since I was canned a little over three weeks ago from the position I’d held for the past 12 years.
My old editor (I work[ed] at a newspaper) was a real sweetie. She retired and the new editor turned out to be the Socratic ideal of a dickwad. A little guy (pictured at left, an actual recent photo of the jackass), he suffers from a Napoleon complex the likes of which I have never seen.Anyway, I wound up knocking him down during an editorial “meeting of the minds.” Turns out knocking your boss down is a “fire-able” offense. Who knew?
At any rate, the interview yesterday went well and I’m cautiously confident I have the job. It’s a good gig: benefits, insurance, 401K … all the candy. The salary’s no more than I was getting before, but no less, either. And, let’s be real, this is journalism we’re talking about – the pay’s gonna suck no matter where I work.
The best part is I’ll be working primarily from my home office (formerly known as my oldest son’s bedroom). This means that – on days when I have no interviews or staff meetings, at least – I can work in my boxer shorts.
Boxer shorts are infinitely preferable to a shirt and tie. They require no ironing, don’t cinch at the collar and allow easy access to my ass should it at any time begin to itch. My ass doesn’t itch that often, but it’s good to know I can reach it quickly should the condition occur.
I told my potential new employers I wouldn’t be available for work until mid-September, which will allow a couple more weeks of goofing off and one big Labor Day blowout party with the daughter, sons and grandmonsters. Also, it'll give The Lovely Mrs. Taylor and I ample time for a nice vacation to Mackinaw Island, where we will eat fudge, drink coffee, ride bikes and engage in wild motel sex! (If you’re one of my aforementioned kids, please disregard that last statement, as it may cause hysterical blindness.)
Love to write more, but there are fish in the lake. I can hear them calling. Best to answer before I find myself re-employed.
3 comments:
Must say, there is nothing finer than a job you can perform in your undies, especially one that PAYS.
We are so looking forward to the par-tay, by the way!
I wish I could have knocked my former fat-ass boss down when we had our meeting of the minds. Good Luck with the new job!! I like your night job. The Guinness Brothers Band Rocks!!!!!
We'd all like to knock our fat-ass bosses down from time to time, I think. Speaking as someone who now has to call "Marvin" every two weeks for my government handout, I can't say I actually recommend it. Though it DID feel real good at the time!
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