Every now again when life immediates cheap, bad art, and an event happens that kind of radiates through the day.
In today’s episode, I remembered I had to interview some folks for an open position and through on some black, dress pants before strolling to the office. Boring, yes?
Before the candidate was due, I figured a quick pee was in order. I realized then that I was trapped in my pants with a recalcitrant zipper. With my watch cycling through the minutes, I pulled and prodded. All the while my bladder, sensing the proximity of the porcelain receptacle, englarged to gargantuan proportins in a Pavlovian flow.
Defeated, I crawled back to my desk. I sliced the zipper open a bit with scissors, grabbed some safety pins, presciently purchased earlier, and gripping cloth in my fist awkwardly waddled back to the loo to finish my business.
Held together with safety pins, I knew by then the interviewee undoubtedly showed up a bit early, eager and all that good interview mojo shit.
Sure ‘nough, I got tracked down by a wondering co-worker, who passed by the lonely camper in the lobby waiting for my arrival.
It’s a bit hard to focus on the hopes, dreams and aspirations of the young and hopeful, resume in hand, while your pants are threatening descent and safety pins are grinding your hip.
Well you can’t escape comedy. Pants falling down is a classic and should be read as some kind of sign.
Really you should have told said applicant that they just weren’t what you were looking for right now and time it so that as you stood shaking their hand, the pants drop.
At which point you thank them and shuffle penguin style down the hall, coffee cup in hand toasting a fellow employee Lumberg style as you pass.
What does it all mean?
It means Dvae will undoubtedly put on his boxing gloves(I have figured out why his posts look like they do) and type out yet another incoherent yet loveable post.
Stay outta the Iranian waters Dave! O.U.T. OUT!