job interview

i'll take nothing less than a hundred thousand a month, a 15 percent increase annually, an office with a view on the top floor, a parking space not more than 30 paces from the main entrance of this building, top of the line alienware laptop and desktop computers, food, gas, and clothing allowances, two days off a week, a 30-day paid vacation every year, a comprehensive health plan benefit, and stock options.

arrogant? assertive?

gentlemen, you were the ones who flew me in for this. i was having a perfect time at the beach downing tequila shots, until one of your represntatives approached me and begged for this interview. and the only reason i'm here is because mr. evert is a family friend.

as far as i'm concerned, you need me more than i need you. so that means, gentlemen, that you know what i bring to the table. i don't have to prove anything to you. you know what i can do, and you know how this company can benefit from it.

arrogance. definitely.

those were his thoughts. yes. his arrogance was never articulated. he was a stiff, nervous wreck, sitting on a steel chair four feet across a panel of five grumpy suits.

the suits were all business that day.

judging from their looks, they were all way above 50, and were suffering from either prostate cancer, erectile dysfunction, or a combination of both.

he slowly rubs his sweaty palms on his black slacks. he clears his throat with an occassional "ahem-ahem" from time to time. those were the only sounds that reverberated in that room for five minutes.

five minutes... was like eternity for him. he wished they'd ask more questions. questions that he knew the answers.

what's your favorite color? grey. your favorite food? pizza with lots of cheese and salami. your favorite drink? beer. strong beer. your favorite tv show? conan o'brien. you listen to any music? i think slipknot fucking rules!!!

his eyes were set on the suit in the middle. a very old suit with a face that looked like a rayon shirt. he was the top suit, and he was flipping through his credentials. every now and then he would nod and look at him. he would give a faint smile in reply, as if to say:

what, fucker? what do you want? do you want to hire me? then say so you fucking old fart. hire me. hire me!!!

"have you thought this through mr. ortiz? "

"yes sir." you bet i have you scrotum-faced bastard! why do you think i'm here???

"are you sure you really want to join our team?"

"definitely sir." look dickhead, i need the job okay... i need the friggin' job!!! i'm in the middle of a custody battle and i need the friggin' job!!!

"the job offers twenty thousand a month with 10% annual increases... depending on your performance, of course."

you need me more than i need you fuckers!

"you'll have a six-day work week, with fifteen days each for sick leaves and vacation leaves."

you give me what i want now, or i'll walk out that door!

"all of it if you pass the six-month probationary period. which means you start at fifteen thousand a month. and during your probationary period, we'll require you to render at least two hours of overtime everyday."

bullshit! i'm better than this! i'm not going to sit here and listen to this crap!!!

"mr. ortiz, are you amenable with our conditions?"

"yes sir."

"then welcome to the team."