You're never going to forget me (again).

"I'm calling for Josh Gaw... Um, Gōsnail?"

"It's pronounced Gawznell." Sort of like Go to hell which is probably what I should have said and ended the call. The trouble with driving is I'm so relaxed that I forget to screen my phone calls. It's true. If you ever want to speak to me on the phone, wait until you know I'm driving and then call. It's a reflex I wish I could curb, but I answer every freaking time. "Who is this?"

"My name is Dick Whoreallycares. I'm a district manager for Pizzazaza."

"Oh yeah. I remember you. What do you want?"

"Well, I've been reviewing applications for assistant managers and store managers."

"Still or again?"

"Excuse me?"

"Nevermind. And?"

"Well, yours keeps catching my interest."

"How delightful. Or not really, actually. What happened to you not believing in leaving people hanging?"

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. That's the point. I interviewed with you... what? Two months ago maybe? Three perhaps? I sat not more than two feet in front of you and you looked me right in the eye and said 'I don't believe in leaving people hanging. I'll contact you with my decision either way within a week.' Remember what happened after that? I sure do. Nothing happened after that. You either lied to me - to my face in person, lied to me - or you forgot about me. I'm not sure which is worse. Probably lying to the face of a prospect, but forgetting about one is just as bad in different ways. It's funny because I was quick to return your calls and emails in an incredibly prompt manner. In fact, I was the only one at that time to even respond at all to you. Remember that? Probably not. But you remember my impressive resume? I doubt that. So what happened? The person you chose over me didn't work out and now you're scrambling."

"I'm sorry. I-"

"Save it. Your word is bullshit. Obviously."

"There's no reason to make this personal. I made a simple mistake."

"Personal? If I wanted to make it personal, I'd call you up at random - after promising not to forget/abandon you and then doing so for a few months - and mispronounce your surname. Then I'd re-offer you the job I gave to someone else instead of you now that they haven't worked out after you've probably been unemployed for the duration of this ridiculous timeline. Then I might claim all of that was merely a simple mistake. That's something you could definitely take personally if I ever did it to you. Or... If I really wanted to make an impression and take it to an entirely new level of personal, I might suggest that your dress shirt has buttons on it for a reason and you should probably use all of them and not just the bottom three regardless of whether you're wearing a nasty, crusty wife beater underneath. Small digression: you might want to do laundry more often or at least steer clear of anything white that absorb all stains until you're wearing this obscene collage of spilled food and sweat. Bleach it or wear much darker colors. Those are your choices. Back on point, though, with the need for buttoning up the over shirt: No one needs to see that mess of chest fur squeezing out over the deep cleavage your man tits form. It's really hard to maintain professional composure when you're faced with a sight like that. I keep expecting to see three college students running through that horrifying, tangled forest of chest hair while screaming about how they're so, so scared as they try to film a Blair Witch documentary. Oh, Blair Witch man tits! That reminds me: while interviewing people in one of your fine establishments, you might avoid setting up office in a booth. I barely had room to breathe on my side once your 400 pounds of useless dead weight was accommodated for. You're definitely not the Biggest Loser, but trying to share a booth with you that day made me feel like I might be if I somehow managed to survive. It's really difficult to tackle those tricky interview questions when you've got a table lodged between your ribs and internal organs because the man across from you ate last quarter's profit margin. Speaking of a loss in profit, I fucking hate Pizzazaza. You realize you're fighting a losing battle against the legions of mom and pop pizza joints in this area. They outnumber you 10 to 1. That's just on Market Street - there are literally ten other pizza franchises on East Market and they are all better than you. Each and every one of them makes a superior product at a highly competitive price. You can't compete. They've already won. Had you called me back, I might have taken the job out of panic and desperation. But, luckily, you allowed me the time to come to my senses and realize what a terrible mistake that would have been - especially considering upper management. Yikes. In a way, I should thank you for preventing me from embracing the same miserable fate as you must have so many years ago. How's that working out for you, by the way? Saying any of that would be personal on a seriously epic level. Anyway, I do appreciate the call and continued interest - I guess. That's definitely a one-way street though. So. But, I'm very glad you called so I could help you with that memory problem. At the very least, I'm willing to bet you're never - never, never, never - going to forget me again. Right? Damn right. Goodbye forever, Dick."



Was any of that necessary? Probably not. But, I have a fierce legion of anger monkeys within me and if I don't release them to occasionally throw cacti at cars that cut me off in the parking lot of the store where I just bought said cacti and it was the only thing handy to chuck out the window and make explode across their rear window (true story) or verbally assassinate assholes like that, they'll simply overwhelm me and take total, permanent control of me. Then, there will be no stopping them. So, I let them play now and then which keeps them satisfied and well enough behaved the rest of the time. Despite this unexpected call, I've been fairly calm and collected lately. I'm really happy working at the cheese factory. I had a brief run-in with an asshole there as well, but I stepped up to him, too, and now everything's perfect. Some people need to see your teeth in their flesh before they'll respect you enough not to provoke the same again. Fine. Done. It's all "please", "thank you", and "you're welcome" between us now. It's prison rules. You either punk them or they punk you. Or you punk each other a little and come to this impasse and default to civility. Anyway, love the cheese factory. It's the least stressful job I've had in a very long time. Also, I am making a killing with the mandatory Saturday overtime they keep throwing at us. I don't think I've ever really had the opportunity to work overtime and actually get paid more for doing so. This is much better than having a salary. It's an incredibly easy job, too. I'm glad I did the temping thing at the warehouse first so I could fully appreciate what a good deal this new job is. I'm also glad I have a job so I can turn down terrible job offers like the one addressed earlier in this post. I did have to turn down an equally appealing job to the cheese factory. There was this vending thing near Pittsburgh, but it's twice the transit and in a week or so I'll be making more money at the cheese factory and working less hours - even with Saturday overtime. I only regret that I don't get to work for the old school Italian with the baseball bat behind his desk that runs the place. That would have been interesting. Anyway, job is good.

I haven't seen Freckles since I told him off and moved back home except for one day when he came over to collect on the money I owed him for the tennis shoes he bought me and he showed me his new underwear. We're sort of alright again, maybe. I don't know. Like I said, haven't seen him lately. He did ask about how he could get a job at the cheese factory with me while he was still unemployed and having no luck with finding anything. "Welcome to 2011 of my life." I told him the link I had bookmarked for the job posting was no longer good and that they must not be looking for any more help. Which, is just as well, because he got another job a few days later anyway and one he wanted more as well. So, let's not focus on whether what I said was really a lie or just fate speaking through me and allowing him to find his own path. Somewhere else. Somewhere I'm not. We'll just be happy for him instead of analyzing everything. And me, too. Definitely be happy for me.

Whatever else you do, don't forget me.