Arriving at Towson for my advising appointment, I stopped by the English Department’s Offices to obtain a copy of my major’s requirements. A sign posted on the door to the secretary’s office, which was there when I was originally a student, provided wisdom to the tune of: “A failure to plan properly on your part, does not constitute an emergency on mine.”

Ass Alex was fired several months ago for, roughly, being a worthless employee. Several weeks after he was fired, Alex showed up, collected his final paychecks (he had a habit of never taking them) and his W-2 information. Apparently, he didn’t bother to hold on to his W-2 information, because he called up Thursday night demanding that Greg fax the information to him.

I was in favor of faxing his stuff to him the middle of next week. But then, I’m an asshole like that. Good for Alex, Greg isn’t.

This guy is training to work as a “medical professional.” I will never, ever, go to a hospital that employs Ass Alex as a nurse.

“But, sir! You’re bleeding to death and if you leave you’ll die!”

“Better than than getting treated by Ass Alex!”

Or, for that matter, working with him. What a tard.

An avid fan of Lego, and an avid fan of Star Wars, and in particular, an avid fan of Lego Star Wars sets, I picked up two of the Episode II AT-TE set when it was released — I happened into a “Buy One Get The Second 50% Off Sale”, which means I paid less than $120 for two complete, unopened sets.

I opened one and built the AT-TE. It survived until last fall, when while rearranging my furniture in my den, it fell, and shattered. It’s companion piece, the Republic Gunship, had already met a similar fate.

The second box collected dust in my closet until two weeks ago when I listed it on eBay. If you figure that I paid $60 for each set, then after selling it, I made my sixty back … plus an additional two-hundred dollars (not including shipping).

It doesn’t beat the time — years and years ago — that I bought a replica of the Connor MacLeod katana off eBay for $70, immediately relisted it, and got five-hundred smackers.

Capitalism rocks!

Over the last year, I’ve had a number of career oriented interview opportunities. UPS and USPS, which I thought I would like from the perspective of someone who already spends a lot of time in a car. Several applications to Sinai Hospital, many of which were sabotauged by a rather foolish mistake in the quality of my online resume. Whoops. Although to paraphrase, “You Live, You Learn.” Right?

Of all these positions, it was the seemingly unlikely position of Jeep Salesperson that I finally found myself coming to terms with as one that I would not only enjoy, but in fact became convinced that I would be damn good at it. One of those positions that is viewed not as a job, but as an extension of a passion.

I applied for the position believing that it was a long shot. I filled out an online application and submitted it never seriously expecting to hear back from the dealership, and when I did, I was estatic. I was like a burned out candle, flickering in the wind, that suddenly grew bright.

It had gotten to the point where I’d given up thinking that a career oriented position could be had without first earning my college degree. To that end, I’d applied for readmission to Towson University, and the very morning the dealership called to set up an interview, I’d already met with an advisor and roughed out my fall semester. Still, the job possibility seemed to be something that I’d be interested in — and yes, interested enough to postpone or even cancel finishing my degree. Providing career stability, and a certain respectability, with a good chance at earning a more than decent income, with a fairly small-sized employer selling a product I’m clearly enthusiastic about — what wouldn’t be to love?

I won’t lie — I know less than next-to-nothing about working in a dealership that I didn’t hear either second hand, or during the interview (the later, I’m sure, at least somewhat biased information). Working on a commission only basis would certainly provide the needed motivation (I’d rather not live in my Celica, eating saltines and drinking water), and when I was told that three quarters of all sales-hires wash out when they don’t make their expected earnings, I wasn’t discouraged — I’ve survived lean times, and besides, I could always pick up a shift or two slingin’ pizzas to keep food in my pantry and gas in my tank.

It got to the point, over the last few days since the interview, where I started imagining where my life was going to go. I pictured a rough first few months as I learned the job, and the specifics of the vehicles. I pictured a flow chart tracking my sales on a week-to-week basis, steadily increasing each with each new added line. Eventually, I’d earn enough to end my commute through the backwoods of Baltimore and Harford Counties by buying a townhouse or small house somewhere off the I-95 corridor, anywhere from Bel-Air to Canton. Perhaps, in a few years, I’d even sell my Toyota and replace it with a new Dodge Challenger in a small garage next to a shiny ‘08 Wrangler. I even pictured a much larger Lego Hogwarts, constructed on weekends and rare days off (with a hidden Batcave deep within).

So, you might say that I was very disappointed when the dealership called me Friday evening and informed me that they’d filled all their open positions. While they phrased their next line as, “We’ve got all your information, and will contact you if anymore positions open up”, I took it as, “Don’t call us. We’ll call you.”

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the interview, and the mistakes I no doubt made. Was I hungover? Certainly, I’d had a bit to drink the previous night, but I felt fine at the interview (although a little wobbly later in the afternoon, although I atributed that to waking up at bumfuck o’clock).

Were they interested in hiring me, only my difficult to move-around schedule prevented me from getting back for a second interview until after other, also acceptable candidates were able to schedule a second interview? I’m really hoping the reason I didn’t get the job is because they were rushing to fill vacancies as quickly as possible, and not for the reason I think I didn’t get the job — slingin’ pizzas for so damn long.

Of course, I argue with myself that because I got a second interview, I impressed the sales manager (who interviewed me initially). But then I wonder if a standard technique to blow people off is to invite people back for a second interview, then call later and cancel it over the phone. I alternate between thinking that’s the case … and then thinking that if that is the case, why wait three days to do it? Why not call me later that same afternoon? Then I go back to my blow-off theory.

In any case, I know I did a poor job in selling myself. Or at the very least, I should’ve asked for a second interview at nine AM the following morning. Or even for it right then and there. I kick myself over not scheduling a first interview the day I was called, which would’ve given me an opportunity for a second interview on the day I did in fact have my first interview.

I’ve tried comforting myself by remembering that I’m already enrolled for three classes next semester (I need to select a fourth) and by this time next year I will quite possibly be only weeks away from never delivering a pizza again. I try to comfort myself in knowing that there’s still a slim possibility that the dealership’s new hires won’t work out, and I’ll have a second chance to gain the position.

I had a long monologue to myself after that phone call, in a pretend scenario where several weeks down the line, I was called and told that the new hires weren’t working out — would I still be interested in the job? Halfway through a second interview that I could see wasn’t going where I wanted it to go, I blew off a question, and launched into a sales pitch of my own:

“Listen, I love Wranglers, and while I’m not fond of, say, the Commander, I have an enthusiasm for this brand that potential customers will sense and respond to. You and I both know I’ve never done this job before — you said you weren’t looking for old dogs you’d have to retrain — and I don’t know any stronger motivation in learning this job quickly and well then keeping myself un-evicted from my apartment — I have some nice furniture, and I’d rather not see it on the curb. You’re looking for a salesperson who is willing to make a commitment - and I’m willing to make that commitment. I’ll work every day of the week, nine am to midnight, if that’s what it takes to demonstrate that to you. Yeah, I’ll make mistakes, but no one starts a new job without fucking up a few times before they figure out what to do and how to do it best. I may not sell a Jeep my first day, or even my first week, and I may not be the best salesperson you’ve ever employed, but dammit, given the opportunity, I can do this job and I can do it well. I’m not afraid of having to live off saltines and water until I start making money here for the both of us. I’m not asking for you to give me the job — I’m asking for the opportunity to earn the job.”

That’s probably how I should’ve ended the first interview.

(If I’d thought of it earlier — like, when I was at the grocery — I’d've drowned my sorrows in a tub of ice-cream).