Collapsing Shack, AZ—So yeah, I’m sure this will come as a big surprise to everyone, but I’m an idiot. A big one, in fact, and not just because I’m a nearly seven-foot Viking type. I’m not going to get into the ‘why’ of it now, because I’m already hated enough but, um, I’m stuck taking a bucket-load of court-mandated classes (again), so I have to shell out a lot of cash for the thrill of being permitted to participate in this happiness (hint: never go drinking with Zano and/or a guy named Wog).
This awe inspiring article doesn’t cover those classes, mostly because they’ve just begun. What I am going to discuss is my assessment interview. Perhaps I should mention that I paid $75 for the privilege of having my wretched underbelly exposed to strangers. First off, I had to fill out a self evaluation that who knows how many people will get to see. Please rate your feelings from 1 to 5. So 5 means strongly agree, 4 means agree… blah blah, eat my shit, blah blah. Impatience 5, Judgmental 5, Self Hatred 5, etc.
After shelling out enough loot to get me drunk all week—with a few cheese steaks and chicken wings thrown in—and then filling out my ‘please describe what type of asshole you are’ survey, I got called back to speak to the Intake Worker. This started off great. I kid you not, she started the interview with, “Oh, you work for the Such & Such Clinic? I just applied for a job there, but some jerk named Mick Zano turned me down. Right then, I knew we were off to a rocking start. Leave it to Zano to kick a nearly seven-foot Viking type when he’s down. I’m going to break his legs… “So, it says here you hate yourself, um…a lot. How could you be helped with that?”
“Not by you… but if you’d like I could put a good word in with Zano and maybe help YOU get a better job.”
“Really? Wow, thanks. That would be very nice of you.”
Flash to the outside, where I see another Intake worker. This one is a former, OCD, proofreading Nazi, who was fired from the Such & Such Clinic for saying, and I quote, “Everyone with a penis, get your ass back into the damn classroom.” So after shoveling as much dirt as I can to Intake Specialist 1 about her deranged co-worker (well, she did point out my typos when I was teaching a class) we got back to business.
She started asking me more questions like “What do you do for fun?”
This, of course, prompted me to pull out a copy of my Chronicles of Jack Primus. You know any chance to make a pitch for my book, even when it’s not remotely appropriate…especially when it’s not remotely appropriate. Hey, maybe that should be my goal for these classes. Yes, I’m here to take these classes in an attempt to sell as many books as possible. I feel better now. Maybe, when they let me the hell out of here, I’m only going to break one of Zano’s legs.
I could hear the trees screaming vengeance as more reams of paper were wasted and I had to sign my name more often than Sarah Palin at a Moron Empowerment Conference (MEC). Looking around, I wondered just how long it took them to dumpster-dive enough chairs to be able to start this business?
“So, Mr. Bone, do you think you’re interested in stopping your drinking?”
“Well, I’m Swedish.”
A lowered gaze met mine.
“Drinking ale is a natural thing going back thousands of beers, I mean years.” And I shit you not, I went on to say. “Curtailing my drinking consumption would be an insult to by ancestors. I rarely rape and pillage anymore, so what’s left besides some ale? Besides, it cuts into my power lounging.”
OK, I didn’t say that last part, but I thought it.
“Well then,” she said, looking over, “Ah, so you’ll be drinking again?”
“Yeah, and I’ll swim when I’m in water and eat when I’m hungry too.”
I received another drained stare. “So do you really think you could put in a good word for me with Zano? This job really sucks.”
I smiled. Maybe instead of breaking his legs, I’ll buy him a beer.
