THE LFP INTERVIEW - CONCLUSION

Click here for Part One
Click here for Part Two
Click here for Part Three

When we last left our intrepid interviewee, wojr was being led deeper into the inner sanctum of the Larry Flynt empire by his guide, a ridiculously tiny Asian man with sweaty palms and a massive wedgie. On their trek to the elevator, the pair maneuvered their way through the commonplace office, staffed by extremely short men and impossibly attractive women.

(And we'll now stop talking about wojr in the third person.)

As we finally made it to the elevator, I am again forced to shake Wang's hand in our awkward parting ceremony. They are expecting me upstairs and Wang has work to do down here. I must continue on my lonesome.

As it says above, the floor I was on, while a little too populated with porn magazines, was still a commonplace office. It really could have been the offices for any number of corporations (as long as you confiscated the nudie books).

However, when I got off that elevator, well, the offices stopped being ordinary. I was stepping into the extraordinary, as in extraordinarily BAD TASTE. Now, I had seen the movie, The People vs. Larry Flynt. I saw how his deceased wife, Althea (who was rather fond of the mind-altering narcotics), designed the offices. I thought I knew what to expect.

However..

It was like being confronted with Death. In that, until you lose someone close to you, you can never fully grasp the true scope of death. Until you are actually confronted with such bad taste, you can never really appreciate the full scope of it as well.

Everywhere I looked were garish combinations of various cultures and designs - statues of Greek goddesses standing next to Buddha standing next to a Samurai Warrior all with a pink Marble backdrop. Large columns lined the hall with even more beautiful receptionists placed in front of them, one for every bigwig's office. No wonder Wang didn't accompany me up here - the sight of these ladies might have sent him on a masturbation frenzy.

One of these receptionist goddesses led me into the conference room. Instructing me that the CFO would be in shortly, the pretty lady presented me with a cup of coffee and left me to bask in my surroundings. Now, I've been to Graceland and marveled at Elvis's bad taste. However, Graceland does not hold a candle to this room. Imagine Elvis and Liberace having a gay lovechild that grew up to be interior decorator for funeral parlors. That man could have only dreamed of constructing such a room. Not only did a nude painting of Althea adorn the wall, but the varied statue motif continued in here as well. More samurais and Buddhas joined Kali, the goddess of death, to keep an eye on me. Also, a giant gong rested off to one side. That's something every business conference room needs, a gong. Don't like a presentation, bang the gong. Unhappy with this quarter's financial projections, bang the gong. All they needed was Jaime Farr & the Unknown Comic and I might have thought I was on the, hold on - wait for it - you know it's coming - Gong Show.

After waiting for a half hour, the CFO finally decides to grace me with his presence. Now, I hate judging people as stereotypes (almost as much as I hate having to wait for someone at an interview), but sometimes a person so encapsulates a stereotype that you have to wonder how they got that way. But if you had to cast someone in the role of Tiny Bitter Jewish Moneylender, this guy is your ideal. This bitter little man strolls in with no intention of hiding the fact that he feels like his time is being wasted. In his mind, he is a big powerful man despite the fact that he could buy his clothes in the kiddie section, When he gruffly sits down across from me, I thank whatever deity is watching over us that I do not want this job. I get to have fun.

At that point in time, I was employed for the complete opposite of Hustler, a Catholic homeless shelter catering to runaways age 18-21. As he sees this on my resume, his first question ushers forth, "Why would want to go from a place like that to here?" Giving the room a quick glance (making sure I give Althea's ta-tas a gander, may she rest in piece), I issue my response -->

"Definitely for the décor."

And I get nothing. No chuckle, no smile, just bitterness and the confirmation that I would never work for a man like that. The interview continues for another ten or fifteen minutes and I take my leave - And the tiny CFO was able to continue hiring men as small as he was.

The headhunter is disappointed when I tell her that I couldn't work at place like that, but she is taken back when I ask if Playboy is hiring. Hey, I need to get to Hef's place before I die. Maybe I should make friends with Scott Baio. Yeah, that might work.

wojr

Labels: My Writing, Nostalgia, Sex, Snide Remarks

  ¶ 11:47 PM