Earn a Degree or End up Like Me...Smelly

My outstanding resume is something to write about I suppose. I should say my shit is pretty diverse. I think I have done it all in my short life. You see, some people go to school, study for 4, maybe 7 years in total. And then come to find out that they don’t want to be a lawyer anymore, and decide to produce porn movies, as masturbation was their first true love.

Forget all of that drama. I set my standards pretty low after high school. The most I wanted out of life was a chick with a phatty, and a job at the mall. I had help in that decision however. When I discussed college with my father once, he says to me;

Guy: “Why do you want to go to college?”
Me: “Why wouldn’t I?”
Him: “I didn’t go, I started working after school”
Me: “Yeah but, you been unemployed for 5 years, and I just loaned you 5 bucks”
Him: “Get the fuck out”

Thanks dad!!! Super advice. My mother was the only one in my life other then my girl at the time, that was showing interest in me going to school. However, my mother always talked about community college. I always thought she was shitting me, but uh hells naw she wasn’t. She was coming home with county college brochures that you find laying around in the welfare office. Not saying she was at the office or anything, but c’mon, community college? Shitttttttttt, I thought I was much too advanced for that crap.

Speaking of advanced. I had not one advanced class in high school. Wait, I am lying, U.S. History and English literature. Go figure. I don’t really know how advanced they were however, because I rarely went to class. I was the kid that would come to the class once or twice a week to take an exam, ace it, and be on my way. Since I’m a genius, why the fuck even bother with the everyday nuisances of class. The chairs were hard, and I’m not a big assed dude. So you do the advanced math on that one.

But, because of me and my issues with attending classes, a bombshell was dropped on me by my counselor. Now, in my HS, it seemed like the majority of it was Spanish speaking. Probably half and half, and maybe 3 white kids whose folks just didn’t want to leave the hood. My counselor, I forget her name now, but she was an ex Spanish teacher turned counselor. And my last name being what it is I was stuck with her. Every time we talked I could not understand shit she said. Broken English bitch. I know that is a harsh thing to say, but before you are put in a position like that, at least master the language, bitch. Pardon the French there. I have my reasons

Now, this lady had the audacity to tell me that I wasn’t college material. She had the nerve to assume that since I was failing all but 3 classes, and did not attend class on a regular basis during the semester, that I was not prepared for college. Shit if you asked me, I was more then prepared. That is what half of the mutherfuckers do the first year any damn ways. Have any of you seen the first season of a different World? Shit, Denise was like a role model in academics for me. But as far as this hating counselor, she must have attended community college with a major in fucked up broken English, and a minor in eating buckets of grease.

Matter of fact, I know the school system is fucked up. I know sophomore year, I was in class with a chick, and when the teacher asked her to read a passage, and she would just start laughing and stuttering and then said she didn’t feel like it. I know she was illiterate, had to be, just had to be. And what is fucked up, I never saw her in summer school. She had to be fucking a teacher, had to be. And why the hell was I always in summer school? Because, attendance policies are bullshit. I tell that to every job I’ve had. Don’t laugh, because if you knew me, you would know that I really do.

Which leads me to let you all know that from late 2004 to about fall of 2005, I went on an unprecedented 52 interviews. That’s right fifty fucking two. I would have rounded it off to the nearest whole number, but I’m am is only goods be with English really for real. I don’t even know how I even bothered to get up each day. That shit was taxing, but believe it or not, I still got high with a little help from my friends. To make some ends meet, I’d rent out the back room of my apartment to friends that were cheating on they wives or girlfriends. If I had the money, I would have set up a camera. What’s a little blackmail between friends? And how else could I afford beer and cigarettes?

Again, do the mathematics sun.

I had a few gigs in between interviews and all, but nothing that you would stay at longer than a week. I remember a telemarketing gig I had for like 7 days. They were bamboozling people in the Midwest for donations, and was sure to throw in 9/11 in the script. I had a moral obligation to leave. And besides, they blasted rock music all day, and there was no eye candy there. Sorry Charlie.

I do however end up working back in Manhattan, where I preferred to work anyways. Some telephone company doing tech shit like I know how to do. I was there to take the place of a guy who was moving down south. Soon as I came in he had the wickedest smile I ever seen. He was giggling the whole day, like there was a joke I was missing. And around 11am, the joke walked in. Barry Fickle. Yes that’s the name Barry fukkin Fickle.

Now I do not try to judge someone as soon as I look at him, and chances are, by his look, he’d probably go in his pocket and pull out the three incher and Fickle me to death. Now, since the other dude had tenure there, he was the one that was showing me the systems and this and that and introducing me around. It was somewhat a small office. And I was the new eye candy. As he told me the chicks in the office were like vultures. I was involved and it wasn’t on my agenda. But, of course I flirted for food. Shit, I was broke. And sometimes you have to put your pride in your pocket.

My manager, as I was told was the resident pimpalicious in the office. I could hear the hate in his voice sometimes when he said some shit to me. Whatever boss, there’s a new sheriff in town. But he was going to win this war. Instead of the other dude he wanted to pair me with Fickle. And his reasoning;


Boss: “I want you top train with Barry, J is cool, but he isn’t serious because he’s quitting.
Me: “No problem, I’m cool with that.
Boss: “Besides, Barry is a better guy”
Me: “Oh, Okay, thanks” (thinking, yep a fukkin hater)

So, he sits me with this dude. We begin to converse about the job. I am the type of dude that asks a lot of questions, even stupid ones. If you answer the stupid ones, then you may be more stupid than the actual question. It’s science. So as I am asking him things about this and that, I notice that I smell myself. It didn’t smell great at all. I know I had showered and all, but I didn’t remember putting on the degree. And I am getting a little bit self conscious.

A couple of the girls that came in after us exclaimed that it “stank” in there. One of the girls started spraying some perfume. Now I was really fucked up. Here I am, the first day and I smell like shit. What the fuck? Why is my luck like this I asked myself? Shit I wanted to cry. I take pride in my appearance. And I wasn’t from Pakistan or India, so what the hell is going on? I was sitting close to the dude so I can look at his screen as he did what he did as well as listen to his calls. But I was backing away so he wouldn’t get a whiff.

The boss, forever the hater must have known that I smelled like ass. So I guess to get my business put out there he told me to sit closer to the dude so that I can catch up and start working soon. Fuck!!!

That was on a Tuesday, this shit went on for a couple of days. And I did really not understand. I went home, I bought some febreeze, sprayed all of my shit down, even though my clothes weren’t only brand new, but I even washed the shits a couple days after I bought them. But when I went to work, I guess I was sweating on the train ride to work. I just didn’t fucking get it until Friday.

Friday was dress down day across America. And luckily my job took part in the festivities. So I am geared up, we got paid every week, so I had a check already. Things were sweet. I figured I’d get some acupuncture done during lunch to get this smell away. I came in earlier then the dude. So I was at his desk on his machine. And he comes in chipper because his direct deposit came through.

So I sit in the next chair, and a call comes right in from the NOC. I decide I am ready, so I take the call, and I dropped my pen. I had my headset in my hand, with the mic close to my mouth. So this dude is sitting next to me, and when I go down to get the pen, I fucking start gagging. I mean like I was in the gas chamber or something. The smell was horrible. It was like pure t shit. I have a 4 year old, and I have changed many a diaper in my life.

This smell superseded anything I have ever smelled before in my life. I have been in the hood where dead bodies were in buildings or on train tracks for days. No comparison. No no none at all to this shit here. “OH MY GOD!!!” I was saying when I finally caught my breath. If the floors weren’t so dirty, I would have fell out and asked for an EMT. Now I am upset, because this dude has on some cloth ass sneakers, and that’s where that particular smell was coming from. The shit was coming from his shoes. HELLS NAW!!!

The whole time it WAS him. I didn’t notice, but this dude smelled like pure t shit. He smelled like a diaper filled with cut up diseased raccoon dicks, sprinkled with curry and camel shit and then thrown into a hot pot of whiskey and rotten aborted babies. Here I am about to go get needles put all throughout my body because this fucker refuses not to sleep without his 5 dogs in the bed with him. Serious. At that moment I realized it was him, I felt like Bruce Willis in the sixth sense when he realized he was dead.

I was looking around and shit. I stood up and looked at the chick that was always spraying perfume, after yelling that it “stank” in here. I sent her and about 4 other people an email asking why I wasn’t notified of this bullshit. Here are the replies;

“Sorry, lol”
“My bad, lol”
“Glad I moved my seat, lol”
“Want to use my perfume?” and then she sends “lol”
Bitch.

Now, I would not be saying this now if the dude wasn’t an idiot. He was one of those dudes that got a little position at this company. Dude, you didn’t get a position. He was trained on networking for a bit, and now he knows it all. Irked the hell out of me. I have been in networking half of my life, and this guy is talking about configurations of modems at the nid of the gluteus maximus and what not. Ass clown. You cannot smell like described above and be arrogant at that. I guess someone sent the guy who I replaced an email. He sent me an instant message;


“Ooops, lol”

I guess in the end the Boss won hands down. I applied for the job I am at now and didn’t look back. I hang out with some of them folks from the place from time to time still. We even went into the pharmacy drunk one night. I bought a bottle of febreeze and a ribbon, and asked them to give it to him. Hey, I am a people person ya know?