An Award-Winning Disclaimer

A charming little Magpie whispered this disclaimer into my ear, and I'm happy to regurgitate it into your sweet little mouth:

"Disclaimer: This blog is not responsible for those of you who start to laugh and piss your pants a little. Although this blogger understands the role he has played (in that, if you had not been laughing you may not have pissed yourself), he assumes no liability for damages caused and will not pay your dry cleaning bill.

These views represent the thoughts and opinions of a blogger clearly superior to yourself in every way. If you're in any way offended by any of the content on this blog, it is clearly not the blog for you. Kindly exit the page by clicking on the small 'x' you see at the top right of the screen, and go fuck yourself."

Wednesday, July 14, 2010


So, I have this phone interview coming up this morning and, call me a pathetic neonate, but I’m kind of scared.

I mean, I’m more conflicted than scared, actually, because part of me is very relieved that it’s a phone interview and not a real, live in-person interview.

Really, I’m just a fucking mess and I don’t know how to feel about it. I'm such a girl.

My dear, good, short wife is also conflicted, occupationally speaking, and I recently suggested that she make a Pro/Con List to help her sort through her sentiments about her current and prospective job. Then, she directed me to order her a pita pizza with pineapples and green peppers. So, there we are. Not particularly liking pineapples, or green peppers, or pita myself, I decided to make a Pro/Con List of my own to see if I could help myself determine exactly how I feel about this impending phone interview.

Since I’m a negative sonofabitch, I’ll do us all a favor and start with the...


Prospective employer/interviewer gets no visual.

Call me excessively self-deprecating, but this first point cannot be mitigated or ignored. They that hold the cards to my future will be utterly unable to deduct points for poor posture, Jenga-teeth, sweaty palms, coffee odor(s), haphazard, untamable Jew hair, eccentric neckwear and dress shoes from the early 1970s. In a word, I’m amazed that I was ever hired, by anybody, prior to the advent and implementation of the phone interview.


• (Related to first bullet-point), I can react however I want to their questions.

When they ask me how I dealt with a challenging situation at my current or former job, or if I could be any zoo animal in the eastern hemisphere, which would it be and why, or what do I consider to be a professional weakness of mine, I can roll my eyes, make jerk-off motions with my hand, lie down supine on the floor, give the dogs the finger, pretty much whatever the hell I want as long as I don’t let anything audible slip. Like my boxers to the floor.


I don’t have to obsess over being late.

This is a huge, huge deal. No innocent motorist will fall victim to my frothing road-rage, there will be no feverish gripping of the already careworn eight-year-old steering wheel of my car, there will be no frantic, near epileptic search for a parking garage in downtown Philly (the last time I was engaged in this pursuit, I put the car in an underground lot for five hours and was charged $29.00) and I will not go through all of these gymnastics and near aeronautics just to arrive twenty-five minutes early only to be directed to a vinyl chair in some stuffy waiting room so my heart rate can slow down to somewhere near 144 BPM.

Absolutely no chance at being caught staring at interviewer’s breasts.

Yes, it’s happened before. I mean, I don't know if I was caught, really, but, whenever I engage in this act, I almost invariably get caught. And, no, I'm definitely not immune from doing it at a job interview. What can I say? I am only a man and, therefore, evil and retarded.

And now, where I am most comfortable, I’m tempted to call it “Home” but, for these purposes we’ll just go with….


Prospective interviewer/employer gets no visual.

I know, I know, I know—this point not only appeared in the “Pro” section, but it appeared first! What is wrong with me, O Evil & Retarded One? Well, see, while there are definite and clinically-proven negative attributes to my physical presentation, there are also things that work in my favor which, in a phoneterview, the interviewer will not observe.

For starters, now that “Pirates of Penzance” and “Peter Pan” are over, I no longer sport regrettable, Victorian-era facial hair (i.e., large, walrus-style moustache that swept down to my jawline and sideburns that, well, did the same. I’m clean-shaven, with a nice haircut, and I look at least twenty-five years, and a century-and-a-half younger than I did just a month ago. I mean, I’d do me. I mean— hire.

Another thing that tends to work in my favor at in-person interviews is that I dress very, very well, unlike, presumably, a significant portion of job-seekers in my age-bracket. Because I absolutely love dressing up in shirts and ties, you can tell that I don’t just put them on for job interviews, and I certainly don’t opt for the pre-packaged $17.99 shirt-and-tie from TJ Maxx. No, I actually have class and dignity and I like to think that it shows. But not during a phoneterview.

In personal conversations, especially when I am asked to talk about my ideals concerning truth, justice, about my personal philosophy, and/or being honest and respectable, you can almost watch the tears welling up in my eyes, such a sensitive, integrity-filled pussyburger I am—and I suspect prospective employers like interviewing people who they know won’t dick them over, steal from the safe, or rape the boss’s daughter or hamster. Hopefully, in the phone interview, they’ll be able to hear my voice crack with sincerity.

If you’ve ever spoken to me over the phone…

…you know that I sound like a fucking idiot at best, and a hard-of-hearing mental patient off his meds at worse.

When I don’t have a person’s face and lips to watch like a hawk to enable me to process what they’re saying and interpret their body language, I’m basically dead in the water. If you’re fooled into thinking that I’m eloquent and facile with words because of what you may have read or may have though you read on this blog, well, it’s just a charade of a façade. You’d have better luck asking a dying donkey for directions to the Holiday Inn in Boise than you would having a semi-coherent telephone conversation with me.

I can’t impress anyone by being early.

Because that impresses people.

So, there it is, kidderoos: my Pro/Con List. I don’t know exactly where it leaves us, or me, except that it’s 7:18am, and my phone interview starts in fifty-seven minutes.

Unless, of course, I call early.


  1. i hope you nailed the bitch over them telephone wires.

    and jesus christ, mr. apron: OVERTHINK MUCH????

  2. I think I've had the same experience in Philly. Good luck on the interview.

    And I'm sure you "speak good."


Got something to say? Rock on with your badass apron!