During my senior year, I was part of the drama club. Each October, the school put on a fair, probably to raise money or something. It seems that schools are always in need of extra cash.
The football team got to do the dunk tank, the band kids did face painting, and the theater kids put on a haunted house, which is way more interesting than face painting or dunk tanking, if you ask me. Well, maybe not the dunk tank. That was fun.
The drama club got to set up the haunted house inside the school. We separated into groups and each was part of a scary attraction. My group dressed up as vampires and sat at a dinner table. We decorated it with fake organs and goblets filled with blood (red Kool-Aid) and we had a freshman girl dramatically sprawled across the table. She had a mush of fake organs coming out of her stomach.
We sat around and pretended we were eating her, because vampires eat . . . okay, now that I think about it, our attraction didn’t make any sense. Why would a group of vampires be eating someone? They don’t do that. Plus, why would they go to a high school? That’s a dumb idea. Hope no one turns that into a book.
Anyway, we put a yellow sheet over the ceiling light for a good spooky atmosphere. We had a smoke machine, some ambient Halloween music playing—we were pretty legit. Whenever a group of people walked by, we would just silently stare at them, and then the freshman on the table would scream at the top of her lungs. Since we had so much space in between each of the scary attractions, when people walked past, we would all get up and chase them. It was awesome. Hours of screaming and chasing people.
This wouldn’t be on most people’s bucket list, but don’t knock it until you try it.
Theater kids are very loud, extroverted people, so we were the type of kids who thrived on screaming and chasing. Especially this one kid in my vampire group. We’ll name him, uh, Balake.
Balake was pretty crazy. He was loud; it seemed like he was always yelling. I didn’t have any classes with him, but he was obviously a high-self-esteem, class-clown kinda kid.
After we’d done the haunted house for about two hours, we were all getting tired of it. I want you to think about what it’s like to be inside a haunted house. With all the strobe lights, the smoke, and the freshman who was constantly screaming bloody murder—you did a good job, freshman—the sensory overload starts to wear on you. These days just going into a haunted house for five minutes makes me feel uncomfortable, sweaty, and dizzy.
We were supposed to get a break sometime in the middle of the night, but since the haunted house was so popular, we didn’t get any breaks. None. So we were all a little loopy after doing this stuff for so long.
This group of people walked in, and we did our normal thing. We got up and chased them. But Balake got pretty physical with this one little boy. Like he kinda shook him up a bit. And I didn’t see exactly what happened, but this little boy was holding a fish in a plastic baggy.
It was one of those little tiny fish that are supposed to be used as food for bigger fish. A lot of fairs give them away as prizes. Ninety-nine percent of the time the fish die within two weeks because you don’t have the right aquarium equipment. So you just put them in water and watch them slowly die. You know—those fish.
I didn’t think people were allowed to bring their new pet fish into the haunted house, but I guess the boy smuggled it in or something.
Anyway, I didn’t see the kid drop the fish. Maybe Balake slapped it out of his hands. But I heard a scream and I saw a fish flopping around in a puddle on the floor.
Fish look like they’re in so much pain when they’re out of water. I don’t flail around uncontrollably when I go swimming.
So I was silently panicking because the fish looked like he was going to die in three seconds if we didn’t do something. I tried to think of places that we could put the fish, like, uh, the toilet.
But without saying anything, Balake bent down, cupped the tiny fish in his hands, then ran back to the table. He put the fish in an empty goblet and poured red Kool-Aid into the cup.
Naw, I’m just kidding. He got a water bottle from under the table that the teacher had given us. The fish was fine, ladies and gentlemen. Thanks to Balake’s quick thinking, he saved this little kid’s fish.
The kid was still a couple feet down the hall. Balake took the goblet in his hands, walked it over to the kid, reached out his hand to give the kid his fish back . . . BUT THEN INSTEAD OF HANDING OVER THE FISH, HE JUST CHUGGED THE DRINK!
HE. DRANK. THE. FISH!!
The kid let out the most bloodcurdling scream. It sounded like he’d just watched his pet get swallowed by a stranger. Honestly, it was the loudest scream I heard that night. I bet the people in the next group behind this one were, like, “Oh, man, I bet whatever’s next must be really scary!”
The kid tried to attack Balake, and I’m sure if he had the correct tools, he would have murdered him. Balake eventually spat out the fish. He didn’t swallow it. Thankfully it was just swimming in his mouth.
But I mean, that’s what you’ve got to do when you’re working in a haunted house. You have to scare people any way you can. I’m certain that kid will be scarred for life. I was just a bystander and I still wake up in a cold sweat thinking about it.
Turned out, this kid was actually Balake’s little brother. So at least Balake didn’t do this to a complete stranger. Man, you’ve got to appreciate the lengths older brothers go to in order to torment their little brothers.
Balake’s little brother, if you’re reading this, first of all, thanks for buying the book. Second, I was there, dude. I know the pain you went through. I have an older brother too. I know what it’s like to be Luigi.
At least my older brother never swallowed any of my pets. He just stole my food, so there’s that.
He also never let me win in Super Smash Bros. Anytime I was about to win, he would turn off the Nintendo.
But I mean, I’m fiiine. Look how great I turned out.
I guess this is where I should say something philosophical about overcoming your fears. You should always face your fears. Don’t run away from your own personal haunted garages. That does nothing but ruin Halloween and keep you from getting more candy. And remember, your family will always be there for you. Although, that could be what you’re afraid of.
Chapter 12
Job Interviews:
A Traumatic Rite of Passage
Job interviews are a painful rite of passage. Do you have too much self-esteem? A job interview can help you with that.
When I was a teen, all the cool kids had jobs. They made money so they could afford to go out and do stuff. I didn’t really want to go out and do stuff, but my parents still thought I should get a job. As soon as I turned sixteen, my dad started asking me,
And I would answer, “Do I look like my soul has been crushed? No? Then no, I didn’t get a job.” Okay, I never said that. But he kept asking.
Granted, it’s important to get a job so you can save money for college. I thought that was the main reason people my age were employed, but when I finally did get a job, only one other person I worked with was planning on going to college.
I don’t know what my coworkers did with their money, but I suspect there may have been drugs involved. Some things you just don’t ask.
Here’s my advice to teens: Even though you won’t be able to afford college after working at a minimum wage job, get one anyway, because every penny helps. College is important . . . except in my case. I dropped out of college.
Anyway, during my search for employment, I applied to places online, but then my dad told me that I needed to apply in person because that way was better. Managers needed to see my sparkling, responsible face. But 99 percent of the time when I walked into some minimum wage establishment and asked some teenage employee for an application, that person would look at me like I was an idiot and say, “You know, you can do that online, right?”<
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One of the first places I applied to was Cold Stone Creamery, because I thought: I like ice cream. Ice cream will be a good fit for me. I could totally live at an ice cream place.
A manager called me and said, “Here at Cold Stone, we like to do things a little differently.”
Their idea of “a little differently” was that they invited twelve kids in at the same time for a group interview. I went in for the interview wearing my job interview polo shirt, nervous but with high expectations. We sat at a table and took turns saying an interesting thing about ourselves, sort of like that game teachers make you play when they’re trying to be fun and have everyone get to know each other in class. Let me say, I hate trying to think of an interesting thing about myself. What am I supposed to say that’s more interesting than these other eleven people? Will I be better at scooping ice cream if I’m more interesting?
The guy who was leading the interview told us that Cold Stone liked outgoing, smiling people. I thought my interesting fact could be that I did improv, but then I thought, No, that would be bragging. I bet they like outgoing, smiling, humble people.
So instead my interesting fact was
Which apparently isn’t interesting enough.
Then the Cold Stone guy broke us into two groups and had us sing some quality Cold Stone songs. Basically, what they did was take popular songs and insert ice cream terminology into them. This should have been my first clue that job interviews would be humiliating. We weren’t assigned a leader, but I totally led my group, showing initiative. Really, they should have hired me on the spot.
The song we chose to sing was a parody of Queen’s “We Will Rock You.” Although I’m hesitant to call it a parody, because “parody” would imply that it’s going to be funny.
The words were:
The song would have been better if the lyrics were: “We will, we will, rocky road you.” Just saying, Cold Stone.
I was hoping that at some point in the interview the manager would give us all ice cream. But no. We sang for nothing. And they never called to offer me a job.
Next, I applied to be a server at a nursing home. I went in wearing my “Hire me” polo shirt again, and the manager told me that he would need more information about me, including my blood type and a drug test. Here’s the second thing I learned from job interviews: If a place wants your blood type, maybe they require more than you’re willing to give. I’m still not sure why they wanted that piece of information.
But I knew what blood type I was because I’ve donated blood. Remember how I said I didn’t want to brag before? This time I totally bragged. “Yeah, I save lives in my spare time. I’m a great person.”
I didn’t get that job either.
Why is it so difficult to get hired in fast food or retail? If you don’t have any friends that are working someplace that’s hiring, and if you don’t have any past job experience, then it’s way too hard. Or maybe I just completely failed every single interview. I dunno.
I applied to who knows how many places. There was only a 20 percent chance that they would call to set up an interview. And then after the interview, there was a 0 percent chance that they would hire me.
Can we talk about those insulting personality quizzes they make you take? How are places supposed to know whether you’re a good worker from a quiz? When I first started applying to places, I answered those questions truthfully. But then when I got desperate, I just answered “strongly agree” or “strongly disagree” every time. My opinions were never “somewhat.” I never had a neutral opinion.
One time I applied to a grocery store. This woman took me into the break room, told me to wait there, and then left. She was gone for twenty minutes. Yes, I timed it, because the only thing I had to look at while I waited was a clock. I didn’t want to start playing on my phone just in case she walked back in and saw how irresponsible I was being. So I just sat there, doing nothing, for twenty minutes. I honestly thought she’d forgotten about me.
How long are you supposed to sit in a break room before you just awkwardly get up and leave? They don’t teach you that kind of stuff in school.
While I sat in the break room, other employees were just walking in and out. None of them acknowledged my existence. Which makes me wonder, does that mean I could just walk into any other break room and sit down and no one would stop me or ask why I was there?
Finally, the lady came back with another girl. This girl was being trained to be a manager so the lady was using me to teach her how to interview people. They sat across from me at the table and the lady said stuff like, “So you can’t ask him if he’s eighteen. You have to ask him if he’s over eighteen.”
Then the girl looked at me and said, “Are you over eighteen?”
The lady leaned over toward the girl, pointing at a form. “Okay, so you’re going to check the ‘do not hire’ box right there.”
Then I applied to a Chipotle and I freaking got an interview, right? They didn’t hire me, obviously. But then I applied to a different Chipotle and I got an interview there too. But I guess the first Chipotle snitched on me because when I got to the second Chipotle, the manager lady there asked me, “Did you already apply here?”
I said, “I interviewed at a different Chipotle.”
She sat me down and started telling me about how Chipotle was looking for a certain type of person to work for them.
All I heard was,
Pfft . . . “certain type.”
What—were they looking for people who could successfully put all the sour cream on one half of the burrito? Was that what she meant by “certain type”? Because there seem to be an excess number of employees at every Chipotle who are that “certain type.”
Apparently, I was the “certain type” of person who worked at “Sooubway,” because that’s where I finally got hired. I’m not sure if that’s an insult or not.
And okay, I don’t want to brag, but I was one of the best employees that Sooubway ever had. I was always on time or five minutes late, no in between. I never called in at the last minute saying I needed someone to cover my shift. In fact, I think I covered the most shifts. And whenever I closed with another person, the manager would usually complain about the work the other person did, because my work was always perfect.
So all those places that didn’t hire me, you missed out!
One day, after working at Sooubway for a while, I decided that I didn’t want to be a sandwich artist anymore and I didn’t want to keep being paid minimum wage.
I actually like math. I’m pretty freaking smart. (I have a job now, so I can brag.) I applied to be a math tutor at my community college. That would have been the perfect job. I was a math education major, I wanted to be a math teacher, and this job would give me good practice for the actual job.
In this interview, the other math tutors gave me a practice problem and then had me “teach” it back to them. This sort of interview makes sense. I think all jobs should have a “practice round” instead of an interview.
I was standing in front of a whiteboard. For some stupid reason, I was only allowed to teach up to the level of math that I had completed.
I did AP calculus in high school but for another stupid reason the credits didn’t transfer. Maybe it was because I didn’t take the AP test, who knows. I had to do calculus all over again in community college.
So when I was applying for this job, I could only tutor algebra and trigonometry. I got my practice problem, and it was obviously a calculus problem. It was one of these: This is Person A’s distance over time and this is Person B’s distance over time. Who was going faster at this time? And okay, this is an easy problem. Take my word for it. But since the people I was quote-unquote tutoring didn’t know calculus, I couldn’t use calculus to teach them.
I asked, “Do you guys know what a derivative is?”
They looked at each other an
d said,
I did my dang darned best trying to teach them what calculus was, but then when I was finished with the problem, they told me that I did it wrong. Completely wrong.
I felt super stupid and embarrassed. I told them, “Yeah, okay. I’ll leave now.” But as I was walking to my car, I did the problem in my head. And I thought, “No, I was right!”
When I got into my car, I even got out a piece of paper and I did the problem again and thought,
The whole time I was so bummed out. Even though I was right, I still blew that interview. They weren’t going to hire me.
But then that night I got a phone call from the community college people. They told me, “Hey, so we were talking about that problem with some of the calculus teachers and they all agreed that the problem had some elements of calculus.”
Which led me to believe that these three people interviewing me for a math position really didn’t know what a derivative was. They told me that they’d give me a second chance to teach another problem.
I was ecstatic—even though I had to go to Target to buy another polo shirt because I only owned one nice shirt, and it would be weird if I showed up in the same shirt.
When I arrived at the next interview, I got a problem about a farmer and his fence. I totally nailed it. I knew exactly how much fence that farmer needed to build two pens with one being 2x plus 3 units larger. His farm animals were going to be so happy.
The Odd 1s Out Page 6
