working working working working working

So, in the spirit of 2009 and my dedication to cleaning up my act…or at least dirtying it up in a different way, I thought it would be a good idea to list my past jobs and see what, if anything was wrong with them in terms of being good on a resume. Okay, we’ll start at the beginning:

My first job was in a comic book store when I was twelve. I stocked the boxes of regular customers who had ‘subscriptions’ to certain weekly or monthly titles. So there was a file cabinet behind the counter, and my job was to go around and, let’s say that “Johansen” liked Iron Man, well, every time a new Iron Man came out, I’d put it in the slot marked Johansen. Then at some point, he’d come in and all the shit he wanted would already be put aside. This wasn’t to save time, as everyone with a subscription box would inevitably hang out and bullshit for an hour or two, it was for that elusive ‘nerd clout’ that comes with being on any sort of name basis with the dudes behind the counter at the shop.
There were about eighty or so subscribers, and it was pretty easy. I also got lunch for everyone. Oh, and I would wrestle with the other older guys who worked there…they’d kind of beat me up a little when they got too stressed. I was a bit of a punching bag, but it wasn’t nearly as homoerotic/painful as it sounds. It was more just typical dudes punching each other in the arms and shit. Here’s the great thing about the job: Everyone was such a nerd. The customers that I got to know, the owner, his brother, the other guy that worked there besides me (I think he was about 17 at the time) every last one of us were such living-at-home-compulsive-masturbators-with-a-comic-book-obsession that it just ruled (in a very sad, pathetic way). This is, by the way, a fine and dandy way to live if you’re twelve to 18. In fact, if this isn’t your world, that’s a little odd. The other guys though…Man. There were guys who the Owner would make fun of for being nerds/unattractive to ladies. Wowzers. That’s like King Kong making fun of you for being a giant ape.
Nerd kingdom. That’s what I’d call the movie about my days at the comic shop. The owner, Roland, had been about a week away from becoming a catholic priest when he decided he was an atheist. So he quit the cloth and got into the only thing more celibacy oriented than the priesthood, comics. Actually, he had a lady, and he would tell us, every day, about how he couldn’t bring Tammy, I think that was her name, to orgasm. He’d fuck her for hours, he’d say with a disappointed air, and she’d just say that it tickled and eventually got annoying. She’d never had an orgasm, apparently. I was only twelve, but my thought was “hmmm…you have all the credentials of a total player. You’re an ex priest, current comic book guy, what’s the problem? Her vagina must be broken.” I eventually quit when the beatings got too severe.

Next up I worked at McDonalds. This was a fabulous job. I mean, never in my life have I had as much of a joyous work environment as that which I experienced at McDonalds. There was this one night when I was taking out the garbage and the night manager, (Sam maybe?) was in the parking lot and he stopped me. It was his last night. He was going to Spokane to be the full on manager of a freestanding McDonalds out there. He put his arm around me and, there under the stars, we looked up at the moon and he said “You know, I’m gonna really miss this place. The rush of the little leaguers on Sunday afternoons after games, old joe who just gets a cup of coffee and a paper every morning, and even Gladys, who is never satisfied with her sausage biscuit, but still keeps on ordering ‘em….(sigh) Take care of ‘em for me, Brendan. Promise me you will.”
This really happened, by the way. McDonalds totally sucked and you smelled like fries all the time, but it was great because everyone I worked with was either a buzzard or a lady buzzard, and everyone was so stoned at all times, including the manager (not the night manager, the REAL manager), who I believe sold weed to the buzzards and who I know wore a permed Mullet and a McDonalds tie. I don’t know. I hated that job so much but looking back, it was kind of fun. Here’s a little example of a life lesson for you to hold dear and never EVER forget: When you’re remembering that guy/girl that you used to date and you’re thinking to yourself “yeah, I know it was rocky, but looking back, we had some really great times. Maybe I should reconnect with them,” please recall that in hindsight, I festishized my job at MCDONALD’S at ‘pretty fun’ when it was obviously terrible. Everything looks better from a distance, not just sluts in clubs.

I’m actually gonna stretch this out a little bit, because I’m realizing that I have too many jobs and way too much to say about them all to keep going. Tune in tomorrow for camp counselor, bartender, dude who hangs drywall in unfinished basements, Ben n Jerrys, doorman at a bar, Stagehand at a big rock n roll club, guy in band…fuck. I know I’m forgetting some. Oh well, I got a day to think about it. Get out there and bone each other.
BK