As we were buffing up to make the initial pull, the GM announced, “Okay, Bobby and Sammy are the two winners of the Shadowmourne Raffle! Grats guys.”
Uhm….what? What raffle?
I checked the guild forum in a panic, and apparently, there was an epic thread entitled “The Official Shadowmourne Raffle” that’s been going on for two weeks.
When I flip open a Yoplait carton and see Please Try Again message, I just think, oh, Yoplait is having a contest I’m not aware of and I couldn’t care less. I can’t say the same about missing out on this one.
There were five viable candidates, but the two winners won the raffle uncontested. The DK deferred his entry, because he can’t make all the raids for the next few weeks. The other ret pally is a really selfless guy and he passed the prized loot to others. I just had no clue. I’m sitting here licking off blue berry yogurt off the aluminum foil.
Since my company blew up last November, I’ve been living the dreams. Last week, I decided drinking single malt scotch and playing wow all day is totally overrated.
I’ve been busy interviewing lately.
My pup Sandy can sense stuff real good. He knows whether you are scared of him or you like him. You cannot let him zone in on your weakness. I explain to house visitors that dogs are pack animals and packing order (I’m the Alpha Jong, which means I’m the only one allowed to hump cushions in this household) is important to them; you’ve got to establish your position firmly without pissing him off. Otherwise, he’ll cast decimate and chop your legs off, kk?... what a vague and ambiguous pitbull survival guide.
Interviewers will sense out weakness within 12 seconds. I can’t let them do that, because then they’ll fire at will. I’ve got to go in there and respectfully instill fear in their hearts. The fear of backfiring—what if I ask this question, he delivers with flying colors, then asks a follow-up question that I can’t answer and I’ll look stupid? I’ve got to make them put their guards up and hesitate throwing bomb right hooks.
In my hotel room, 25 minutes to the show. The company lobby is just across the street.
I stood before the mirror and addressed the Mont Blanc pen cap peering atop the shirt pocket one last time:
“What did Mufasa say to Simba? Remember who you are. You are Jong, the illest ret pally they never known. You’ve read every economic commentary from every investment bank. You’ve dog-eared their 150-page 10k filing. You can recite the attack power coefficient for judgment seal procs. Eye of the fucking tiger. Let’s DO THIS.”
Just as I bent down do apply one final buff to my shoe, I heard the ominous thunderous rip. RIIIIIIIIPPPPPP!
It was ripped, and I’m not talking about just a little bit. The seam was busted open from the waist line all the way down to my crotch. I turned to assess the damage in the mirror and the red and yellow sunflowers on my boxer were waving hi at me.
I thought about calling in to cancel the interview, but what I do say? I regret to inform you that I won’t be able to make the appointment today unless you consider Adidas sweat pants and wing tip shoes appropriate business attire.
I decided to wing it.
I’ll just pretend it’s one of those disguise quests—I can interact freely as long as I don’t let anyone see my behind. I’ll stand with buttcheeks firmly clinched and if my cover is ever compromised, I’ll act really surprised: holy crap! how THAT happen?
It was a 5-hour interview and I never got up. I’ll tell you about interview #2 later.
Making bad decision is bad, but making no decision is worse. Your pants are ripped and you just happen to be wearing an underwear that cannot be taken seriously in any former business setting. What course of action would you have taken if you had 15 minutes to execute whatever plan you came up with?
The Bossy Spoon and the Giant Pally compiled a pally blog list. I'm offended that this classy & elegant blog is in the same category as Antigen's blog (pronounced an-TEE-gen).