Adventures In Purgatory

I am forced to conclude that people in earlier times had it easy. They had it easy, I deduce, because they needed to make up stories about the devil and all manner of evils that would torment them in the afterlife if they failed to live righteously. Who needs the devil anymore? Who needs the devil when you can build your own personal purgatory so easily, right there in your own hometown?

You see, this all started maybe a month after I arrived in my current home, just east of the Rockies. At that point I wasn't just a fresh new graduate from university, I was something much worse. I was a graduate with work experience. That's right, I'd done several work terms during my lengthy tenure in higher education, and was entering the workforce already fully loaded with a history of excellent, fast track jobs in blue chip technology companies. Mister junior-executive-in-the-making. Can't you just smell the train wreck coming?

So I'm new in town, living in a storage closet, and running on enough cash to hold it all together for, maybe two months, tops. Two months, assuming that I can continue to hold down low-rent accommodations between stacks of boxes at the home of a friend of a friend - some longhaired guy that Reese knew, named Flip. My cash is burning fast and I'm frantically trying to land the job that will allow me to both stay in town and eat regularly. I'm a complex guy.

Good news phones you. Bad news sends a letter.

I've applied for an advertised marketing job at a small software company, Microtron or something ridiculous like that, and they've called me back to tell me that they'll be starting to call people in for interviews in about two weeks, and they wanted to let me know that they loved my resume and will be calling soon to schedule my interview. I'm excited. I do my research, ready myself and sleep a little better at night for knowing that I'm close. Then, a few weeks later, I get a letter from them. Good news does not come by mail. Good news phones you. Bad news sends a letter.

The letter explains that, gosh-darn it, it turns out that they got a pile of good resumes, from very experienced people, so they won't be calling me in for an interview after all, but thanks for applying. I suddenly develop a twitch under my right eye.

My funds and my spirit now drained, I am forced to seek an emergency job. Something decidedly outside of my career path, to provide enough cash to keep the search afloat. I respond to an ad and land an interview with a dubious sounding electronics retailer. Let's call them "Tomorrow Store". The ad stipulates that they are looking for marketing people and other management types, but I suspect otherwise.

I arrive at the office, located on the backside of a large store, on a cold November night and take my seat in the waiting room. Behind one door I can hear an interview in progress, behind another, the disturbing sound of a group of people loudly chanting "Excellent!" with manufactured exuberance. I take it for what it obviously is, an ill tiding.

The interview is a formality and I get the job - as a commissioned salesperson in the computer department - and am promptly thrown into a two-week sales training program. I close my eyes, try not to think about what I'm doing, and dive in.