Yet Another New Career

It's time to make some money, so I called the agency for some work. I was on an adrenaline and coffee radio bender at the time, which made me a quite unreasonable negotiator. Instead of trying to be polite and playing the game I just said what I meant-and I got what I wanted.

No.

I'm not going to submit to a urine test, so stop asking me to. If everyone, doper or not, just sneered and said fuck off when proffered the p-cup , pretty soon the fuckin' bastards would stop testing us all the flippin' time. They have to hire people like me (us?) -who's gonna do the shit-work? Management? Ha!

Nope.

If you can't give me $15+ an hour, don't call me. I'd rather work for free at the studio.

No.

If it involves customer service, fucking forget about it. I don't wanna deal with service calls, help desks or multi-line phones. In fact, I don't wanna be bothered at all. By anyone about anything. Ever.
Unless I'm getting overtime.

And yeah, I've got a Master's in English Lit. I just made that up, but Agency Girl believed it and updated my file, which suddenly qualified me for work I know nothing about. I noticed she reads Danielle Steele novels, so it's unlikely she'll be able to call me on my bullshit... shit, I can rhyme Chaucer with saucer. I'm literate and poetic.

So now I'm a paralegal, whatever the hell that is. It seems an awful lot like being a file clerk/secretary, only with better pay and less time for workblogging. And I've got a double-wide damncube where I can listen (quietly) to music. It's just for a couple weeks, but it seems OK so far. Nobody seems to have noticed that my knowledge of the law is almost exclusively from the wrong side.
Not that it matters. Paperwork is paperwork-it's all the fucking same. But at least I get to read some juicy bits about divorces and lawsuits and stuff. A local dairy is being sued BIGTIME for sickening dozens of people and it's 100% off the media radar. I get the impression that this certain dairy doesn't want the publicity. Let me get a couple paychecks first, then check back for a milk update. I may be a rotten scoundrel and the callowest of rogues, but sometimes I find myself crusading for the public good. I don't mean to, it just happens .
I apologize for that.

Oh hey, I did a bad thing. Almost. This peachy girl that I met recently turns out to have a crush on me. Why she does, I can't fathom, but she does. I was surprised, that's for sure. I was even more shocked when she told me she was 17 and in High School, not college. And yes, that stopped me dead in my tracks, so to speak. I mean, I was tempted (I'm a guy. We can't help it). But I'm not a villian. Desperate, perhaps, but not that bad.

I think you should go home now, I can't do this. Well, I could, but it would have been truly wrong. Let's get your bike in the backseat and I'll drive you home. You don't want to be part of my world-you've got too much potential to let some jerk ruin your youth.

It's weird-when I was in High School I barely managed to lose my virginity and now, 21 years later, I've been hit on by teen-age girls twice in one year. I didn't do that well during my whole senior year! I'm short, bald, under-employed and my Honda is held together with duct tape. I'm rude, insulting and terribly insecure about everything.What's the appeal? Why do I only attract women half my age? I guess that's a strange thing for a guy to be bitching about, chivalry being dead and all that. Color me in chump-tones.
I gotta go get bonged. My mind's -a -racing and Ima ranting.

Gosh. I just got a callback from Tim Kaine's ( VA. Dem gubernatorial candidate) office. I'm setting up some air-time for him. That'll be big-time radio brownie points! Fuck, I'm cooler than I thought. My new boss even said he saw one of my old bands play-and liked us. He seems cool, but his taste in music is suspect. And I keep hearing Lou Reed's 'Satellite of Love' beneath the din of my thoughts. That's not so bad.

I watched it for a little while, I love to watch things on TV...
Sat-el-lite of love...