by Nic Olson
I quit my job. After four hours. And I didn’t even do anything while I was there. I started getting flashbacks to my first call centre job, a job I didn’t mind doing, until I realized that I was ruining lives, endorsing liars and indirectly pushing drugs. I tried pretty hard to convince myself that this call centre would be different, although the product was the same as before, I just hoped for the sake of a paycheque that it would be different.
Like a fool I already had planned where my money would be spent; mostly groceries and Dairy Queen, but with dreams of skateboards, new shoes, my savings account, debt, and a trip home. All dashed by an idealistic moron. But I can’t even tell if I’m too weak or too strong. My values: too strict or just generally misguided.
In an e-mail my dad alliterated to me that instead of experiencing the ‘penurial pits of pathetic paid pastimes’ I should find something that is productive, for me or others. I didn’t know what penurial meant, so I looked it up, and I am still not sure if the word actually exists, but penurious does; poverty stricken or destitute. So I found something to keep me temporarily productive. Dr Mario.
But like a genius, I still have two jobs. Long story short, I didn’t call to quit the second job, and as far as I know, it is still there. In my head I ran through how the phone call would go when I called and quit the car wash job.
“Hey Mariano, how are you? Hey, sorry I won’t be able to make it to the Car Wash training on Wednesday, or to work the next weeks. Yeah, I know, I’m really sorry. Yeah. Well, what happened was, I am actually going to move back west because my dog is really sick, and I need to go see him before he dies. Yeah. Yeah, we have a really close relationship. Yeah. Dog STDs. Have you heard of Canine Gonorrhea? It exists. There were a lot of lady dogs around our place, and he was just in the prime of his life for getting tail and meeting bitches. Yeah. Well thanks anyway. I hope your new concept carwash goes really well. I wish I could wash cars in my speedo with you guys, but I can’t. Alright. Thanks again. Take care Mariano.”
And I’d fabricate an intricate number of lies to make me look less of a doucher. I ran through this phone call in my head so many times that I can’t remember if I actually had the conversation or not, so I think I still have the job, and I can be productive again. If productive means making minimum wage by washing cars in a park-ade. I often ask myself how much longer it will be until I find myself not laughing at my unfortunate situations and actually doing something about them. Maybe when I beat Dr Mario. Give it a few years.