Living La Vida Yokel.
Page 15 of 39
Tilde broke the silence with her nasally crackley Midwesterny shrill Sue-from-Survivor voice. "Oh dear, that is such a hard company to work for. They hire only the best and the brightest. How ever did your gentlemen freind get in?"
Anothor silence went by and this one was very akword as Cathyann's florid face grew reddor and more flushed. You never know what the hell is going on in Cathyann's brain.
"Say whut, y'all," she finaly spoke, "Look at us four settin' here: Ain't we the Seinfeld crew, or WHUT?" Ain't it true? Ain't it? BWAHAHAHA!"
"Whut wuz we talkin' about? I forgot. Oh yeah. DOOwayne."
Cathyann then went on to tell us that Duwayne had a TechnoMeriDigiCom(R) ID badge only for building access, cause alls he worked for was the company that shampoos the carpetts after hours.
"DOOOwayne's a sweetie pie and all, but dumb as a post. Ain't his ID picture cute? That big ass ole head of his woudnt fit in the frame so they done lopped off his ears and chin BWAHAHAHA!"
Thinking out loud, I said, "Man. I woud do ANYTHING to get a job there."
Stu looked up at me, blinked his black piggy eyes and in a sincear voice said, "Walt, why didn't you ever say so? I have contacts there."
I said, "Danmit, Stu I didnt know that."
"Where do you think your budgets go, Walt?," Stu asked, while stuffin his face with some of Cathyann's starchey cafeteria food," "And why do you think the fiscol year ends right at windsurfing season?"
Then I said sarcausticaly, "Yeah, well allot of good all your contacts are doing ME."
"Walter, I know the marketing veep. Want me to get you an interveiw? Do you want a job there?"
"A job? To do WHAT?"
"To do nothin," said Stu. "The toughest thing about TechnoMeriDigiCom(R) is passing the sniff test. You know, their interveiw process. Its the toughest in the country. Once youre in, youre set for life. The place is a danm country club."
Cathyann shoved me with her big muttonchop of a hand on my neck just as I was takin a sip of my Diet Pepsi. "Lissen up, Walter: Know whut DOOwayne told me? They all wear black knit turtlenecks thar. They call them 'tunics' just like on Star Trek. The whole place wears 'em," she said, swaggoring a bit one one hip, and speaking mattor of factly as she jabbed her finger in the air at me. "He said it wuz like steppin into the FUTURE."
"And whut else," she went on, rambolling out of control, "They all TALK real smart too. They all say smart thangs like, 'Functionality', and 'Deliverables', and "Benchmarks', and 'Touch base,' and ''Push the envellope, and, check this out: 'We're all gonna git on the same page.'"
"Plus all thet fancy stainless steel furniture an' what not--....hold up....I got me a big ole jalapeno burp comin' up...don't worry, y'all, I'll fluff it thataways..."
"Oh, dear," Tilde whined, "I heard they pay for Feng Shui classes, and flexible well-care, and every Wendsday its free Jello Jigglers on the back lawn!"
Cathyann's upper lip rose into an Elvislike sneer of authenticitty as lookin off into the distance she said, "When you work THAR, youre in the FUTURE. Its like livin yer whole life in one o'them ole artsy fartsy Lexus comercials."
Also i needed help with the danm Employment Screening Test. Yes, the TechnoMeriDigiCom(R) test was famous. They give you this very obtuse sort of personallity test before you can work there. Theres allot of hard questoins, the kind you have to THINK on. Like, suposedly Bill Gates took the TechnoMeriDigiCom(R) Enployment Screening test once and failed.
I figured a convienient way to bail out of the lunchroom without nosy little Tilde in tow was to steer the convorsation (always dominated by Cathyann whenever the Seinfeld crew was togethor), toward Cathyann and her boyfreind. Knowing Tilde's codependent pushey ways, I know she woud follow me back to Stu's office and ruin things for me. But I also knew there was no way she coud pull her nosy ears away from a rambling raunchey tale of rural redneck roadside sex.
Once Cathyann started gettin into the details me and Stu got up and left the table. They didnt notice us. It is just as good too, cause the details woud of made me run off and yak anyways.
Just as I was leaving my cube to head to Stu's ofice I was jolted my the ring of the phone. It was Granfather on the othor end and as usuol he just started screamin at me without even sayin "Hello."
"BOY! LISSEN UP: I GOT GAS"
I repleid, "Well what the hell else is new."
"THIS IS SERIOUS, YOU DUMBASS. REMEMBER MAH BILLY BOB THORNTON DIET FROM A MONTH AGO? WAAL, ITS ALL COMIN' HOME TO ROOST."
Granfather, as a result of his raw, nakad hatred of Uncle Will, Uncle Zeke, and the County Clerk, about a month prior to this enbarked on a speciel diet. The diet was designed to, (aftor being on it for 30 days), cause extra gassiness on his part.
Granfather has long known that he suffors from an even rarer condition, called Reptilian Beta Carotine Gastric Intolerance Disordor. (Come to think of it, WE suffor from it, not him.) The Disorder is sort of like Lactose intollerance, exept it effects mainly snakes and iguanas, and causes exessive farting. (This must be why, in the wild, one never sees a lizard eatin a carrot).
Well, anyway, the old basterd got into his small evil head the idea to copy the supposed Billy Bob Thornton diet, undor which the only things you eat are things that are the color orange: this includes squash, yams, kumquatts, lots and lots of Velveeta, cheeze doodles, WisPride aerosol Non-Dairy cracker topping, certian hot peppers, and quohog clams that are not extremly fresh.
And yes, incodentally, Orange Metamucil. Granfather's plan was to become more and more gassy to torture Zeke and William and the County Clerk.
"WHAT AM I GONNA DO, BWAH?" Granfather wailed.
I said to him, "That is YOUR problem."
"BUT ALL THAT BETA CAROTINE'S GONNA BLOW! IF MAH ASS STARTS UP, I'LL DESTROY MAH WORLD RECORD!"
I was so exasporatted by him. I reminded him that he bothored me before about this, and my advice then was to call the Criptos--which we already did.
"Where is Madison?," I asked.
"ME AN' HIM HAD A BIG FIGHT. HE'S AT THE MOTEL IN TOWN."
"Werent you suposed to ask him what to do?"
I then said in a slightley more haughtey tone that I really should have, (being that he is my Granfather and all), "Why dont you just stick a danm washing machene hose up your ass and trail it out the window?"
Stu was just finishing downloadin my resume when I walked in. He glanced at it, and bit his lip and looking sad and empathettic and totally Clintonesque said to me, "Walt, man, your resume sucks."
"Ok, remember, theyre a Mac shop," said Stu, "Do you know Quark?"
"The Ferengi?" I said.
"No, the software," Stu sighed heavilly. "Walt, you gotta prommise me man: just ace this interveiw. Do that, and youre in."
I said to him, "I will try not to blow it," but we were both pretty sure that I woud. We worked more, and Stu pretended to interveiw me for a few more hours.
Around 8 PM Stu ordered us a pizza. They turn off the aircondittioning here after hours and you know how hot it was last summer.
"Whoo! Onions and peppers! Walt, I'm sorry, but Dominos makes me sweat like a...um, well, it makes me sweat."