41244116

So I'm sitting in the bar, just relaxing and enjoying the atmosphere as I often do, when some stranger pulls up and sits needlessly close to me. I don't find this terribly offensive, but I do find it rather curious. Well I turn to him and I say, "How we doin tonight?" The gentleman, as it were, does not answer immediately, but takes a noticeable moment to study me. While I had the opportunity I took note of a few things myself. He was lanky and olive skinned. What made me almost laugh despite myself was that he was wearing a derby and a tailored black pinstripe suit. On his hands he wore a jeweled gold watch and several gold rings on each hand. One more ring would have been bad-rap-singer gaudy, but while accenting his rough knuckles, loosely clenched and hanging lazily in front of his bulldog expression, waiting to pull the hissing cigarette out of his mouth, the whole picture was rather impressive, if not intimidating, in a cliché kind of way. Finally he speaks, in a char-grilled voice he tells me, “In the second grade you stole your older brother’s Game Boy to take on a field trip.” My secret shame! This man had everything needed to own my soul if he was inclined to! As I must have looked dumbfounded all I could think of was back to those times, if only I could have come up with a better alibi than, “Here, It’s in my bag! Don’t hurt me!” I might not be in this fix now. “I am here to speak to you on behalf of ‘The Count’. Have you heard of this?” Well now I am sober. I was certain I did not misunderstand the crap he just said so I answered him best I was able, “Count Chocula or Count Crisco?” He did not seem amused. A little flustered he tries to convince me that there is no such thing as a Count Crisco. “Well of course there is,” I begin to tell him, “How the hell do you think the retailers know when to restock the Crisco if they don’t have a count?” Well soon we were doing business. Apparently this “Count” was a boss in some underground crime circuit and he’s recruiting new members to fill in recently available low ranking positions. It was about the same as any other job interview I had ever been to, so I used all the same answers I had before so not to have a conflict if they should check for records. “No, I don’t do drugs . . . Yes, I have a reliable vehicle . . . No, I don’t mind, as long as it is tasteful . . . Yes, I am willing to work nights and weekends . . .” He even asked if I would do some impressions. Knowing that an interview is no time to be modest, I gave him my best Marlon Brando, Sean Connery, The Swedish Chef, and a couple others. The last one, he remarked, sounded like “ . . . A senseless overworked whore climaxing.” Well I was offended and told him straight off, “Sir! Please do not be so lewd and insensitive! And I can not believe you would say such things about your own mother!” After he laughed quite hardily for an uncomfortable period of time, he eventually wipes a tear from his eye, gasping, “Kid, I like you! I am going to personally give my recommendation to ‘The Count’ himself!” Then he gave me a firm, yet playful punch to the jaw, which thank goodness he let see coming. Then he asks me, “Do you have a My Space?” Well I do, I thought, but right now it is completely blank, minus a few pictures, and before that everything on my profile was 3 years old! But I figured it was just a convenient means of getting in contact with me so I give him my address. We joked around the rest of the night and I left feeling pretty good about what kind of opportunities the organized crime world had to offer! Well not wanting to seem too eager I waited a day or two to check my messages. Finally I rooted through the porn Spam and fake friend requests which turned me off to My Space in the first place, and second place, and found a message from “The Bright Shadow” I gave an exhausted sigh in reaction to the name and open the message. It read, “After viewing your My Space page we are sorry to inform you that we have come to the decision that you are not suited to be apart of our crime family. We appreciate your interest in our organization and recommend if seeking employment in the criminal underworld one might do well to add some content to their My Space. But you sir, simply do not impress us. Best wishes, ~B.S . . .PS: You didn’t hear nothin’!” Oh! What must I do to get karma back on my side? All I wanted was to be a simple low ranking soldier in a classy criminal cache, but it seems to get the universe spinning die in my favor I need to save a bunch of leper orphans from a burning building, if I knew what I did wrong I could be more specific but that would cover all the bases I would think. Well I sent so many messages and tried so many ways to get in touch with these gangsters but it seemed it was no use, but one day, I got a comment, and it was from the ol’ Bright Shadow! It said, “We’re sorry, we are currently not accepting applications for hired goons, but here is a bunny with a pancake on its head!” Well I’ll be blamed if that wasn’t the cutest thing even sent to me by a criminal syndicate! The only person I can be mad at is myself. It turns out I suppose that a blank My Space in today’s world can be as detrimental to landing a job in organized crime as a half page resume printed on the back of a Denny’s place mat is to getting a job in the legitimate world. Oh well, too little too late I suppose.