Neither Will Be Chosen (536 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 1.33 on 3 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Gent (View user info) at 2004-10-11 15:42:34 EDT
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The crisp autumn air came early to DC this year, but did nothing to sort out the homeless problem that plagues the city. It reminds me of an episode of 'The Simpson's', in which the town of Springfield is overrun by Bolivian Tree Lizards. To overcome the lizard problem, Principal Skinner recommends unleashing thousands of lizard eating Chinese needle snakes. Lisa asks, "But aren't the snakes even worse?" To which Skinner counters that they have already arranged for the release of a species of gorilla that thrives on snake meat.
The conversation follows like this:
Lisa: "But then we're stuck with gorillas!"
Skinner: "No, that's the beautiful part. When wintertime rolls around, the gorillas simply freeze to death."
And so it was, an unpleasant solution to an unpleasant problem. This is often the way it has to be. As I stated earlier, the crisp autumn air has come earlier to the District, and yet the swarms of homeless still remain.
Not that I want to sound insensitive... like most social quandaries this problem can be attributed to numerous factors, not the least of which is a huge reduction in the amount of affordable housing. Neighborhoods that have stood for decades or more have very recently given way to modern high-rise condo complexes that remain at minimal occupation.
But this isn't about any of that... this is about me... someone who is new to this fair city, relatively new anyway. Here's what it's like to be an unemployed denizen of our nation's capitol.
Let's start with the homeless problem... and let me say that I am a sensitive person in an insensitive city, gorilla analogies notwithstanding. An analogy is all it was; so make nothing more of it. My first experience came while playing wiffle ball on the National Mall. It was a relatively cool July day, perfect weather. A long hit had me retrieving the ball at the feet of a homeless man... now I'm not into physical descriptions, but let me say this: this homeless man was a dead ringer for the Michael Berryman character in 'The Hills Have Eyes'. Either you know what I'm talking about or you don't. If you do, than you are afraid. Also, if you live in the DC area, you may have seen this character before... looming six foot infinity above the earth... gaunt but menacing. Sometimes carrying a sign that reads something akin to, "The End Is Near.... Because I am Mr. Armageddon!" Certainly this is not someone to trifle with.
Anyway, the ball rolled to the feet of Mr. Armageddon. I approached cautiously, reaching for the ball as if it were a giant spider that I intended to kill with a wad of paper towels. Suddenly, Armageddon reached for the ball and swooped it up before I could grasp it. "Hey there Soldier," he screamed at me. (I'm not a soldier, mind you). "Hey there Soldier," he repeated, locking his eyes with mine, "You know why it's been so cool lately?" I had no answer and replied with a shrug and a shake of the head. "I'll tell you," he continued, "It's the faggot... the Faggot from Dupont Circle that stole summertime!"
Here's where I tell you that this man was out of his goddamn mind. And it's also where I tell you that Dupont Circle is the acknowledged location of a good majority of the city's gay population. It's also a good place to go for a beer or some decent bookstores. But to Dr. Armageddon it was the home base of the evil that he had committed himself to defeating.
Continuing with the insanity...
"Do you know why the Faggot who Stole Summertime wants to steal summertime?" he asked.
"Maybe because in the summertime it is entirely too hot to go disco dancing in roller-skates," I answered, boldly.
"Wrong!" he shouted. "It's because he wanted the pretty teen girls to stop wearing short skirts. So guys like me couldn't see their coochies when they sat in the park." That was valid, I thought, at least he had given this matter a bit of thought.
As Armageddon walked away, he left me with a final thought: "If you want to find summertime, go find the Faggot in Dupont Circle. He keeps it in his fanny pack."
There it was, my first introduction to the DC homeless, which, let me tell you, is a completely different breed from the homeless in other cities. Days later I was walking downtown when I saw a businessman coming out of McDonalds approach a homeless man. He gave him a cheeseburger and told him to take care of himself. As he walked away, the homeless man shouted after him, "A goddamn cheeseburger? I wanted some fucking spare change!" Another time, in Chinatown, I was walking with a friend when a homeless woman approached us. "Say brother," she said, "Can I borrow twenty dollars?" I declined. Somehow I doubted that I would ever have the loan returned.
But this isn't really about the homeless. As I said earlier, this is about a sensitive man in an insensitive city. It's about my experiences in a new city... trying to find employment, trying to make my way in the world.
About that employment, allow me to say it simply: no luck thus far. Not that I have been looking all that hard. But I did have one interview that I managed to completely make a mess of. It was writing and research analyst position with a local special interest group. I arrived confident, looking the part in a new suit that was finely tailored. I introduced myself and we began chatting. "So," he asks, "What are your goals for the near future?"
"I was thinking, actually, of trying out for the new cast of MTV's 'The Real World' that is set to shoot in DC." I would never have said this if I didn't feel that the interview was going well. And, after all, I was just joking. I have a bad tendency to make inappropriate jokes at precisely the wrong moment. It is a tendency that has created much unnecessary trouble for me over the years. "Not that I really like the show. I hate it in fact," I continued, not knowing when to keep my mouth shut. "But it couldn't hurt, you know, to be the recipient of all that extra attention from the ladies. If you catch my drift."
"I do indeed," the interviewer responded, obviously taken aback by my comments. "But don't you think that being on the show would effect your performance at work, we do, after all, start fairly early around here."
"What's early?" I asked.
"Work begins at 5:30am."
"Forget the show," I continued, "I would have trouble getting to work at 5:30 period. I'm not really a morning person."
Needless to say, the interview didn't continue long after this exchange. "I was just kidding about 'The Real World' thing," I said as we shook hands concluding the interview.
"I'll be in touch," was his only response.
As I left the office, I passed an overweight, fresh out of college looking kid who was interviewing next for the same position. As he entered the office, I nodded a greeting to him and as we made eye contact, I saw the puffy and bloodshot eyes indicative of a hangover. He also wore a baseball hat and jeans.
Seeing him, it became abundantly clear that between the two of us, neither will be chosen for the position. And my instincts were correct. It is three weeks later, and I've yet to receive a call regarding the job.
I suppose I should continue here with a recounting of the romantic interludes I have enjoyed as a young bachelor in this fair city, however I'm afraid the paragraph would be pathetically short. I do feel however, I can offer you one quick anecdote that would make my situation as clear as one-thousand more words on the subject.
It was a rainy night in DC, a bar crawl had wound it's way through the soaked streets, leaving in it's wake an entire sea of hugely inebriated young people. I was among them. My roommate and I began talking to two young, attractive, Jewish girls and things were going quite well. They seemed interested and my wit was sharp. From out of nowhere, my ill-timed and ultimately unfortunate use of comedy again reared its ugly head. Somehow the topic of their religion had come up, and things headed south.
"Speaking of that," I began, "My grandfather actually died in a WWII concentration camp." Hearing this, the girls began to express their sympathy. My roommate however, knew that something was amiss. He shuffled his feet aprehensively and tried to catch my eye to see where I was going with this. He looked nervous... rightly so.
I continued:
"Yeah. He died in a concentration camp. He got drunk and fell out of the guard's tower."
I don't think I have to continue the story and tell you the tedious details of the ladies' reactions. Let's just simply say, that also on that night, neither of us was chosen. So it appears to be the story of my life. But things will improve, I am certain, once I become more accustomed to the city. Things must improve. If not, I could always consider a full-frontal lobotomy. I heard that little procedure is quite effective in neutralizing a problem often referred to as ill-timed humor. Let's hope it doesn't have to come to that.
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Submitted by drfeggphd (user info) at 2005-02-01 09:46:31 EST (#)
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Submitted by Lilmissfrisky (user info) at 2005-02-01 09:24:05 EST (#)
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You seem like you'd be perfect for someone I know. A dark, depressed woman whose only joy in life is to utterly wallow in her own self pitty, and lash out to anyone with any kind of higher expecations in life other than your own. Yes, you would be perfect for her.
Submitted by youarsoghey (user info) at 2005-01-16 11:50:35 EST (#)
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