Jesus stopped me getting a job, but I still like himSubmitted by w_t_a_y_s_t_r_m at 2005-12-07 08:19:47 EST
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I went for a job interview this morning. I didn’t get it.
It was a well sought after job, but I won’t bore with the details, because they are boring, but because it’s well paid and quite easy, there were already about four people there when I got there.
So I went on in and spoke to the receptionist who looked unimpressed by the five pound note I slid across the table to bump my name up the list, and got told that it would take another fiver to stop my name getting bumped off the list.
I had no more cash on me so I cut the money grabbing whore a cheque and went and sat back down next to someone who was so scruffy they made me look like a Ritz doorman. His familiar face was hidden behind a beard that was long and tattered, he was wearing sandals with socks, three quarter length trousers and a scruffy vest. Strangely he was sat there looking so smug like he knew he already had the job.
Screwed up in his hand was a scrappy piece of paper. I tried my hardest to look casual while scanning his CV. It was difficult though, because for some reason this guy had found it necessary to write out his CV with poster paints.
But through the ineligible scrawl I managed to pick out one very worrying sentence:
Full Name: Jesus Christ
I looked back at his face and realised the reason the face was familiar was because my very catholic gran had pictures of this chap everywhere.
“What came first? The look or the name?” I asked him with a grin.
“Excuse me?” He turned very politely.
“Did you look like Jesus and change your name to his, or did you change your name to Jesus and try to look like him?”
The man just scoffed at me and turned back to facing forwards, looking down on the rest of us all mighty.
“Dude,” I said. “You can’t seriously be expecting to get this job?”
“Well I’ve got to.” He said. “My dad said I’m old enough to get a job out in the real world, and I’ve got to do it by my next birthday or I’m out the door. And this is the only interview that I’ve lined up.”
“But you’ve called yourself Jesus Christ on the painted CV!” I nearly yelled at him. “How the hell can you possibly expect it to happen?”
“What can I say?” He smiled. “I have a way of making the impossible happen.” The smile was even wider now.
“You genuinely believe you’re Jesus Christ, don’t you?”
“Do you genuinely believe you’re Nathan Sleeman?”
“How the hell…”
“I turn water into wine; you think I’d struggle with your name? Twat.”
“Failure.” I muttered under my breath.
“I said you’re a failure.”
“How dare you? You’re in no position to call anyone a failure!”
“Look at you. Fully grown adult, still living at home no doubt?”
“And only just getting your own job.”
“Hey! I was a carpenter for fucking ages!”
“And the second a bit of stiff competition came along you bail.”
“What the fu…”
“And you’re a sissy. I saw that crap film. You got seven shades of shit beat out of you. If God were my dad I’d have whooped ass, not bent over.”
“That’s not how it…”
“No excuses, Jesus. You suck. Face it. No wonder the church is going under.”
I took a sip of my water and turned back to him. He looked sad. I’m sure I even saw a tear starting to come through in the corner of his eye.
“Hey, dude, I’m sorry to get harsh.” I went to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Gotcha!” He yelled, leaping of his chair, driving his elbow into my crotch.
Instantly I doubled over and fell on the floor, trying not to be sick. I tried to grab his arm and pull him over so I could pummel him, but all I managed was to get hold of the piece of paper in his hand.
It ripped, him with the bottom half, me with the top.
“MY CV!” He screamed. “I spent ages on that!”
I balled my fists together and slammed my hands up into his sack. Instantly he doubled over, so I balled my fists again and slammed them up into his face.
He fell backwards and landed back on his chair, from where he kicked me in the face. I fell backwards so I was lying down on the floor, trying to get up but having no co-ordination.
Before I had a chance to go for him again there was a lot of rough shoving and suddenly I found myself outside the building, leaning on a wall for support.
Next to me, Jesus stood panting.
“Shit. Guess I’m getting kicked out then.” He said to me, wiping a small bit of blood from around his nose.
“Sorry dude.” I said. “You know, you’re a lot tougher than that film made me believe.”
“You kidding? That film couldn’t have been further from the truth. They sucker punched me while I was stoned at the supper.”
“You got stoned at the last supper?”
“Course I did. Celebrating the Easter holidays.”
I was confused, but didn’t bother asking. Instead we decided to just go to a nearby pub and have a few drinks, and I’ve got to tell you, Jesus kicks ass.
It’s not just water into wine. We ordered two cokes and next thing I know we had a pint of Guinness each.
“What you going to tell your dad?” I asked him.
“Not sure. Could lie to him and tell him I got the job.”
“Doesn’t he know everything?”
“All parents think they know everything.”
“Yeah, but isn’t yours God?”
“Shit…” Jesus trailed off in thought. “Fuck it; I’ll just take that job at the fairs.”
“You know that annoying DJ that you can always hear on the rides?”
“I’m going to kill them.”
When we finished eating we went our separate ways. I hope he got that job. He deserves it.