So I’m going to make an attempt to write on this thing more often. Once every three months just doesn’t make me look good. I really don’t want to upset my nation of followers. Oh wait. No one reads this.
So point of this post is that I recently got a ‘temporary’ ‘job’ at a title company. I put the words, temporary and job in quotes because a) I have no idea how long I’ll be working there, and b) it’s the shittiest job in the universe.
Here’s what 4 years at an extremely prestigious college gets you. Definitions like this.
Title Company: A title company is responsible for all the complicated shit involved in buying houses and other things of that nature.
And jobs like this. Here’s what I do. Get ready.
My job: Delivering the important shit to the correct people. I transfer checks, titles, big ass stacks of paper, and even the occasional, complimentary fleece to the company’s clients. Who would ever wear one of those.
Oh yeah. Everyone who works at the office. Literally, all the dudes wear logo’d tee’s almost everyday. Short sleeve, golf tee’s. So walking into work everyday, I immediately dismiss everyone I see wearing one as a moron. I don’t even have to speak to them, not that they would be interested in speaking to the delivery bitch, but it wouldn’t matter. If they’re going to come to work EVERYDAY wearing a company golf shirt, then everything else about them is irrelevant. I don’t care what they have to say, what they do, where they went to school or anything like that.
I walk by, like I did today, and hear something like this,
“Yeah, I just don’t know who I should start at quarterback this week.”
This is great on multiple tiers. A. it involves sports. B. It involves fantasy sports. If hear them say something, anything, concerning the world of sports. If I hear that, I’m in. I’m a friend. I’m a nice guy who wants to talk. Wants to chit-chat about how Kevin Kolb really isn’t living up to expectations in his relationship with Fitz. Because the key to talking to people who are “above you” is to only talk on subjects you own. I’m not going to try to ‘hop in’ to a conversation about whether or not the city is going to clear a lean on a three story house built in 2007. I don’t really know what a lean even is. Which is the primary reason I would never consider jumping into that type of conversation. Nothing makes a human being look stupider than trying to keep up in a conversation that’s way outside his or her comprehending. You have nothing to contribute. If you have nothing to contribute, why are you standing there.
The best place to be,- in terms of joining a conversation with a group of people who may or may not determine your future,- is in a surplus of knowledge. You need to be able to prepared at any time. They call on you, you gotta be ready. Here’s an ideal scenario.
“Hey new guy, who do you think I should start this week. Legarrette Blount or Frank Gore?”
In this case, I’ve already identified this man as mentally deficient, and I can move on knowing my audience probably doesn’t know much of anything.
(chuckle)”well, you know that Blount hurt his knee and might not even suit up..soooo you’d go with Gore.”
(surprised)”Wait, really? When did that happen.”
Now I’m killing it. He’s asking the questions. I’m the almanac. The guy in the suit and tie with a pocket full of BMW keys is asking the delivery boy about fantasy football…and he’s actually invested in what the boy has to say. I adjust my posture to a more conversational style.
(confident)”Doesn’t matter. He’s out. What you want to do is hit the waiver wire, like right now. Pick up his filler, Ernest Graham, who actually had a very impressive game last week. Like a buck o’five on 13 carries. Something ridiculous.”
He might still be available in your piece of shit league.
He takes off to go grab Graham, and all of the sudden, I’m in demand. It has begun. I am now a desirable source of information for the entire nfl season. King Me.
People who don’t understand fantasy don’t understand this.
But the point of this story is that I’m currently working 40 hours a week in an office building full of people who don’t like the same type of shit I like. Here’s how I know they don’t like my type of shit.
Because if they did, they would know that Legarrette Blount hurt his knee in the Buc’s blowout loss to SF.
If they did they wouldn’t wear company tee shirts every day of the week. Tee time’s not till 5:30. Leave the clima-cool collared tees at the country club.
If they did they would look at me funny when I answer questions like, “Hey Court, you goin to the BSU game tomorrow?” with statements like, “Ahhh, well I don’t have a ticket but I’ll probably wander around the tailgates and drink a ton of free beer.”
And finally, I wouldn’t hear things like, “Well, my (18-year old) son used to play football, but his grades took a little dip sooooo, he’s just going to be focusing on school now.” The kid is 18. You may be ruining his life.
Bottom line is this. I’m a fish out of water. I’m flopping around on the dock. My strange choice in studies hooked me four years ago with it’s temptations of entertaining classes and enjoyment, and has subsequently ripped me out of the water with impracticality and a scarce market of applicable jobs.
But hey, at least I’m not at home all playing zelda all day.