Thank you for seeing me, sir. I see that you have my resumé. Laminating it was my idea. Yes, it’s Fitch—like the guy who invented the steam bath. Before we start, let me just take a moment to say that you have a powerful handshake, big guy. Confident. Forceful. Godlike. But I suppose you hear that a lot. Yeah, sure. I’m ready. Fire away, chief.
Well, as you can tell, I bring a wealth of experience to this position. The section in green crayon highlights my computer expertise. I’m not making up those Halo scores, either. What? Oh, definitely. I’m familiar with Word and PowderPuff and Excess and Outback and all those other business programs. Well, sure, I speak Farsi. I’m all about the Fars. But I have to warn you that the dialect I speak is restricted mainly to northern Farsylvania. It’s very, very rare.
My strengths? Boy, where do I start? I’ve always considered myself a man forged in the fires of fate, driven by destiny and guided by a higher hand to lead men and women of all races and genders. You don’t have to write that down because it’s there in red crayon, right under my poem about Gwen Stefani. Specific strengths? I suppose I’d have to say my winning smile, my catlike reflexes, and my roguish charm. Job-related strengths? Well, you should have been a bit more specific, chief. I guess those would be the computer thingy and the Farsi thingy.
Weaknesses? Sheesh, that’s tough. I’d have to say that my only weakness is my lack of flaws. What I mean is that sometimes co-workers begrudge my innate perfection. I’m sure you get that, too, big guy. No? I’m awed by your immense modesty. Really.
Why did I leave my last job? That’s easy. I was tired of working for a bunch of liars. Brazen they were. Boldfaced. Snaky. It was always “We know you’re stealing chairs” or “Debbie saw you urinate in the file cabinets” or “If you don’t tell me where my baby is, I’m calling the police.” I mean, how are you supposed to work in a hostile environment like that? It’s bad for morale. I’d advise you not to believe a word they say, especially the stuff about the chicken and the jumper cables. They’re liars. All of them.
An example of a difficult situation and how I overcame the challenges? Hmm. I suppose that would have to be my trial for the double homicide of those hikers up by Manchester. When the police found the DNA evidence, I got pretty down on myself. Fortunately, there was a legal technicality and the genetic evidence was inadmissible. The jury came back with a “not guilty” verdict and it was all good. I really learned a lot from that experience and, as I’ve noted in orange crayon, I’m not currently a suspect in any murders under investigation.
Where do I see myself when? In five years? Well, I suppose I see myself in a big room somewhere. Light filters in through the bulletproof glass of the skylights. I’m wearing a cape and a mask. Women in leotards are kneeling at my feet and making purring noises. A dwarf with a lute prances around the room playing “Greensleeves” over and over. Two donkeys stand sullenly in the corner. On shelves along the wall are rows and rows of jars. In the jars are the ashes of everyone that has ever crossed me. Every hour on the hour, an albino in a leather jumpsuit enters the room, walks over to the shelves, and picks out a jar. Next, he empties the ashes from the jar into a bowl of donkey chow, stirs the two together, and then feeds the mixture to the donkeys. Every time the donkeys move their bowels, I shout, “Ha! Look at you now. You crossed me and now you’re donkey crap! You’re freaking donkey crap! How does it feel, huh? HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE A BIG, STEAMING PILE OF DONKEY CRAP?” Yeah. On reflection, I suppose that’s where I see myself in five years.
That’s it? Well, let me say what an honor it’s been, sir. Your questions were insightful and probing—genius really. I value the time we spent together and I’m not just saying that because I need a job. Say, do you mind if I take a whiz before I go? Oh, that’s OK. I saw the file cabinets on the way in.