worst job interview ever

a few weeks ago i got a call back from men’s wearhouse saying i should come in for an interview that friday at 10. which sounded great except we were all supposed to go out for my buddy’s birthday on thursday. i figured what the hell, i’ll go out, just have a drink or two, and head home early. gotta be fresh for my interview. i had already practiced saying “you’re gonna like the way you look” in the mirror a bunch of times so i was practically a shoe in. to play it safe, i decided to wear my interview suit out on thursday, figuring the less shit i have to do friday morning the better.

friday morning, i wake up at 9:43. my head is fucking killing me. i have a text from my mom that says “good luck at burlington’s!” that bitch can never get anything straight. the men’s wearhouse is like 15 minutes away, so if i leave immediately i might just make it on time. thank god i wore my suit to bed. except wait a second, part of my suit is all wet. the part of my suit that happens to cover the thing that i pee out of. i try convincing myself it might just be sweat, but really i know it’s piss. i have no time and no backup suit, though, so i just spray a shitload of binaca on my crotch and head out the door.

i show up like 20 minutes late — i drove to the goddamn burlington coat factory by accident — and the guy is not pleased. plus, i look like a pile of shit.

“tell us, mr. johnson,” he says, “why do you think you’re a good fit for this position?”

“well,” i say, “that’s a good question. a very good question. to which my answer is, plenty of reasons. like, i’m good at doing things.” at this point i’m just saying words, any words, so i don’t throw up. “and i’m good at other things, too. as you’ll see on my resume.”

“you didn’t bring a resume,” he points out. shit.

next he shows me around the store and even starts teaching me how to size someone for a suit. maybe i still have a chance? seems impossible.

he’s using me as a practice model, which is fine, because it means i can just stand there and concentrate on not throwing up. when he shows me how to take the inseam, though, he notices that my crotch is still moist. maybe i overdid it with the binaca.

“what is this? is this… piss, mr. johnson? have you pissed yourself?”

i say no, don’t be crazy. it’s just sweat.

“your crotch sweats that much?”

“doesn’t everybody’s?”

“no. and frankly i don’t think i can afford to have a suit salesman walking around the store with a sweaty crotch. that’s just bad for business.”

“okay it’s not sweat,” i say in a last ditch effort. “it is piss. you were right the first time. well, piss and some binaca.”

“get out.”

i’m still waiting to hear back from them. meanwhile, i’ve lined up an interview at burlington for this friday.


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