From May 20th.

Recently I have found myself in a bit of a career transition. I decided to go to a career fair, which should be reserved for a special part of hell, but I am in need so I made the trip. I handed out my resume and made the meet a greet a special place. I stopped at a table for a company that shall and probably is nameless in the wider corporate world. I had a nice conversation and left my resume and that was that. Later that evening I recieved a call from a gentleman that had an accent that sounded British, but that kind of british that only an American can do badly. He said he would like to have me out for an all day interview. I was in need so I decided to take him up on it. I arrived for the interview session at a bland office park on Jacksonville's southside and entered the kind of boilerplate office that is the unique relm of the outside sales force. I have done outside sales and as a Catholic I understand it for what it is, penance. God places you in these situations to help you to work off your sins to the world. Along the couch on one side were three ladies obviously there for the same endevour as I was cursed to. I made small talk with them and the receptionist who was wearing a skirt that was only suited for an adult film, and as we spoke I sat close to a closed door. Behind this closed door was what could only be described from sound as a dance party mixed with a touch football game. To top off the professional feel of this situation was a dog. Now I am not a dog person, but I am perfectly comfortable with little pooches. Yet I do not tend to see them roaming around professional offices where I am about to have a job interview in a suit. Little by little they pair us off and start to talk with each person individually as they send each person out with a salesperson. I have yet to understand what exactly this company does. They give a speech to each person as if it is tailor made for the individual, but I hear it each time and it is the same each time. When they finally come to me I could repeat it verbatum. I am paired with a salesperson and a "trainee." We climb into this car that is even shittier than mine, which is a tall order to imagine, and start off into a random direction in town. The gentleman starts to talk to me in what he thinks is a general get to know you tone, but I am not a schoolgirl and I know I am being interviewed. At this point I feel I am being indoctrinated into a cult. Questions from him are such as, "Matt, when you think of marketing, what comes to mind?" I ask him what exactly it is that the company does, and he replys with the same response that a parent tells a child when he asks to go to McDonalds, "You'll see." It is amazing when morons attempt to be sly. I notice that we are heading toward Beach Boulevard, and we turn into a neighborhood that time forgot. The type in Back to the Future II, used to be ok, but it turned into a shithole. We park and start trying to sell phone service to people that allready have it. At one point this guy starts to try to sell a woman who cannot speak English. He attempts to speak with her in a form of broken english that a bad comic might try to express in a failing standup act. At this point I feign an illness and get them to take me back to my car. When they get to my car I tell them thanks but no thanks and head on my way. If someone attempts to give you a job at Three Lions Marketing, You Run, and you run fast.