Well Monkey Keys, I started my new job. If you haven’t heard, I’m like some big shot consultant now. I guess that should technically mean I know what I’m doing, but it sure does not. My first day was last Monday the 13th of September. I got to fly from my make shift hovel in Raleigh to Chicago Illinois. I packed all my big boy clothes and my laptop and took off for adventure in the amazing year nine hundred billion. I’m a true adult now!
Only I forgot black socks. I mean, for cripes sakes. How many different cloths does a guy have to remember?
1) Am I nude? Yes. Put on pants.
2) Does the term “No shirt, no shoes, no service” apply? Yes. Put on shoes and shirt.
3) Are your dress socks white? …drat.
So I’m in Raleigh at 4:30 in the AM without black socks for my first day of work at a prestigious consulting firm, and I think to myself, “You truly are retarded.” I seriously don’t know how I made it through puberty sometimes. I figure for most of my adolescence I simply wasn’t dressed up. That probably aided in my survival.
Well, no time to panic thought I. So I headed off for the airport in my finest yellow tie and white socks. You’ve got to wear a tie to your first day of work after all; it makes a good impression. I contemplated stopping at a Wal-Mart on my way to the airport, only I don’t know Raleigh at all.
You see, Monkey Keys, I actually just moved to Raleigh the very NIGHT I was to sleep for four hours and fly to my new job.
“Wait Dylan, are you seriously telling me you moved to a city and then flew out four hours later to start your first day of work?”
Yeah, that’s about the size of it, Sum Up Key.
“Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?”
It’s probably a vitamin C deficiency, but who knows for sure. If you’ve never packed for your life before packing for a trip in the same night, I strongly suggest you do it. It is the kind of exhilaration you can normally only imagine someone with extreme vitamin C deficiency doing. The only real side effect is you may forget one of the three articles of cloths you need on your first day of work across the country.
Back to the morning. I was lost in Raleigh trying to find socks and an airport. I also conveniently forgot the “departure” time and the “boarding” time for airplanes differs. In Dylan time logic, a time of 6:40 am on an airline ticket means getting to the airport at 6:35 am leaves more than enough time to eat a sandwich, bask in some solar rays, buy new socks and make the flight. Apparently real people often try to get to the airport HOURS before departure. I know, they’re nuts right?
I’ll save you the angst of wondering if I made the flight or not and let you know I might have. I considered the clock at 5:50 am, and decided locating a store to buy socks would probably take 12 minutes. Frankly, I was too tired to devote 12 minutes to this task, so I let it be.
This is literally the only reason I didn’t go shopping at the time.
At any rate, I suppose my sleepytired brain is the smart one, because I walked up to my terminal during final boarding. Hey, any landing you can walk away from right?
The next thing I learned that day is everyone wants tips in big cities. I don’t understand this entirely, but apparently people in big cities don’t do ANYTHING themselves and instead feel it prudent to pay others small sums of money for things they didn’t want done.
A prime example of this is the shuttle bus used to get us fine North Carolinians to the car rental place. You see, the car rental places are a fortnight from the airport, so a bus comes to take you there, simple enough. Only when the bus arrives, the driver veritably leaps from the bus and makes a mad dash toward your luggage. No, he’s not trying to steal it. That’s for the best since he won’t find any socks to go with the pretty pants inside anyway. He just wants to lift the stuff into the bus. The reason being, if he helps you with the luggage, he expects a tip.
Call me old fashioned, or cheap, or poorly dressed, but I have this notion of tips being a reward for a job done better than expected. Big city jobs like bellboys, elevator operators and bathroom attendances don’t do a freaking thing. Jobs that expect tips on the basis of their existence annoy me.
I think back to my days as a sales person on the floors of Toys R Us. I was offered tips if I personally stuffed a Power Wheels Silverado in the back of a Pinto, or scoured the stockroom for a Barbie dress we didn’t have out front. You know, busting my ass because I was in a good mood. I was then instructed by corporate policy to refuse said tips. Poor Dylan. In contrast, some supreme douche that squirts soap on my hands simply because he beat me to the dispenser deserves nothing but a kick to the crotch. I suppose that’s the vitamin C deficiency talking though. Drink your OJ, Kid Keys!
Anyway, needless to say I stiffed the bus guy. I suppose karma ghost will give me a heart attack at 32 in retaliation. All is fair in socks and war. I managed to get my rental car which was a Kia Soul. This was not my picking. It was literally the last one left.
If you are currently contemplating the purchase of a Kia Soul, I would suggest you rather buy a pair of black socks. They will be infinitely handier than the Kia.
I made it to my new place of work and only got lost on campus for ten minutes or so. It was time for the moment of meeting. First impressions are everything according to the Bene Gesserit, and far be it from me to disagree. Luckily I was a #1 Stun’a in my sweet digs. My new boss found it instantly purposeful to promote me to a level in-between CEO of the company and crash test dummy. I was honored.
Shortly thereafter he laughed at my socks.
So what is the moral of this whole story? Probably nothing, but if you found some deeper meaning then more power to you. Be sure to write an English or Psychology report on it for extra credit. Now I didn’t even have time to get to how much I hate the new versions of old Windows software on my new work laptop, but I’ll let my art speak for itself. Goodnight my Monkey Keys.
Um… what happened to underwear? Maybe not essential, but it sure is embarrassing when your pants fall down because you’re not wearing a belt either…
Is it just me or is that a penis on that shorter guy’s chin?