Children’s Warning – foul language lies ahead.
Psychopath’s Warning – nobody gets killed, unfortunately
The part of the dream that I remember involved one of those group job interviews, which I hate. A group of nearly twenty of us was led into the woods to a gravel parking pad with a Mercedes SUV sitting in the center, situated next to a winding hillside road. The hiring manager told us we would be role-playing and separated us into two groups, the three casually dressed women in one group and the suit-wearing men comprising the majority in the other. The women stripped down to pink spandex jumpsuits and were told they were to play the role of stripper. Standard rules applied; they could touch the men, but the men could not reciprocate. The women took turns mock stripping and lap dancing from the front passenger seat while the men lined up to take their shot in the driver’s seat.
Those that were able to resist touching the stripper advanced to the second part of the trial, a cell phone call from the boss pretending to be a friend or relative in dire need of help. The testee then had to resist the stripper and deal with the hysterical caller until the manager felt satisfied and ended the call. At that time, the interviewee had to race from the SUV to stand before the manager, untie and then remove his tie without looking in a mirror or mangling the tie. Apparently this was tougher than it sounded.
A friend of mine arrived late with a wad of ties (maybe thirty) around his neck. He had somehow learned the nature of the task and had stacked the deck in his favor by having multiple chances to succeed. The others grumbled that he was cheating, but he just laughed at the crowd. He succeeded in the test and advanced to the next round, although the interviewer was clearly disappointed.
Then came my turn. I admirably resisted the temptation to molest the stripper, but knew I had to do something other than enduring the stress call if I wanted to stand out from the crowd. The boss finally called and I answered the phone.
“Dude,” he shouted. “My sister just called, and she’s bawling her eyes out.”
“Fuck your sister,” I quipped.
Then I woke up. I wonder if I got the job. I wonder what the job was. Anybody interested in a little amateur psychological evaluation, feel free to leave a comment.
Get a job, out