Workplace Tale 3: The Pursuit of Employment

This is a 3-in-one post about job interviews. The first two are my personal stories while the third is a friend's.

I used to be a bartender. I went to Georgia School of Bartending which offered lifetime job placement, so whenever I was out of work I could call them up and they'd send me on interviews. One time, they advised me of an opening at a strip club that I believe was called the KitCat Club. Of course as a bartender I would keep my clothes on, so I thought, What the heck, I might make good money at a place like that. At the time I had never set foot in a strip club in my life but the guy at the bartending school told me to just ask for Jane. I got there and walked up to the door, and I told the guy who was collecting the cover charge that I had an appointment with Jane. He called her. I was picturing every other female restaurant manager I'd ever met--middle-aged, overweight, stern. Well. Jane soon appeared: long, lean, brunette, and topless. I found it quite hard to have a conversation with her and ignore her large naked breasts. The bartending job had already been filled anyway, but I got an interesting experience for my trouble.

Another time, the bartending school sent me to interview at a country club. The guy who interviewed me was either the food and beverage manager or the golf pro--I can't remember which, but anyway in my memory he looks and sounds just like John Madden, if that gives you a mental picture. It was a pretty standard interview; fill out an application, tell a little bit about where you worked before, etc. Then the guy followed up by asking me, "You never got caught f---ing any ni-g-rs in the back of a car or anything like that, did you?" I seem to recall that the club was closed that day; anyway there weren't many people around, and this question made the hair on my neck stand up, it was so creepy. I was like, No, dude. Now let me out of here before you come unhinged anymore than you already are. Needless to say, I didn't take the job.

Last story: Brian and I once had a friend named Jerri. She was a large woman, both tall and heavy. She shared the story of sitting down for an interview in a leather chair, and ripping a fart so loud that her interviewer could not control his laughter. He held a manila folder in front of his face to try to hide his mirth, but unfortunately the sound was not the only problem: "The man needed a gas mask," Jerri said. She hauled herself out of the leather chair, ran for the nearest restroom and burst into tears. But the interviewer eventually got himself together and sent his secretary to get Jerri, and he gave her the job anyway.