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There are times in life when we literally don’t give a crap, and that disinterest remarkably makes us even more interesting to other people. Shawn was 15 minutes late and he had a stain on his red tie from spilling some Gatorade he was chugging on his way out. He waited another 10 minutes at the reception desk and then was escorted into a conference room with three other people.
Shawn turned to a guy sitting next to him and said, “This is how cows must feel before they’re slaughtered.”
The guy rolled his eyes in a gesture that signified that Shawn had no idea of the gravity of the situation. Shawn looks at us and says, “Gravity ain’t got nothing to do with it, buddy!”
Two people then walked into the brightly decorated room—a guy with slicked back hair and a shiny suit and a woman with a skirt so short that you could see most of her most vital of organs.
Shawn thought to himself, “A pimp and a whore. Welcome to the advertising business.” He must have muttered that under his breath and not even realized it, because the pimp said, “Did you say something, friend?”
Shawn hated when people used protectionalist affectionism on him—names such as “friend” or “sweetie” or “pal” were sure fire ways to have Shawn prematurely ejaculate from any conversation. It was like being in Miss Marshall’s third grade class all over again—now there was a teacher that took effective classroom management to whole ‘nother level. She was so mean and tight that she made Billy Parker squeeze one off in his pants during a math lesson. Billy was dyslexic before it was okay to be different, and he just couldn’t put the numbers in the correct sequence. Marshall grilled him until Billy ran out of real estate in his poop chute and then used his desk as a portable john.
Shawn reacted quickly and replied in an elevated tone, “I am excited to be here! This is a great opportunity!”
The pimp looked at his trick and stated, “Now, that’s the kind of enthusiasm we’re looking for! What’s your name?”
Shawn almost spit up as he tried to stop himself from laughing. “Shawn Elvin, sir!” That might have been a bit much going for the military angle, but Shawn could do no wrong in the upside-down world of advertising.
Brad Campbell and Michele Bruce shuffled through the stack of resumes and pulled out Shawn’s bio, which was about as trumped up as an ambulance-chasing attorney’s list of billable hours. Summer camp jobs became important internships and conversations with family friends that worked in advertising became work experience.
Pimp and ho conversed in whisper for a moment, undoubtedly trying to come to some kind of accord on the fee for a hand job. Brad spoke first, “Quite impressive, Mr. Elvin. You start Monday.” Then the street walker stepped forward and held out her hand, “Congratulations Mr. Elvin.”