First, a few shout-outs:

#1. Straight up, Plumber. This is so not my doing. You tell her.

#2. Ma, I am really very polite to Taylor. I swear.

Oh, guess what? I am currently employed. I work on the third floor of the Skidmore Fountain Building, in what is officially the Worst Job Ever. The shift is from 6-10am. I call office buildings all over the country and try to sell them office supplies. Well, technically I am a "gifter." Supposedly I'm just convincing them to take a gift. Sometimes they say yes, the poor saps. I click that they've been "gifted" and their account transfers to collections. Then one of my suspiciously nice officemates calls them up and tries to convince them to pay for the "gift." And to buy other stuff from our website. Paper clips and shit. Mostly I get answering machines, and people telling me that they are "very happy with officemax, thank you." A few hangups. But sometimes I get one of those people who really believe that some things in life are free.

Congenital Idiot: Hey, a gift! Really!?
Soul-less Wench: Absolutely! I'm enclosing our business card with your special gift, so all I ask is that you drop by the website and send me a little note that you got it safe and sound! Okay?
Them: Hey, alright!
Me: Great, well, you be on the lookout for that package! It should arrive by next Friday. Have a great day!
Them: Hey, you too!

And then I kick myself in the head. Because that person runs a small buisness in Covington, GA. And he trusted me. He got excited. Maybe he isn't very bright, maybe he's just a true Christian. But the point is, in a few weeks the purchasing invoice will show up at his doorstep, telling him that he owes money for a pack of pens that he never bought. And he'll remember that sweet voice on the phone, and how happy he felt, and a little piece of his soul will die.

And that's sad.

In addition to the constant rejection and the stress of trying to give busy people things they don't want, I personally don't like salespeople. There is nothing that will drive me out of a store faster than some cocky idiot trying to convice me to buy something. Partly it's that they think they can essentially trick me into giving them money--The E cannot be swindled. They always seem greedy to me, although I know that many people who work in sales and marketing aren't that bad. And even if they have 1000 times more money in their bank account than I do, I will always believe that my education and their total uselessness to society renders them inherently lower-class.

My dad is a doctor and my mom is an accountant at the IRS--they both preform important functions, offering services that people really need. That's the thing about having well-educated professionals for parents. It leaves you all these great classist assumptions.

So I feel like selling people things is a lower-class thing to do...I'm not talking about working in a grocery store or something, I'm just talking about the aggressive marketing whores. And, coincidentally, I'm not very good at it. I tend to get embarrassed and give up. Friday was my first day.

And ya'll know I have this cough right now, so every third call or so I had to hang up and swig cough syrup. By the end of my shift I was really high. Like, hallucinating, pinprick-pupils, I-can't-feel-my-hands high. One of my calls I interrupted the receptionist halfway through my pitch and started talking to the radio. It was some talk show, and they were asking the guest a question. They had to get half-way through his third answer before I realized what the hell was going on, and by then the receptionist had hung up.

So, bad news.

Then the big boss showed up. He started chatting with me and one of the other girls. He told us that he used to be a WWF wrestler. Understandably, I began to mistrust my senses. Then he said a whole bunch of evil late-capitalist things like "a good salesman never asks what the guy needs, he tells him" and "purchasing managers quit and get hired and die everyday, so if you get a tough one just don't sweat it--there are plenty of other suckers."

I should mention that by this time I am totally delerious. The Wrestler notices my UPS jacket. I tell him that I used to be a preloader. The other girl makes a face and says that she didn't know they let girls do that. I say that yes, they did. Then WWFdude starts up.

"Oh yeah, they can do it. But I tell ya, I just like women to be women, you know? Like, I don't like 'em in the military, or working at UPS, or anything like that. Women should just be women. I mean, man, I love women! You know, the mood-swings and everything, you just got to embrace it, you know? That's what makes women great."

And then I lost consciousness. Sometime during my blackout I bought a bagel and some donuts for W, so that was nice. I would be the sweetest alcoholic ever, I bet. At 8pm I woke up with a huge hangover. I hate cough syrup. Now I think I will clean up the kitchen, because that fucker is starting to stink. Well, mostly it's the chicken carcass. Geaagh.

*Good news! I finally heard back from the girl with the apartment, and our agreement is still on. It may fall through yet, but I am encouraged.