It's all over, man! Game over!

Well, the world is now officially being FedExed to Hell in a handcart.

Yesterday, at roughly 12:30 pm, I was in Comics Kingdom, killing time, reading back issues of Runaways, when the manager walked up and got my attention. I took out my headphones, and he spake thusly:

“You’re not allowed to read the comics.”

“What?”

“It’s ok to browse, but don’t read them. This is not a library.”

So I put the comic back, and walked out. Un-fucking-believable. You’re allowed to read in comic shops. That’s why they exist! I’ve yet to buy a book at a comic shop EVER. In my life. But he doesn’t know that! God! It’s just not fair.

Richard Dreyfuss has a hunger for cupcakes. I'm not sure why.

I watched Jaws with Tanja last night. When it got to climactic moments, she'd look worried and flap her hands because of the tension. It was extremely cute.

In between emailing for jobs, I'm burning all my Mystery Science Theatre 3000 DVD in order to infect the members of my film class.

(also, I've had to stop using CNNNN one-liners as my titles, as I had to return it to the video store.)

World-Class Spreadsheet Excels Itself

Another interview story. This one is for a Sales Rep job for a company that publishes Career Guides. I was keen on this one because not only was it an office-type job, but they mentioned in the ad that they wanted book store people who were looking for a leg up. Plus, they would have paid up to 40k, which is a sight more than Borders. So I show up my suit, looking snazzy (Tanja found a website that taught me how to tie my tie). Turns out, for the first time ever, I'm the best-dressed guy there as the others are fairly casual. Anyway, the interview goes good, to the point of one of the guys continually writing down my wittier quips because he liked them so much, such as "I hate using a cliche like 'get back on the horse', and every time I do, a little bit of me dies inside" and "Do you have this book that I read as a child? It had a red cover and it turned out they were twins." What? Doesn't everyone say things like this? Just while wrapping up, they mention "Oh, and even though it's not a prerequisite, do you have an Australian driver's licence?" Nope. Not a problem, says they. Anyway, they seem really keen on me, and happy to have me, and I leave the interview in a good mood. So I get a call after Tanja and I do the groceries, and it's the guy. He tells me that everyone felt really positive about my interview, and that they spoke to the woman that I'd be working under, and she brought up a point. She feels that I need to have a driver's licence, since the clients are often far away. So he calls me back and gets the bad news that if I were to get a licence, I'd have to go through my L's and my P's and driving lessons and all that. He's going to look into it, and call me back tomorrow. Bugger. They should have put "need a licence" on the ad, damnit. I never would have applied. If he calls back and tells me no without a licence, I'm going to ask if there are any other places for non-drivers, and then swallow my pride.

And I have an interview for a retail job with David Jones in the city tomorrow. Here's hoping.

Fine Opinion Piece Ruined By Use of Facts

It's odd how things can look different with the benefit of hindsight and some new information. For example, I read yesterday (in a wonderful library book called GeekChic) that the character of Woodstock (Snoopy's lil bird buddy from from "Peanuts") does not speak in nonsensical bird-noises. He speaks binary. Huh.

Anyway.
(I'm stuffing this entry with literary allusions, quotes, and metaphor in order to disguise a few of the details.)

I, Jack-Sparrow-like, now find myself forced to state that "I'm in the market."

Borders, which always felt to me that I wandered, Ponder-Stibbons-like, throughout crowds of Deans, Chairs of Indefinite Studies, Ridcullys, Readers of Invisible Runes, and the occasional Bursar, is no longer my employer.

After the initial shock wore off, I've immersed myself in the job market through various websites, newspapers, nepotisms, and carrier pigeons. I found myself sympathising with a paragraph from Robert Rankin's Apocalypso:

"Porrig did, however, pass by Mad Jack's Used Car Emporium [his former employer. -me]. And here he paused to push a post-card through the letter-box. On the postcard were written words of apology, explaining that Porrig had, through no fault of his own, been forced into taking an early retirement. Porrig had been very careful indeed when penning this missive to couch it in terms that would not be likely to cause offence or risk retribution.
He had only used the word "fuckwit" twice in describing his employer."

It's good to be the King.

Behold. I managed to get just shy of $1500 worth of stuff for a mere $40. For I am Lucas, King of the Bargains. Grovel before my extremely well-priced might. And it was all perfectly legal. The boxed sets were on clearance in the cabinets, where no one bothered to look. Except me. Bwa ha ha.

Oh, and Tanja and I went to the Hunter Valley and picked up a ridiculous amount of wine. 5-and-a-bit cases. It doesn't all fit on the rack. We also had lovely relaxation time, impressive food and a spa bath. With bubbles.