I thought I’d return home from my deployment and find things as they were, but clearly something happened on the flight home and I’ve returned to Bizarro World.  I should have known: my kitchen/dining area is nice, open and light instead of the dark, laminated cave [...]]]>

I wondered why he was hanging around my house.

I thought I’d return home from my deployment and find things as they were, but clearly something happened on the flight home and I’ve returned to Bizarro World.  I should have known: my kitchen/dining area is nice, open and light instead of the dark, laminated cave I’d left.  My wife, now trim and buff (two tickets to the gun show please), had been going to the gym regularly.  She even wired up new ceiling lights…and didn’t die from it.

Still, being somewhat slow of brain, it took me a while to catch on.  Only when I ventured out into the real world did I learn about the alternate reality I’d landed in.

In an earlier episode I wrote about my life-wide reset.  To recap, I need two new jobs: a “day” job and an Air Force Reserves job.  Scheduled on the day after a camping trip were two appointments that held promise of advancing my quest to satisfy my job needs.

First up was lunch with the senior Reservist in Air Force weather, someone who works directly for the director of Air Force weather.  While this wasn’t strictly a job interview he does hold some sway and impressing him could only be helpful in finding a new position.

I’m generally quite good in these types of situations - meetings, interviews, and introductions to parents.  I’m skilled at feigning intelligence and can usually bust out the right word or an appropriate story as required.  I’m like a movie set…things might look good at first, just don’t poke around too much.  In other words, to know me is to hate me…I make a good first impression but my lustre diminishes with time (hence the rapid courtship of my wife).

On this day, however, I couldn’t pull it off.  My head was full of so many things to talk about and it was as if they were all fighting to come out at the same time.  I could only watch myself spew forth this stream of consciousness rambling…bouncing from one topic to the next, the whole narrative bound loosely by a nearly invisible thread.  I wanted to stop but the words just kept flowing.

Fortunately the food soon arrived, giving me something else to do with my mouth.

I removed the toothpick from one half of my wrap and took a bite, promptly ejecting tomato pieces, avocado, and dressing into my lap.  There was no way to pretend this didn’t happen so I made some small joke and cleaned up as best I could.

I then stabbed myself in the face.

A dramatic dramatization of the events at lunch.

Halfway through my second bite I discovered my failure to remove an unseen additional toothpick.  This eureka moment came courtesy of the piercing of my chin and consequent bleeding.  Staunching the flow with an index finger I excused myself and made my way to the bathroom where I was overjoyed to find I didn’t bleed on my shirt.

Thanks to my rigorous pre-deployment training I heroically applied direct pressure to the wound, though in the interest of time I really wished I’d brought along some QuikClot.  After a minute the bleeding had slowed enough that the slow ooze of vital fluid could be managed through normal napkin use.

You know those ubiquitous bathroom hand dryers, the ones where “on” is scratched out from the instructive “Press Button” placard and that aren’t really much help in drying one’s hands?  It turns out they are good for one thing…drying a wet shirt.  As is to be expected on this day, I happened to be wearing a wet shirt in the only bathroom lacking a hand dryer on the east coast, having splashed water on myself as I cleaned the dried blood off my chin.

I handled this latest crisis with the same aplomb with which I tackled my punctured chin: I grabbed a paper towel and fanned myself like a Victorian lady in her final throes before hitting the fainting couch. 

Yes, it’s overdramatization day here at hyperdad.com.

Surprisingly, my lunch companion was still waiting for me when I returned to the table some minutes later.  I’m sure he was thinking that lunch with a damp, babbling, bleeding idiot wasn’t the best use of his time, but I guess his chicken salad sandwich was too good to part with.  For the rest of lunch I worked to keep the food in my mouth and the words in my head. 

Just as surprisingly as his continued presence at lunch, he talked about some real job opportunities that he thinks I would be a good fit for.  No, not street sweeping, toilet cleaning, or sidewalk gum removal…actual thinking jobs, with responsibilities no less (though in truth I’d probably be just as happy sweeping streets, cleaning toilets, or prying up gum).

When I got to my truck I called my wife.  “How’d it go?”, she asked.  “It was a complete and utter disaster”, I replied, “but I think things may work out great.”

A few hours later I was off to a job interview.  There are a few companies that ping me from time to time asking if I’d consider a switch, so I figured while I’ve got some time off I’d chat with them.

When interviewing for a job I’m old school: suit and tie are required.  My suit was already too big on me…in my post-deployment reduced state it’s definitely unwearable (my wife said I looked like I was “playing dress up” when I tried on the coat).  I grabbed a tie and made the most of what I had.  I still had on my pants from lunch…they looked clean enough to me.  Louise had previously assaulted the dressing stain with a Tide To Go pen and I went at it with a wet paper towel.  She didn’t think they were clean enough to wear but they looked fine to me (and it seemed like a lot of work to change them) so I headed out the door.

Driving towards the interview location I looked down at my pants.  Louise was right – the stain was glaringly obvious.  I guess it was the angle or the light in the bedroom…I could have sworn the stain was gone.  Since the spot was on my right leg I couldn’t just keep my hand in front of it – handshakes are usually de rigueur at interviews – I’d have to hold my portfolio in my left hand and use it to cover the stain on the right.

Hey, Paul, is that a portfolio you’re holding or are you just happy to be interviewing with us?

During this meeting I faced the opposite problem from my lunch meeting: I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.  I spent most of my 2+ hours there with the head of the division in which I’d be working.  I tried to speak a few words in during his monologue but he’d cut me short and keep talking.  I learned about the company history, his employment history, the division’s history, their employment philosophy, and a meteorologist he’d heard on the radio.

Finally, I had my chance.

“Well, Paul”, he started, “as you know interviews have two parts.  We’ve just covered the first part…”

Here’s my chance, I thought.  The first part is where he sells me on the company; the second part is where he asks me questions about my knowledge, my goals, and what kind of animal I’d be.  It’s time for me to shine…he told me in no uncertain terms that they’re very picky about who they bring on board.

He continued, “…now we’ll just need to make you a contingency offer so we can shop you to different contracts.  I’d really like to bring you on board with us.”

I quickly shut my mouth and cocked my head to the side as if to say, “but of course.”

When in doubt throw in an Office Space shot; there's one for any occasion. Here's me getting a job offer without even trying.

I’m stained, un-suited, carrying around a folder in front of me like a priapismic teenager, and this guy is talking about making me an offer during the interview.  That’s the blind date equivalent of the woman ripping off her top after the appetizer.  It just doesn’t work like that (at least not on the blind dates I’ve been on).

Reviewing the box score for the day, I run my mouth, dump food on myself, and start bleeding…successful meeting.  I show up to an interview underdressed, holding a folder in an odd manner, don’t say a word…likely job offer.

Of course I’ve only got two birds in the bush and I need them in my hand, but at least they’re pecking around the seed I’m holding out, but it’s not seed I’m holding out but a low quality imitation seed that…

Crap.  that’s my sign to stop typing…my metaphor tank is on empty.

Still…weird day.