philloak

i can already picture myself sitting in a waiting room in NYC in three or four years. i'm there for a job interview, or something similar. the interviewer calls me into his office. he asks me why i think i'd make a good addition to (unnamed publisher). i give him a response that talks about how dynamic and qualified i am and blah blah blah. he asks more questions like that and i answer more answers like that and we get along well. i have the job nailed. but then, he looks at my name again, as if he's remembering something. he half-mutters "wait a sec..." as he stares at the top of resume, his mind dashing back to his days in the mailroom. the days went i sent (unnamed publisher) lewd pictures of my half-shaven crotch and a creepy rambling letter about jesus and gay sex. before he can say "hey, aren't you that guy..." i am already out the door.