A cup full of piss is the only thing standing between me and a job at BJ's Wholesale. Let's do this.

Major update time, so strap in ladies and gentlemen.

The morning sales meeting on Wednesday began with the sales manager, Michael Lawless, doing a double take at me. "Tony...is wearing a blue shirt...with a green tie." Everyone's eyes turn to me and chuckles are exchanged. I smiled and said my girlfriend, who is a professional costumer, told me that it matched up and looked great. They chided me for letting my girlfriend dress me. I really don't care what they think.

Last week was a painful grind of training videos and studying. The first few days all I did was study the pamphlets and spec manuals for all of the Subaru models. Product knowledge is required, and you have to know the details of 5 models, each of which has 3-4 subtypes within that model line. I didn't study that hard in COLLEGE (which is probably why I didn't do so well).

Aside from that, I was repeatedly quizzed by Pete, who has been here since February. He knows his shit, and he's a pretty cool guy. He definitely fits the mold of a car salesman. He's kind of a sleazy guy, and is very good at talking people into buying. He has a girlfriend and a daughter, but also gave me his e-mail address to deliver to a girl who works with Anna and Trix. She came in on Wednesday and Thursday to look at cars with Trix and Pete was digging it.

On that subject, the "natural" didn't work out so well. Trix was more than willing to buy a car from me and the Car Store, but the bank that does all of the financing was hesitant to let her do so. We looked at several different makes and models, ranging from a 2000 Saab to a Chevy Equinox. None of them were acceptable by the bank's standards. So Trix still does not have a new car, and I never got that first sale.

Yesterday, I had an interview at BJ's Wholesale Club, a big store similar to a Sam's Club. They are hiring for full-time loss prevention, and I applied a couple weeks ago. The Operations Manager Charles called me back on Tuesday to see if I was still interested, and I told him about the Car Store. I wasn't sure at the time that car sales would work out, so I still wanted to explore other options.

The interview went well. At this point I am waiting to hear back from him. He has to do the usual beareaucratic bullshit that every job offer requires. Check references, drug test, etc etc etc. It sounds very promising. I'm sure that if those work out (they will), I have the job. So this morning I called and told the Car Store that I am not cut our for car sales, and would not continue to work there.

The thing about car sales is that you have to be 100% confident in yourself, the product, and your ability to sell that product and work over the customers. I just am not in the mode to do that. Sure, I could make a bunch of money. I suppose I could try and coast through this week to make sure I have a job to replace this one. But I can't. I'm not confident in my ability to sell cars, and there's no way I could hit the lot and try and sell one to a customer.

I hope I didn't fuck myself over again. I hope BJ's works out and doesn't pull a K-Mart on me. I just want to make money so I can afford to stay here over the summer. If I can't...I don't know what I'm going to do.

If you spill melty chocolate on a white shirt, no matter how hard you scrub- you will look like someone shit on your chest.

The first day at work was interesting.

I arrived at 9am and talked to the owner Rick for about ten minutes, where he told me that my goal was to talk to at least one customer by the end of the day. I asked if I would be watching training videos, or getting a training talk, or what. He didn't know.

They just hired a new sales manager, Michael, and it was also his first day. He's been in the car business for 23 years, but isn't familiar with how the Car Store runs things. So it was a bit confusing for both of us. I basically sat at my new desk and read the employee handbook and pamphlets all day, waiting for someone to actually show me what the hell I'm supposed to do.

Later that afternoon Anna's co-worker and our mutual friend, Trixie, called me and said she saw our website and wanted to come look at a 2000 Saab we had in the used section. I told her that someone else had looked at it earlier and wanted to buy it, but her father wouldn't co-sign. Also, some guy was coming in at 5 to take a look.

Trixie is extremely competitive in all aspects of her life. She has to WIN. She would never let someone else buy a car that she wanted before she could take a look. So she came in 20 minutes later with Anna in tow. I showed them the car, very awkwardly and with very little knowledge (because nobody fucking TRAINED me), and we took it for a test drive. She loved it's moon/sun roof, the radio controls in the steering wheel, and especially the little hidden robot cupholder.

So we got her at the table in my "office", and one of the other salesmen, Pete, came over to help me out. He basically ran me through every step of the process, and handled Trixie when we had to do some salesman stuff like discussing financing and the price. I'm really glad he was so willing to help, because she's buying the car once they have a chance to talk to the bank today!

So first day, no training, never been in car sales before.

I sold a car.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5X4TSbGreA

I find it incredibly amusing that a song about fucking women with big asses was chosen to parody for a spongebob burger king commercial.

Many thanks to the esteemed Justin Gibison for crafting this awesome header image for my blog. You are a scholar and a wizard, good sir.

Today was my last day working at Than Wheeler's tavern. I told the owner, Deb, that I start at the Car Store on Monday. She and her son Keith (who bartends at nights there) both worked there as salespeople in the past, so they gave me some great advice. "You won't have time to work here, dude," said Keith. "I made a shitload of money there."

So I got paid in cash for today's work, made some great tips, and shook everyone's hand and thanked them for the memories...of a month of working twice a week.

I sure hope I make a "shitload of money".

I'm going to prepare for my new job by watching Glengarry Glen Ross every day. And by drinking a lot of coffee.

Coffee's for closers.

On Monday at 9am I report for duty as a salesman at the Car Store, a Subaru dealership just outside Norwich, VT.

I don't know if I'm ready, but I'm going to give it a shot!

Yesterday was a pretty good day at Than's. I made double what I did last week in tips, and it was fairly busy most of the day. This couple who run a Subaru dealership in Wilder came in and the lady asked where I was from. I told her Nebraska, and she freaked out because she went to UNL! So we talked Lincoln for a bit, and she asked if I was still looking for other work. And now I have an interview tomorrow at 3:30pm to be a car salesman.

Anna went to Burlington yesterday, so I had no ride home after work. I decided to walk, as I had brought my digital camera to work with the intention of getting some pictures of the bar (this did not pan out due to the fact that nobody was there when I came in, the door was locked but not SHUT, and there was some drama between Christine and her dad).

There's a small bridge that connects downtown WRJ with the rest of town, over the White River. I saw this:I was a little confused as to how a branch got out on the power line, 30 feet from any tree in either direction over the river. I hope it grows.

Continuing on past the early "rush hour" traffic, there is a wonderful local landmark, the Shadylawn Motel:It's the center of all deviance in Rio Blanco, from drug deals to prostitution. At night the S and H are unlit, so it becomes the ADYLAWN MOTEL. As I was taking pictures of the building, several faces peered out the windows at me.

The Hartford Cemetary is just down the road, so I made a diversion in order to get some pictures of the place. Enjoy.




This dude was 12 during the American Revolution.

There's a CIVIL WAR memorial!

Kind of looks like Tricky.








I love the fascination with obelisks they had in the 19th century. Some sort of carryover from the distant past, Egyptian and Mesopotamian sculpture. I definitely want one looming over my grave, not some lame piece of shit 1 foot by 1 foot 6 inch high marker.


I was hoping for more mausoleums, but the two they do have are pretty sweet. Here is Dr. Curriers, whose glass windows have been broken by reckless hoodlums. I hope the good doctor's curse involves hair loss and ball shrinkage.


Kevin...?

Tell your children not to walk my way. Tell your children not to heed my words, what they mean what they say...


Can you keep them in the dark for life? Can you hide them from the waiting world? Oh...


I'm guessing the Selectmen are the local superhero group that patrols the streets of Hartford, doling out sweet justice to litterbugs.

Hope you enjoyed the pictorial tour of the Hartford Cemetary. There's more I could have taken, but I was alone and it was getting dark and old graveyards are kind of creepy.

Not to be a comment whore, but if you reading this blog feel free to toss me a comment here and there. I want to know who's reading, if anybody.

I will see you in time.

I do not have the necessary skill to be a Food Service Worker at the VA Hospital. I am not qualified to be a combination lunch lady and meal delivery person. They determined this not from a face to face interview with me, but from the post-application skill assessment quiz. Bullshit.

Regarding proper attire for a small town redneck Irish "sports bar" that is located in a basement.

When I was hired for Than's I was told that any shirt was acceptable as long as it wasn't "inappropriate". She suggested beer shirts etc. So Anna and I went to Kohl's, where I bought several shirts including a Japanese Star Wars IV poster, the Ghostbusters logo, a guitar with naval stars and skulls, and this weird ribcage design. I also bought a crappy "I (shamrock symbol) (beer symbol)" for St Patrick's Day.

I wore all of these shirts at work with no problem. A few customers laughed about my Ghostbusters shirt so I thought it was cool. A few weeks went by, and one night we were there just drinking and Christine and Joe were running the bar.

I happened to be outside smoking at the same time as Christine, wearing my ribcage shirt. She glanced at it (although it's hard to tell what she's looking at sometimes because she has a googly eye) and said "I hope you weren't planning on wearing that to work tomorrow".

"No, I wasn't, why?"

"It's not appropriate. Neither are Ghostbusters, or sci-fi, or star trek or star wars or anything like that."

"Umm, what's wrong with Star Wars?"

"You have to look like an adult behind the bar. Don't you have any other shirts?"

"Well I have a green shirt that says "I shamrock beer""

"Yeah! That's perfect!"

...

She claimed that it's not staff that's complaining, but customers. I can't think that any of the old alcoholic regulars would honestly give a SHIT enough to say something. But now I wear that stupid shirt every day I work (which is only twice a week 6 hours at a time).

Vaughn, the cook (who is awesome, has been working there for a long time and doesnt really care for these owners, who just took over in October of 08), and I were having a boss bitchfest the other day and I mentioned the shirts.

Me: "Look like an adult? It's not like I'm back there wearing a Spongbob Squarepants shirt or anything"

V: "I bet it would be okay if Spongebob was drinking a beer and smoking a joint."

Vaughn is awesome.

It's really great that every company asks for professional references, and yet every company has a "policy" that they can't give out professional references. So where the fuck am I supposed to get these? Do they actually call these people? Shane B has been on most of my applications, since I've worked with him in the past and have known him for 12 years. And yet, nobody has called him yet. Nobody has called me either. Maybe they're afraid of Nebraskans and our sod-house living, Indian fighting, plowsharing ways.

The Free Credit Report band needs to be severely beaten. Everytime those fucking commercials come on with their catchy jingles and that douchebag with curly hair, my asshole clenches in rage. Dude, YOU DO NOT ROCK. Your music is NOT COOL. Stop biting your fucking lip and wagging your head like you're pulling off a van halen solo. Also the drummer looks like that guy from Foo Fighters with down syndrome.

I want to choke them all out.

The other day Anna and I went for a walk. We want to explore the area, as well as get some (in my case much needed) exercise. There is a dog park down near the river a few blocks from our house, and I requested that we check it out. Fifteen minutes later I had shit on my shoe. That should teach me to be curious about dog parks.

We continued down the road, and came across an old cemetary. Anna elected to stay outside while I wandered through the stones, admiring the fact that many of them are 150-200 years old. I found a picture on the ground near the gate which I will post once I get it scanned. It was very interesting.

It was getting cold and the sun was going down, so we headed back. I vowed that we would return soon because there is a hill above the part I explored, and it's three times larger. Anna agreed.

Today I learned that Earl was once accused of raping a 21 year old boy in the Bahamas a few years ago. Keep in mind that he is a 57 year old man who looks about 80 due to years of alcoholism, cocaine, and chain-smoking. Apparently they met at a bar and had consensual sex, but the next night the young man was not having it. But Earl was. They settled out of court for 1 million dollars (he is a rich bastard), and that was that.

There are some interesting characters that frequent this bar.

Recent Developments

Kyle Crawford recommended I start this, because apparently he and possibly others are interested in what I have been up to since my arrival in Vermont. So this first post is dedicated to Kyle.

I would rather save the space for recent events, rather than bore you with page after page of the minute details of the past four months. I assure you that, unfortunately, there isn't much to say. K-Mart fucked me over and I havent been able to secure a full time job, despite contracting carpal tunnel through piles and piles of applications. Three weeks ago on a Friday we were at Than Wheeler's Tavern, the chosen drinking establishment for the theater people. After several Sailor Jerry's and Cokes, I overheard the owners Joe and Christine talking about how they wanted to find someone to work there part-time.

So I sidled up to the bar and they asked that I come back when I was sober. I did, and got the job: Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Saturdays from 10am-4pm as a bartender and server. I was trained the following Monday and began my adventure.

The funny thing about working during the day at a bar is that the vast majority of your clientele is made up of old alcoholic regulars, with the occasional surprise newbie. A fixture of Than's is Earl, a crotchety old millionaire who spends every day of his life from 11am to 3 or 4 at Than's and the other bars downtown. Dewar's scotch and water is his drink of choice, and he has a seat at the bar that is only for Earl. Sit there, and you will face his wrath. He controls the TV on that end of the bar and often turns the volume up so loud that you can't have a conversation at the other end. He tips in scratch cards, two $2 tickets every day. Most days I don't get a tip from him. My best tip was a 9 dollar winner.

There is more to say about Than's in the future, but I will leave it at that for now. This is just a taste, a preview, an amuse-bouche if you will. In subsequent installments we will further explore the characters that frequent Than's, including the staff and owners. I will also address our recent walks through the large cemetary down the street from our house (This is a village that was founded in 1761), as well as last night's barbecue party in which we had a campfire in our backyard.

See you soon.