The Interview: A day in the life of Adam, avenger of the working class
There's room at the top they are telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
- John Lennon
The large leather seat swallowed his form as he nervously ascended the dwarfing chair. The huge chair was in front of the enormous desk. On the wall to the left was an autographed photo of George Bush and Dan Quayle. Adam was called in for an interview and found himself looking up at a fat snarling man with bad breath. While playing with a gold plated letter opener he glanced menacingly at Adam's resume which lay beneath his piercing gaze. Mr. Marney, president of the corporation, propped up by an elevated chair proportioned to give the illusion of grandeur, fussed and fumed with sighs of displeasure as he prepared to "interview" Adam.
"Well now. According to your resume, you've changed jobs often. That's not a very good sign. We expect loyalty from our workers, here, at Fuck-Co. There are plenty of Joes out there dying for a job, willing to do anything to work here. We expect a lot from our workers. We don't tolerate any screwing around. Workers are expendable. Its an honor to have a job.
"Your resume doesn't say much for your dependability. Looks like you can't make up your mind or something. Or, maybe you're one of those wise guys - one of those guys who thinks we owe them more than a pay check. Are you a wise guy? That's it, isn't it? You're one of those wise guys! Well, here at Fuck-Co, we don't hire wise guys. No, we don't. We hire docile workers. Workers who realize their place. Workers who understand that it is a privilege to work at all. We don't like workers with ideas. We, the big guys, we are the one's with the ideas. That's why we're on top. We are smarter than you are. We understand the importance of a buck. That's why we deserve our greater wealth and status. We contribute to society. We make big things. We're the shakers and movers. Everything you buy, eat, drive, wear, drink, and more - all of these things are created by us. Without us, life as you know it wouldn't exist. We create life. We create jobs. We help workers - good, stupid, docile workers by giving them jobs. We give them something to be. We take the meaningless existence of the average Jane or Joe and turn it into the meaningful existence of the employee. We give them something to live for - us. They live for us. That is why their lives have meaning. That is why they are not wise guys. They know who butters their bread. They know who gives them dignity. Without us there is no meaning in life. So, why should I hire an ungrateful wise guy like you? Why would I waste an opportunity to give meaning to the life of some Joe just so a troublemaker like you can come in here and fuck everything up? Fuck everything up with notions like 'exploitation', 'alienation' and other Marxist bull-shit! What have people like you ever done for the 'working class?' You're so full of hot air. What would they do if they didn't have us to give them jobs? Give me one good reason why I should hire a wise guy like you!"
Adam reached into his brief case. Fitted with a silencer, the hand-gun loomed dangerously before Mr. Marney's disbelieving eyes. Adam stood up and pointed the gun down at Mr. Marney's twitching face. The corporate president's shaking hand reached for the intercom but was stopped by the swish of the first bullet which tore through his wrist spraying blood on the hardwood desk. Horrified, Mr. Marney stood up and began staggering towards the door. For the first time, Adam began to speak.
"Sit your fat ass down, Mr. "President." Now - Motherfucker! No, not there in your elevated chair: that chair you use to make yourself look larger than life. Do you really think no-one realizes the mouse of a man you really are? Do you really believe that anyone respects your fat ass? No, asshole, sit here. Sit in this interview chair. I want to see your diminished presence before I put your lights out. Now! Sit there now, or I'll blow your fucking brains to kingdom come!
"That's better. Scared aren't you? Now, where did we leave off? Oh, that's right. You wanted me to give you one good reason why you should hire me. I think you've got it all wrong, Mr. Marney. I didn't come here for a job. I came here to interview you. You see, Mr. Marney, you're going to die. Right here. Right now. This room is the last thing you are ever going to see. Before you go, we need to decide what position you will fill. There are two positions available, Mr. Marney. Are you qualified? The first position is a bullet through your proud self-assured face. The other position is a bullet through your groveling, cowering face. Which will it be, Mr. Marney?
"Mr. Marney, we are concerned that before we hire you, it must be clear that your goals and ours complement each other. What, Mr. Marney, do you see yourself doing ten years down the line? What, you don't know? Isn't everyone supposed to know what they will be doing in ten years? Aren't you supposed to be telling me how you're going to lick my butt for the next ten years? Isn't that the right answer? I'm asking you Mr. Marney! Before we hire you, tell us what you're going to be doing in ten years.
"But, of course, you know, Mr. Marney. You'll be rotting in your grave. Processed worm turd, that's what you'll be. Ten years rotting in your grave. That fits my plans quite well. You see, Mr. Marney. I've come to avenge the working class. For eight years now, I've worked for corporate America. Again and again I've met wretched men like you who prove their manhood by fucking up the lives of working class 'Joes'; that's what you call them don't you? Working class 'Joes' like me. You play with our lives. You like to watch us grovel. Is it because your dick is too small? Do you sublimate your craving for sexual domination by fucking the minds and dreams of your employees?
"Mr. Marney, for all of the divorces you've caused by demanding the loyalty of your employees beyond sense, for all of the women you've sexually harassed, for all of the mind games, the lay-offs, the firings, the glass ceilings, the suicides - for all those who have suffered the humiliation of interviews in that very chair enveloping you, I will place a bullet through your brain.
"Oh, your family? You think of your family. They can't do without you? How could I do this to them? But, Mr. Marney, besides the fucking paycheck, do you really believe your family cares? How often do they see you? How often do you obsess about your work, without thinking of you're family? To them, your a buck. I'm sure you have insurance. They won't miss their bread-winner.
"Did I say bread-winner? How imprecise of me. No - bread-taker. You're a fucking bread-taker. The bread you give to your family is just that which you stole from your workers. It's for them that I deliver this bullet.
"Oh, Mr. Marney is starting to cry! There, there, Mr. Marney, it's not very professional of you to cry during an interview. I'm afraid I'll have to note this indiscretion and put it in your permanent file. It doesn't look very good for a grown man to cry during an interview.
"You're trembling Mr. Marney. Are you nervous? Have you told me a lie? Is there something that you're holding back? Mr. Marney, we see your strengths here on your blood stained resume. We all have our strengths. But, tell us, what are your weaknesses? In what capacities do you perform less than optimally? Looks to me like you're very poor at dying, very unprofessional about passing into the void. But, pass you will, so you might as well get used to it.
"Whoever said life would be fair, Mr. Marney? Surely not you! Somehow, I believe that dying here and now is the fairest thing you've ever done. Now Mr. Marney, beg for your life. That's right, get down on your knees. Mr. Marney, you grovel like a true professional! I'm so proud of you! That cowering face is truly a sight to behold. Yes, Mr. Marney, I think you'll do just fine. You're hired!"
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