Whatever Became of Mr. EXcalade?

Hubber used to have this colleague who started his own chauffeuring business on the side. He bought a Cadillac Escalade around prom season and constantly pimped himself out to anyone who would listen to his spiel.

But, he kept calling his car an EX-CALADE. It drove Hubber batshit crazy. At least once a week I’d get an earful about how much it bugged him that the guy couldn’t say the word “ESCALADE” properly.

At first, I asked Hubber to give the guy a break…  maybe he has a lisp. But, then, I met the guy to try to help him build his website and I got to experience his blatant disregard for proper pronunciation first-hand. Honestly, I couldn’t get past it. I started counting the number of times he said the word wrong. It’s what I do when someone uses a particular word (or fake word, in this case) a lot. I quit listening to the message because I get stuck on that word and my mind completely shuts down so that it can focus on counting the number of times the word spews forth and attempts to turn my brain to mush.

After our first meeting, I told Hubber there was no fucking way I’d be able to work with that guy.

Hubber: Right?! It’s because he says Excalade, huh?

Me: He said it exactly 53 times during our 30 minute meeting.

Hubber:  Could it be that he doesn't know that he’s saying it wrong?

Me: Oh, he knows! He’s doing it on purpose to fuck with us. It’s like those people who say “ax” instead of “ask”! They know they’re saying that shit wrong! They think it’s cute!

Hubber: Well, it's not cute. These people are a menace to society. I’m going to have to quit my job to get away from this idiot.

So, one day, before Hubber went completely AWOL (or worse, homicidal), he decided to confront the guy.

Hubber: Maaaan. If you call your Escalade an Excalade one more time, I’m going to have to punch you square in the fucking mouth.

Mr. Excalade: What are you talking about? It IS pronounced EXcalade.

Hubber: The letters E and S together make the “essss” sound not the “exxx” sound.

Mr. Excalade: Oh, I’m not saying the name of the car. I’m saying the name of my company! I spell it: X-C-A-L-A-D-E. It’s a play on words, man! Don’t you get it?!

Hubber: It is NOT a play on words. It’s a word you fucking made up and it sounds ridiculous, like you don’t know how to pronounce the name of the car properly.

Mr. Excalade: Well, I have a buddy who is an expert in marketing and he says that any company name or new product name starting with the letter X is 90% more likely to be successful.

Hubber: That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve heard all year!

Mr. Excalade: I’m serious! He’s an expert! He had statistics and everything!

The next day, by some mysterious circumstances that I wasn’t made privy to, Mr. Excalade was “transferred to another department” and we never spoke of him (nor heard from him) again. I'm not saying that Hubber was somehow involved in foul play...but I am saying that the guy was never reported missing... so.... who really knows...?

And to this day, anytime I see the “clever” use of an X in front of the name of a business, I think about this guy and wonder if his business ever took off.

Then, today, I saw this truck:

... COULD IT BE...??

I shoot the finger at asshole commuters

About three hours after posting my unemployment rant, I received a job offer. How’s that for good fucking karma?! The universe DOES love me after all. I don’t care what my horoscope says. Turns out, if you bitch and moan just enough, but not too excessively, the karma gods will look down on you with favor and bestow upon you great fortune.

But, don’t brag about that shit too much… because the universe hates a showoff. When you brag to other poor, unemployed losers too much about your sudden good fortune, you get flogged with experiences that will test your endurance for assholery.

And, I have a really short fuse. In case you didn’t know.

Turns out my new (old) job is only 17 miles from home… but with traffic and never-ending road construction, it takes at least 50 minutes to drive one way. FIFTY minutes. 5-0. You do the math. It's like I'm driving 25 hours a fucking day! Unless you are driving a 1983 Mini Winnebago uphill in high wind, it should NEVER take you more than 30 minutes to drive 17 miles anywhere.  Ever.

This is what shit looks like in Houston 24-7. No joke.

And, if re-joining the wonderful world of commuters at rush hour (which, let’s face it, is any fucking time of the day in Houston) wasn’t enough punishment, I also have to endure many, many, many asshole drivers. The worst of them is the one who follows two inches behind me. TWO inches. That’s the buffer between me and the asshole who thinks that riding my ass will move traffic along faster. I deal with at least three of these particular assholes daily.

“Look, Dick! We are all going no-fucking-where fast, yo! Kindly get off my ass and let me breathe! I’m already a loose cannon behind this fucking wheel. I don’t need you adding to my anxiety! Don't make me take out my gun!” That’s what I want to scream at them. But, because I don't really have a gun and because I fear road rage retaliation and think I’m still too young to die in a fiery car crash, I simply shoot the bird at them and smile...to be nice...so, they don't kill me.

Maybe I need this bumper sticker:

Just Another Unemployment Rant...

I would like to take this time to send enormous amounts of ju-ju to my comrades on the open job market. It sounds fancy, huh? "ON THE JOB MARKET". But, it ain't, y'all. It's actually pretty horrible, demeaning and perpetually bubble bursty. Basically, it sucks. And, if you happen to be a slightly mental person on the job market, it's especially hard on those noodles inside your brain that help you to function in a somewhat "normal" fashion each day.

And, if by chance, you just turned 40 and found yourself unemployed, all "normalness" is pretty much out the window. That shit is nowhere to be found. NO. WHERE. Ya feel me?

I read somewhere that job hunters in my "career level" can expect to be "on the hunt" for about six months. Six, long, excruciating months of being rejected over and over and over and over again. And, if that wasn't bad enough, all the rejections come with PRAISE! They praise your background... tell you how wonderful you are... how smart and capable you are... how you're such a strong candidate and that the decision NOT to actually hire such a fan-fucking-tabulous  person was sooooo hard on THEM!

Way to build a bitch up just to kick her square in her lady parts when she's on cloud nine thinking she'll be starting a new job in no time! Assholes.

I'd almost rather they'd reject me with brutality. Like... "I'm sorry, you looked great on paper, but then we saw you in person, and you are just too damn fat to work here". Or... "We are only interviewing you because we have to prove that we actually interviewed at least one woman...really, we have no intention of hiring anything but a dick." Or, even... "I'm sorry, we really can't afford you unless you'd like to work for half of what you're actually worth."

Brutality would at least not fuck with my self esteem. I know I'm fat. I know I'm a woman. And, I know I won't work for fucking peanuts. That is the kind of shit that I OWN. I don't get myself all in a tizzy over it anymore.

If my skill set and experience isn't a perfect match, I can understand the rejection... I am applying to positions out of my "industry", so I can understand the hesitation from employers.

But, if I hear one more time how I am "over qualified" for a position that they took the time to interview me for TWICE, I might have to throat punch a mofo into kingdom come. For real. The job was in my salary range. I could do the work AND THEN SOME. But, they think I might get bored and not be fulfilled. WTF? I'm sorry...when I was in the business of hiring people, smart, competent candidates were hard to come by and I snatched them up at every opportunity. I didn't say, "thanks, but you are just waaaaay to smart to work here."

But, now that I think about it, maybe I AM too smart to work there.

Fuck-em.

When does my next unemployment check hit the bank?