A Job For Samurai, a Humor fanfic

Getti- Er... Looking For A Job

by SamuraiPlatypus

It took me awhile to figure this out, but you can't live off of love and other people's garbage. And the fact that it causes leprosy doesn't even really bother me (I cure lepers. On a related, "they-kinda-rhyme" note, I train leopards). It's the fact that some jerks in the police department continuously tell me it's illegal. What a waste of tax payers' money; pointing out that my choice of lifestyle is illegal is like me pointing out that their uniforms were worn by those YMCA freaks.

With the force of a court order encouraging me, I embarked on a search for a job. Knowing that a normal job search would require me to move from this Samurai seat, the wonderful world of Yahoo! helped me out again with a new search of "jobs." However, it failed to provide the results I was hoping for, as I wasn't in the mood for a blowjob from Mistress Becky. And though Steve the Erotic Plumber's offer intrigued me, I knew it just wouldn‘t work out. It was time to go to the official sites of local companies, starting with the most high-tech one there is; casino poker video game producing IGT. A visit to their website ended up taking me to their "career center" where about 10 different job openings were listed.

At first, I was a little bit taken aback by the site's job listings. "Associate Technical Training Assistant"? "Supervising Coordinator of Human Resources"? "Coffee Guy"? All these terms were WAAAAY too technical. There's no way I would get hired if I applied for stuff like this. Even clicking on the links would wind up being a complete waste of my time. They'd be asking for people with "degreeess" or who go to "coll-ege" and "shaaave every few days." Thankfully, I wasn't doing anything on this day of any importance anyway, except maybe (definitely) stalking some nuns, so I clicked the link and gave it a shot. The qualifications for "Associate Technical Training Assistant" are listed below:

"Seeking hard-working individual. High School Diploma or equivalent GED necessary..."

Well, THAT isn't so bad! I can at least fake THAT. Let's just pray that they don't ask for any "skills".

"We ask that our employees show up on time and almost every day. We prefer that you really not break things. Employees who steal from the company will be harshly warned. Please don't spit on the floor - we have cups for you. Also, please try to fart outside the building. Our fire alarms aren't that good."

This was alarming to me; I imagined a possible future coworker reading the same ad.

Billy Bob: Hey, Ma! I think I found me a job!

Ma: Does it offer ben-ee-feets?

Billy Bob: No, not really... but they give me a cup!

Ma: Whooooo dog!

I was given a special, inside look into why standards seemed to be the way the are when I went and applied for a job in person.

The act of entering a building is always fun to me, but things were exceptionally more fun when I saw my competition for a job at a local warehouse. A man with a black Budweiser monster-truck-mullet-ralley t-shirt (with the "sleeves" torn off, of course...or maybe pulled off by his mule) sat down on the right side of the lounge. He wore some "pants" which could have been jeans at one point before the paint, dirt, and painted dirt stained them to a point of irrecognizableness. I believe he was trying to fill out an application, but instead spent most of his time scratching his skull with the end of his pen and then eating whatever happened to fill the crevice at the end of it, whether it be alive or not. A few Mexican folks lined the other side of the room; I retain the words ‘a few’ despite the fact that there were 20 of them, 19 being the children of the only adult Mexican there, a woman.

On a totally unrelated subject, I think my former boss may have be enacting some hatred upon me. I don't know what the exact problem is, but I don't see how I could possibly fail to get one call back from any job. Perhaps the upcoming, make-believe conversation (which I assure you is no more than 95% true) may clear things up:

Inquiring Manager: Hello, I'm calling to ask about Samurai Platypus.

Old Manager: What would you like to know?

Inquiring Manager: Well, I guess I just want to know if he was a good employee or not...

Old Manager: Well, I have a good sense of humor and I like my employees to have one as well. In fact, I've even let one employee get away with hitting the hood of my convertible with a water balloon, because that really was pretty funny. Samurai, however, decided to do it when the top was down. He also decided to fill the balloon with chili and Pepto Bismol. Now, I'm a nice guy, so I might have just let him off and told him that that was going too far. However, after an hour of cleaning my car, I drove home and found a "surprise" consisting of an egg and toilet paper mixture plastered on my front door. And then there was ANOTHER on the other side of the door, mainly being a large pile of bricks, presumably dumped from the back of a truck. Yet another in the form of fire on my bed, a dead cow on my roof, and one in the dishwasher which I still don't see as even being humanly possible and thus refuse to talk about. Had he tried to deny his involvement in the ‘presents‘, it would have been futile in every sense, considering the tiny, Roadrunner-and-Coyote-esque numbered signs he insisted on sticking into each one, each with their own personal message. My favorite to this day is "This has been a special announcement brought to you by *THUD*." When my wife and 3 children came home and asked me what the fuss was about, he burst out of the closet and said "ME! THAT'S WHAT!" and then spit as he stormed out of the door. I would have loved to have fired him the next day had he actually showed up to work. Oh, and calling him was out of the question, since I soon found my phone to also be a victim of his unholy rampage.

Inquiring Manager: Did he use a cup?

Old Manager: Excuse me?

Inquiring Manager: WHEN HE SPIT, DID HE USE A CUP, DAMN IT?!

Old Manager: Um...no. No he did not.

Inquiring Manager: Well, that's all I need to know...filthy floor spitter...thank you for your time.

And thank YOU all for YOUR time! That’s all, folks!

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