PATRICK WALSH: September 2003: Found A Job

(Continued from last Monday's post)

All I really knew about my new job was that I was expected to wear a suit. Trouble is, I had never owned a suit and I had $400 in my checking account. I hit all the discount stores, eventually settling on a suit shoppe owned by immigrants from...I honestly don't know where. I had never heard accents like these. The suits were Buy One Get One Free, always the sign of a classy garment. One of the elderly gentlemen working there took me to the back and began measuring me with a vigor that took my breath away. Breathing heavily through his nose, he whipped the measuring tape in and out of my every crevasse, then left me standing in the back of the store. Moments later, he returned with two suits.

"These," he said to me. "These."

I tried them on, and to be honest, ol' Giuseppe had a good eye. They fit like gloves. Suit gloves. One was black, which was ideal, and the other a bizarre grey number with very thin brown pinstripes. I asked if I could perhaps see a few more. He stared at me. I asked again. He stared at me. I asked how much the suits were. He licked his lips. I hate shopping so much, I decided to trust him. I purchased the suits, for $300. That was around the range I was going for, not lined with gold, but not made of felt and pipe cleaners either. Down to my last hundo, but what did I care? I started my new job tomorrow!

My office was in midtown Manhattan, and I walked in looking snazzy, new suit, new shoes, haircut, a spring in my step, a tickle in my pickle. I was ten minutes early and when I walked in everyone was already there. Ten of the most aggressive looking frat-type guys you'd ever want to meet, one hot Jersey-type girl, all about 25-30 years old, and the bossman, 40, who had interviewed me. There they were, my new co-workers.

And all of them were wearing jeans.

I must have looked pretty funny to these people, because they sure had a good long laugh at my expense. The bossman walked over and slapped me on the back.

BOSSMAN: Little overdressed, aren't you?

ME: Well...at the interview, you told me to buy a suit. You told me--

BOSSMAN: Tell you what, why don't you have a seat. These guys are gonna head upstairs for the meeting and we'll send someone down to get you in a minute.

And they left. Bossman went into his office, the rest of the staff went upstairs, and I was left alone with the receptionist.

ME: So, can you tell me what this job is?

RECEPTIONIST: You'll find out.

ME: Do you like working here?

RECEPTIONIST: Yep.

ME: Do I need this suit?

RECEPTIONIST: I've never seen anyone here wear one.

I was furious. I had checked the receipt! No returns, no exchanges! I was out $300 bucks! I waited downstairs a few minutes and then finally the door opened. "Patrick?" a voice called out. "Could you come up here, please?"

And then the door shut. I'll be real honest with you here, the only thing that kept me at this place was the fact that I had just blown $300 on two new suits. My legs were shaking something awful, and I wanted to run away. I walked up the stairs, turned the knob, and walked inside.

The room was large, white, and completely bare, like something out of 2001. The only piece of furniture was a small table, and on the table was a boom box. As I entered the room, some dude pushed the play button, and Guns N Roses' "Welcome to the Jungle" started blaring out of the speakers at top volume. Everyone in the room was staring at me, no one saying anything. I felt like an idiot, I felt so stupid in my stupid suit and my stupid haircut and I wanted to get out. This was like a horrible dream.

We listened to Axl for a few minutes while I stood and awkwardly avoided eye contact. Then the door flew open again and in came The Bossman. He walked to the center of the room and everyone stood against the wall, almost like a military drill. I followed their lead and took a spot on the wall. The Bossman paced back and forth and then he began to scream at us over the music.

BOSSMAN: That's right motherfuckers! It is a jungle out there! It is a concrete fucking jungle and you are going to go out into the middle of it today! Aren't you?!!

EVERYONE: Yeah!

BOSSMAN: You know where you are?!? You in the jungle baby!!!!

EVERYONE: YEAH!

BOSSMAN: WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE!

EVERYONE: YEAH!

BOSSMAN: Uh-oh. We got somebody new in the jungle today. Who is this? Is this a lion? Is this a tiger?!

EVERYONE: NO!

The Bossman then slammed his hand down on the boombox and stopped the music.

BOSSMAN: Then it must be PAT FUCKING WALSH!

EVERYONE: YEAH!!!!

Let me pause for a moment to assure you that every word of this story is true. I would not have believed it if I wasn't there. I have been telling this story pretty much word for word since that first night I told my roommates how my day had gone. With God as my witness, this all really happened, pretty much verbatim.

The Bossman looked me up and down.

BOSSMAN: PAT FUCKING WALSH?

ME: Yes?

BOSSMAN: I can't hear you, are you PAT FUCKING WALSH?!

ME: Yes.

BOSSMAN: Let me hear it!

ME: YEAH!

BOSSMAN: Patrick, where do you live?

ME: I live in Jersey City?

BOSSMAN: And where do you want to live?

ME: I want to live in Manhattan.

BOSSMAN: So what do you need to make that happen?

ME: Money.

BOSSMAN: Fuckin' A right, you need money! Do you like money, Pat?

ME: Yes.

BOSSMAN: Well, you're gonna make more fucking money here than you know what to do with. Mark, what'd you make last week?

MARK: Three grand.

BOSSMAN: Three thousand dollars. In a week. How's that sound, Pat?

PAT: Good.

BOSSMAN: Fuckin' A right it sounds good. When Mark started here, I asked him what he wanted to do and he said he wanted to marry his girlfriend and move into a nice place. You should see his fucking place and you should see his fucking wife. It's a reality, Pat. There is money out there, you just gotta pick it up! Can you pick it up?!

PAT: I hope so.

BOSSMAN: I hope so too, Pat. You got any questions so far?

PAT: Yes, what is the job?

Everybody laughed really hard when I said that.

BOSSMAN: I thought you'd never ask.

For the next hour, we played role playing games. I had to approach each of the ten or so people in the room and try to sell them a glass of lemonade. Everyone was a playing a different 'type.' Most of them were just being total dicks and I was supposed to keep my cool and make the sell. If I gave up, everyone would get in my face and Boo me. I was sweating profusely. I asked one guy if he wanted the lemonade and he pushed me in the chest. I started to resume the sale, and the bossman yelled at me.

BOSSMAN: PUSH HIM BACK! WOULD YOU LET SOMEBODY PUSH YOU IN THE STREET!?!?

I said no, but I knew in my heart the honest answer was a big yes. I knew I was not cut out for this, but something, maybe the promise of money, maybe the knowledge that this would make an incredible story down the line, made me stay.

BOSSMAN: Alright! Playtime is over! How do you all think Pat is doing? Should we let him stay?

No one said anything.

BOSSMAN: I think you did a really shitty job there, Pat. But I don't like being wrong and I told everybody you were gonna kick some ass. Are you gonna kick some ass?

ME: Yes.

BOSSMAN: You're going out with Mark today, he's gonna show you how to kick that ass and make that money.

ME: OK, cool.

BOSSMAN: Then get out into that concrete fucking jungle and make yourself some fucking money! Oh, and Pat?

ME: Yeah?

BOSSMAN: Lose the tie, people will think you're Mark's accountant.

Again, everyone laughed really hard at me.

ME: Am I really not going to need this suit?

BOSSMAN: Suits are for people who don't get to do what they want to do. We do what we want to do.

ME: OK. It's just that I bought two suits because you told me I needed them.

BOSSMAN: You want to go home? You can leave...

ME: No.

BOSSMAN: Then get out there and make that money back! Mark, get the kid in the zone.

Mark and I got onto the elevator and started down in silence.

ME: So I'm assuming we're selling something here?

Mark didn't answer me. As soon as we got off the elevator, he started jogging and I sped up to catch him. We jogged about ten blocks to the Port Authority bus terminal. Inside, we went into a deli. Mark picked something out for himself and then put a sandwich into my hands and spoke to me for the first time.

MARK: You're gonna need your carbs today.

I assumed that since he had picked out my sandwich and he was going to be "training" me, he would pay for it. He did not. He jogged over to the bus terminal and purchased a $7.00 ticket from Manhattan to New Jersey, then looked at me and looked at his watch. I bought a ticket too, and we jogged onto the bus. I was out $15 for the sandwich and the bus. I found myself wishing someone, maybe Mark, would die soon, so that I would have a funeral to go to and I wouldn't have blown $300 on suits for no reason. It wasn't even noon yet and I was out three hundred and fifteen dollars. This was just the beginning of the strangest day of my life.

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