"Take a seat." he said. He knew he was important; he was wearing a suit with a matching tie, with reading glasses that sat upon the tip of his slightly-crooked nose. His attire was certainly that of someone who liked to get busy, and by busy, I mean someone who likes to end their afternoon sorting out work papers whilst watching old re-runs of Dawson's Creek. "Ahem" he said whilst at the same time clearing his throat. "take a seat, Mr. Anderson." In the midst of my character analysis, I had forgotten to sit down. "Sure thang, man." I replied before taking my seat.
"So... Mr. Anderson." I looked around nervously whilst twiddling my thumbs. "Where do I even start?" he said with a poorly concealed sigh in his voice. "Do you have any cooled water?" I asked. "Excuse me?" he replied with raised eyebrows. "Yeah, cooled water. This room temperature stuff just doesn't do it for me, you know?" "Mr. Anderson, I think that the temperature of your water is the least of your worries here... in fact, you aren't even holding water, let alone a cup." "Oh!" I shrieked. "You got me!" I said whilst raising my hands in an 'alright, you've figured me out' kind of way. "Your resume' is highly questionable, and racist at the very least. I think we have some serious discussing to do." "Yeah, I fully agree, man." I replied. "Let's begin, shall we." "Yep." "The first complaint I have here is in the very first few lines." he started. "I'm quite sure everything on this resume is perfect. Maybe your glasses aren't on right." I replied. He looked at me with slight rage in his eyes. I quickly turned my head and pretended to whistle. "Moving on... it says here that you currently reside at 165 Warwick Avenue-" I cut him off mid-sentence. "It's quite a nice place to live, man." "Let me finish, Mr. Anderson. You state that you currently live at 165 Warwick Avenue, Mars, Solar System B3... how do you even begin to explain this?" "I'm sorry, sir, that was a typo. It's supposed to read; 165 Warwick Avenue, Mars, Solar System B3." I replied, with hopes of answering his question. "Mr. Anderson, the fact that you have clearly written 'Mars, Solar System B3' and the fact that you just repeated back to me exactly what is written down here makes me question your psychological state." He said with a look of disbelief in his eyes. "Yeah, man." I replied, whilst flashing the peace sign. "Mr. Anderson... are you even taking this seriously? I mean, I've had some crazy job interviewees, but you have just taken this to a whole new level." "Hey, could I get some cooled water, please? This stuff tastes like wood." I exclaimed. "Mr. Anderson, for the last time, you aren't even holding a cup. There isn't even water in this room. Please, take this seriously. Your future depends on this interview." he said, with his voice slightly raised. "This water tastes like wood. What do you people use for filters around here?" I asked. "Mr. Anderson, the reason you are tasting wood is because you are biting the corner of my desk!" he yelled whilst standing up. "Oh! Haha!" I sighed in relief. "I thought I had just drunk some cursed water or something. Can you see why I'm so paranoid about my water now? You never know when you could be drinking the Devil's water, you know, guy?" There was a long period of silence whilst I removed my jaw from his desk. There were bite marks left at the place my teeth had impacted. I slowly covered the area with one hand, whilst keeping eye contact with my future boss.
"Moving on... Mr. Anderson. It says here, in your previous places of employment, that you worked at an establishment called Good Burger." "Yeah, what's the problem, man?" I replied. "Well... Mr. Anderson, my problem here is that Good Burger was a movie released in the late 1990's... this place doesn't exist." he said with a slightly confused expression on his face. "Pfft... coincidence, sir." I replied before rolling my eyes as if to signify his stupidity. "Mr. Anderson, please!" he yelled whilst slamming his hand down onto the desk. "Then how do you explain the signature of the guy who worked there? It's clearly next to his name." I replied with a confident tone in my voice. "I was... getting to that, Mr. Anderson. You see, the problem here is that 'his' signature is actually a formation of random lines and scribble that clearly represents 'your' handwriting." he stated. "Sir, I think you're reading too much into this for your own good. There's actually a Good Burger down the road from here." "Mr. Anderson... there is no such thing as Good Burger, there never has been, there never will be, got that?" he said with slightly more rage than before. "Then, how do you explain the movie that was released in 1997? Obviously that exists." I rolled my eyes, again, as if to signify his stupidity. I began to play with his papers, whilst he stared at me with hate-filled eyes that barely contained the fact that he wanted to beat me around like a small goat.
"Moving on..." he said with a hint of tiredness in his voice, before sighing. "It says here, under references, that you have listed Mario Mario and Luigi Mario as previous employers." "Yeah, they were pretty good, but somewhere during the GameCube era, I just didn't feel like going to work for them anymore." I replied. "Mr. Anderson... I'm... not quite sure what you mean, weren't Mario Mario and Luigi Mario the names given to the Super Mario Brothers in their movie? Their location and place of business clearly state 'The Mushroom Kingdom' and 'Princess Peach's Castle'. What are you playing at here, Mr. Anderson? Do you think this is a game?" he asked with slight confusion in his eyes. "Well, yeah, if you wanna get all technical about it." I said whilst moving my fingers around in a goofy fashion. "Mr. Anderson, you are clearly not taking this seriously. My time is very valuable an-" I cut him off mid-sentence again. "Then I'll double the pay." I replied. "Double the pa-... for what, Mr. Anderson?" he confusingly replied. "Your time. It's apparently pretty valuable. How much is time worth, by the way?" I asked in anticipation. "Mr. Anderson... you are, by far, the most idiotic and most deluded person I've ever had the misfortune of having to converse with. If you aren't going to take your future seriously, then please leave, as I have others who actually want to work at this fine firm. It's people like you that will cause the downfall of the economy. I am somewhat glad that you will never find a job, and it is my personal endeavor from today onward to see that you never end up working anywhere for the rest of you life." he ranted whilst standing up and yelling. "I'm sorry... what did you just say? It's just that this water tastes like paper and I've been sitting here trying to figure out why. What did you people say you used for filters again?" I asked with innocence. There was a brief period of intense silence before my future boss opened his mouth to speak. "Mr. Anderson... upon reviewing your psychological sate and the rest of your resume'... I would like you to leave the premises. Please... don't send us any more resumes, and don't attempt to contact us." He said with a slow, rationalizing voice. "That's all cool and stuff, guy, but what about my water? Paper flavored really isn't my thing, you know, man?" I stated. "There's cooled water in the lobby... please leave, Mr. Anderson, and take your resume with you. Don't come back, I beg of you." he said as if he was praying to someone. Just at that moment, a middle-aged woman from accounting (I'm assuming due to the tight clothes and black-rimmed glasses) came in and gazed at Mr. Sir. "Sir, there is a Mr. Anderson here waiting for an appointment with you." She said in an almost hypnotizing robotic voice. "I gotta go, man." I said casually whilst slowly walking towards the door. "Could I take some of your paper? I'm quite accustomed to the flavor now." I asked. Mr. Boss let out a loud sigh. "Send him in, Susan... send him in..."
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that was pretty epic.