So I’m in Edmonton now. Home of the Oilers and 20 murders so far this year. To say I love this city is a TOTAL FUCKING LIE!!! I hate Edmonton. I hated it the first time I lived here and I still hate it. Its an ugly city full of ugly buildings and ugly people. But thats not really the point of this entry. I just wanted to let you all know that I hate the shit out of this crap hole.
Now I’m sure you’re asking “But sir, if you hate it so much why the flipping fuzz nuts did you move there?” Well thats a stupid question and you should go fuck yourself for asking it. Obviously I moved out here because there’s gobs and gobs of money to be made. Even the Tim Hortons employees make $20 an hour, right? No. Are you fucking high? Edmonton is a major city. Tim Hortons employees here make no more than minimum wage. Way the fuck up north in the frozen asshole of Alberta where all the camps and rigs are and there is no hope for happiness is where those people are getting that kind of money. As negative as I’m being there is still a substantial amount of money to be made and no shortage of advertised jobs. I mean, there’s literally hundreds of jobs that pop up on the Government of Canada’s job bank every day. Not to mention the countless other websites available for finding employment. This is a massive difference from the situation back home in cozy, quiet, non-murderous Niagara Falls. The catch, of course, is that the vast majority of these jobs are in the manual labour field. And if you don’t know me very well, the most labouring I’ve ever done manually is mowing my parents lawn. So you can imagine how crestfallen I was when I saw all these well-paying jobs that I was nowhere near qualified for.
But hark! Good news was on the way! The Chupacabra’s sister had a lead for me on a job with the company she works for. An oil company. An oil company that makes lots of money and therefore pays its employees pretty darn well. She made a call to some guy who was going to talk to another guy, explain my situation, and get me an interview. I was told to show up early the next day at said company and ask for a specific person, who would be expecting me. Super simple, n’est-ce pas? Wrong. Again. God you people are awful at this. Allow me to enlighten you.
I began to get anxious the day before I was to go for this interview because I was unshaved and hadn’t cut my hair for 9 months. Also I don’t own any dress pants or “nice” clothes. I wear free t-shirts that I got from my dad and 1 pair of blue jeans. The closest thing I have to a dress shirt is a polo shirt that I recently purchased. Actually 2 polo shirts. But the point is I had no appropriate interview clothes. So after a lot of whining and complaining I decided to don one of the polo shirts, my jeans and a pair of dress shoes and just apologize for my appearance and blame it on having just arrived in the province. Next step: get a haircut.
For me this is a daunting task. I hate, hate, hate the fucking balls out of getting my hair cut. I tense up, get sweaty and nervous every time. Now i didn’t always have this COMPLETELY RATIONAL hair cut anxiety. Not until my old barber retired. She was a delightful Eastern European woman. I went to her for years to get my hair cut. She once saved some of my hair in an envelope for me because I died it neon green. Since she retired from the glamorous world of follicular de-lengthening I haven`t found a steady replacement. Anyway, I sucked it up, put on my big boy pants and went and got my hair cut by a nice lady that I will probably never go back to because she was too chatty. I don;t get my hair cut so I can find out about you and your sister throwing pennies at cyclists that you passed from the back seat of your parents car when you were young. Just shut your big bazoo and cut my hair without slicing my throat open, please. Hair cut now done. Next step: Find and bring a resume.
I didn’t bring any hard copies of my resume with me because I`m a complete fucking moron. And I hadn’t so much as looked at my resume since I started my previous job 4 years ago. So when I booted up this shitbox computer and found it, it was woefully out of date. So I spent the next few hours updating and pouring over it with a fine tooth comb to try and tune it up to make it as appealing as possible. Once I was satisfied, I hit print and went to collect my re-tooled resume from the printer only to find that the printer is out of god damn ink. Now in full panic mode because its late and my interview is the next day and I am without my resume I began to lose hope. But again a solution is brought to my attention. I can get my resume printed off at Staples for a small fee. Wunderbar! So I set up an account and send them my resume. Fill out all there forms and click the order button. Success! My order was received and will be available for pick up in 48 hours…Wait…what? Why the fuck does it take 48 hours to print 4 pages? Are you fucking kidding me? Once again, full panic. Chupacabra’s sister saves the day again and arranges for the receptionist at the company where I am headed to print off 2 copies of my resume. Crisis averted. Next step: Finding this fucking place. But that will have to wait for another blog because holy shitballs is this a long post. So to save your eyeballs and brains, I will continue the story another time. Maybe tomorrow. Also if you have anything you want to say or any questions, feel free to leave a comment. Or don’t. Just know that I will think you’re fucking prick. That is all.