Low point at Lowes

Entertainment, as you all know, is my main objective. But that comes at a price and in the recent case of my Lowes application experience it came at the price of my reputation. See, I went there to get the assembly position. I did that job in Los Angeles and as long as there’s one location then it’s fine. Once I started driving to Long Beach and East Bumfuck to assembly shitty bicycles the whole thing lost its appeal. But here in NH I’d probably be assigned to one or two stores and keep the commuting to a minimum. I wanted that job. I took a shower, combed my hair, shaved and put on clean clothes to go get it. I was determined.
How I previously described my adventure there was completely fictional. I wrote it that way to be amusing. I want you to be amused. Also, I was frustrated by the actual events of that day, which might be less amusing but should shine some light on how I take actual events and turn them into entertaining fiction. I repeat, I wanted the job, am qualified for it, and would still take it if they offered it to me. I will demonstrate why that will not happen.

So, all dressed up, shaved and shiny and smelling like orange #5 deodorant I waltzed into Lowes. I’d seen the advertisement on the internet and all it said was Lowes in Greenland was hiring an assembler. That means lawn furniture for the summer, propane grills, umbrellas and lawnmowers need to be assembled to replace the shitty Chinese ones that were destroyed by last season’s use. I’m willing to ignore all these fact because I need the money. So I go to the Lowes in Greenland and walk in. That was the last routine thing that happened in this particular job hunt.
“Hi, my name is Oggy,” I say merrily to the customer service desk. “Could you direct me to human resources.”
The lip ring girl surfing the internet looks confused.
“Wha?”
“I saw an ad for a job. I’ve come to apply. Your search is over.”
I like to be positive when arriving at a job interview. They are usually robotic and I like to be personable, cheerful and friendly. I make jokes, yawn, stretch, point to paintings and ask who the artist is, ask them where they went to school, if they’ve ever been to Canada, the usual icebreakers.
“Oh. Hold on.”
The girl gets up and hunts for a supervisor. One comes back and asks me what my intentions are. I feel like the interview has already gone wrong as I explain myself now with the tone of voice of one dealing with slightly deaf people.
“I. Am. Looking. For. Work. Where. Can. I. Apply?”
“Oh. Let me see. Bob, do you know where people go to apply for work?”
By now half of my desire to get the job has vanished. What the fuck! Is this the first time anyone has ever come to apply for a job here? Do they grow their employees in the garden department like pod people from Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
“You want to apply?” says the brain surgeon Bob.
“Yes, please. I’m going to assemble every lawnmower you’ve got. Where are they? I’ve got my tools in the car.”
“Huh. Ok. Let me make a call.”
Bob gets on a phone and calls someone. I lean on one leg at the counter as people pass with carts full of paint and hardware and power tools. It’s definitely not a place I want to work.
“Sir,” says Bob, “You see that kiosk there? You can apply there.”
Just the mention of “Kiosk” makes my stomach turn.
“Thank you very much.”
I march over to the kiosk and groan as I see a flickering computer screen. I’ve seen these application stations in Target, Home Depot, Kmart and even some school districts. The smile immediately vanishes from my face because I realize I’m casting pearls before swine; no one here has the authority to hire me so I could show up in pink panther boxer shorts and still be considered for the job. I sit down and mockingly say, “Nice to meet you.” to the monitor.

Call me old-fashioned, but this is complete bullshit. Nevertheless, I want that job and I need that job so I grit my teeth for what I know will be a painful computer experience. See, I’m as computer savvy as the next person, and that means I know a public computer like at the library or airport is going to get serviced about as much as a single speed bicycle and forget about upgrades. Some miserable software company convinced all these companies that this was the future. Streamline the hiring process! Get the applicant to input his own data! Save money! In theory that’s all great. But, let me tell you what that means in reality.
I sit down and am faced with a menu linked to Lowes Corporation employment database. I want to apply for a specific job in Greenland. I don’t need to see job openings in Samoa, but that’s one of the countries on the drop down menu. I click on United States. Then New Hampshire. Then the screen freezes. The mouse won’t move. Come on! So I reboot the thing and wait five minutes for this dinosaur operating system to load. I seriously consider leaving because this is so pointless. I already don’t like the people I’d be working with and any company that uses computer hiring kiosks to hire mechanics is missing the point entirely. I’m the guy with a tool belt who actually reads the assembly instructions before tearing the bag of screws open. Do me a favor and input my personal data yourself!
Finally, the system loads up and I’m brought back to the screen where I can search for opportunities. Ha! Opportunities to have a mental breakdown trying to get a job! I go through the same process and finally get to New Hampshire’s opportunities. Cart Handler and Garden Department come up but no such listing for an Assembler. I just saw this ad for Lowes like three hours ago. In Greenland. The Greenland Lowes. Here I am in the Greenland Lowes, ready to go to work, and the only jobs are for Cart Handler and the Garden Department.
“Excuse me,” I say to a man in a Lowes vest. “I’m looking for an assembler job. Do you know if there’s…”
“The ones on there are the only ones.”
“But I…” and the guy is gone.
I’m as determined to hunt down this job as most people in these stores are determined to find the matching paint for their rec room. I have an idea and search for assembler in the entire United States. Maybe they spelled Greenland wrong. This search takes longer to launch because I have to navigate to a hidden corner of the database where the text fields for state can be empty.
Assembler jobs exist in the United States but not in NH, it seems, but now that I’ve come this far I’m not leaving without applying for something. I click on the Cart Handler job and when I click on the “Apply For This Job” button it takes me back to the start of the whole search process. Then the computer freezes again.
“Come on!” I moan.
I reboot and take my coat off. I’m sweating even though these gigantic warehouses are usually freezing. Finally, I find a workaround to their glitchy data stream and am faced with an eight step process to apply. Diligently, I fill out everything on the application. It’s not much different from a paper application. Have I been convicted of a felony? Do I do drugs? What references will admit knowing me? It takes 20 minutes but I press on and think I am finished when a final screen comes up, “You are required to fill out a questionnaire. Your application will not be complete until you complete the following questionnaire.”
Fine, I’ll answer a few more questions. I click next and am faced with an 85 question multiple choice quiz of a slightly philosophical nature. The questions are like this:
A customer requires your help while you are in the process of helping another customer. You feel you are close to closing the deal. Choose the best and the worst options.
1. Ignore the other customer. Close the deal with the first customer.
2. Help the other customer.
3. Tell the other customer you will be right with him.
4. Call your supervisor and ask for help.
5. Go to Lunch.

So, what is the best option? #3. The worst? It’s a toss up between. #1 and #5. I pick #5 and move on because pondering philosophical debates happens to be a pastime of mine and I don’t need Lowes to prod me.

Other questions are similarly worded:
Your coworker arrives at work smelling of booze. What is the best option:
1. Call your supervisor.
2. Tell your coworker to go home.
3. Laugh about it.
4. Ignore it.
5. Cover for your coworker

The best option? #2. The worst? #4.

Now, that’s what I put down because that’s what I think Lowes wants me to think. I actually wouldn’t care if my coworker arrived at work drunk. Hell, I’d be surprised if anyone came to work sober these days. But I must project my ethics into the boardroom of whatever clinical psychologist who is on the payroll of these corporations. I’ve got to outsmart him to get this job. What’s the worst that could happen if I ignored a drunk coworker? He might come over and smash this fucking computer kisok! There is no text field to type these expansions on my answer but I amuse myself for nearly an hour as I finish the questionnaire. Sometimes I laugh out loud and gain the attention of the people working the customer service desk. What does that matter? I’m applying for a cart handler job. I’d be working outside even if I did get hired and the chances are very slim that will happen.

So the whole application process took like two hours and at the end of it I get a message saying my application is not complete until I get some email confirmation saying that I authorize Lowes to pry into my personal life. Now, why would I object to that after my wonderful experience with the Lowes computer?

I actually get lost trying to get out of the store. There’s a huge sign marked exit that is behind a barrier. How do I get out? Do I have to buy a step ladder and use it to scale the fence? Then I see that the problem is that I haven’t bought anything so I didn’t see the exit behind the registers. Silly me. Maybe the problem was staring at that flickering green CRT monitor FOR THE PAST TWO HOURS!
The sweat on my skin instantly freezes when I get outside. As I bundle myself up I see next to the building a fleet of lawnmowers and an army of propane grills, all assembled and gleaming. Ah, someone has beat me to it. They might need an assembler later in June but their spring stock is finished. The job post was out of date. I tie my scarf around my neck and move toward my car.

Now, that’s what really happened but I decided to make it more amusing by making it seem like I sabotaged the affair. Not true. I did everything I could to get a job that didn’t exist. And in the process I was reminded of why I hesitate when people say I should apply at Lowes or Home Depot. You are not finished with this article until you answer the following question:

Oggy is looking for work. What is the best option and what is the worst option.
1. Get a $40,000 loan and go to divinity school
2. Get a $40,000 loan and go to Cancun.
3. Pray Work-A-Day labor hall assigns me staff writer job at New Yorker.
4. Become certified masseuse
5. Fake death and collect insurance.
6. Look for a place that will buy these frivolous essays.

Big Brother

Maybe it's unrelated but I'm reflecting on the last ten years, nearly 9 of which have been in the hysteria after 9/11 and the main thing that jumps out is not the war or the sacrifices of the military but rather the explosion of technology and access to information. Veterans need not be surprised when their service goes unrecognized by the younger generation. We were too busy downloading pirated mp3 files. I wonder if the government is making a mistake by sheltering the population from the violence of war. I really wonder. I want to compare it to the filthy rich father who does everything to make sure his son doesn't have to work, and then wonders how he got spoiled. It's a double edged sword because there are folks still alive who remember the bleak depression and WWII rationing. "Never again" they said, but look what they accomplished because of that hardship. And I mean just your average person in 1948 was so motivated. Hell, baseball players, hall of fame baseball players routinely served 4 years in the military. New York would come to stand still if $100 million man, Alex Rodriguez so much as directed traffic on a busy day in Times Square. I think it's understood that we're rotting from the inside out but still the company line is that soldiers die to keep us free. That kind of simplification doesn't cut it for me. Soldier's are dying. And we are free. I'm not sure the two are related. Furthermore, I'm not sure that's the best solution. Maybe I'd change my opinion with a fat check in my wallet.

Oggy gets married and moves to Venezuela

So, I'm at the library yesterday, like normal reading leftist magazines and downloading porn, when a lithe woman walks up and asks me how to connect to the internet. She's barefoot and dressed in a kind of peasant dress and has a lilting musical Irish accent. I'm taken by her dark eyes and say,
"You login with portslib as your name and password."
She explains that she doesn't have a computer and could she use mine. I'm a sucker for a pretty face so I say yes, but pay no attention to the blowjob videos in the browser.
"I'm soo sick 'f seein' other people in porn. I should be in porn," she said as she checked her email.
"Well, I can't really comment on that." I said diplomatically.
"You want to make a porn movie with me?"
I hesitated.
"I'm sorry, it sounded like you asked me if I want to make a porn movie with you."
"Aye."
"Forgive me. But, well, I was actually going to be making some porn in ten minutes with another girl I just met. So maybe I could fit you in later this evening."
She laughed.
"Is this your camera?" she asked.
I was uploading pictures of dogs and chickens.
"Yes."
She grabbed the camera and took my hand and led me to the men's bathroom.
"This is a public bathroom," I pointed out.
"Oh, is there a porn friendly bathroom somewhere hidden?" she joked. "Should I query the reference librarian? Can we check out clean sheets and condoms?"
"No, that won't be necessary," I admitted.
So, after we filmed ourselves fucking in the bathroom I asked her her name.
"A real gentleman you are. Fresh! Cheeky!"
"Cheeky is your name? My name is Oggy and I'm kind of taken with you."
"Well, don't get any ideas. I'm married...to Jesus."And she laughed merrily, a laugh I'd like to hear all day long.
"Fortunately, Jesus has a return policy."
"Aye," she said reading my mind. "But I'm leaving tomorrow on a cattle ship."
"Well, cancel it. Stay here. The cattle won't mind. They'll prefer it."
"I'll mind. It's my one chance to get to Venezuela for free. There's this organic farm there and..."
I found myself kissing her in the magazine section. Really kissing her.
"I changed my mind," I said. "I'm going with you."
"You are a cheeky bastard."
"Not really, but I play one on the internet."
I stared into her green eyes, willing her to cast all doubts from her mind.
"Is this a proposal?" she murmured.
"No," I said as I dropped to a knee. "But this is. Marry me, you crazy gypsy."
I held out my mother's engagement ring to her. This is what I was talking about when I said you have to take risks. I've got nothing going here and I can't let another person walk in and out of my life. I don't want to ponder what could've happened. And I want to go to Venezuela! The girl, whatever her name is, was breathless. A few library patrons were watching suspiciously.
"I have to warn you, Oggy. I'm not the most stable person in the world. You seem kind of normal, stuck up. I thought I could loosen you up with some casual sex, but you look like you've blown a gasket."
I considered explaining myself to her but it didn't seem relevant.
"You've no idea how hellish a 9-5 job is. I'm stuck in a cubicle all day crunching numbers. Pointless loveless labor. I've always been such a reliable, faithful employee. Oggy The Loyal they call me. I'm tired of it! Where's the adventure, the drama? I've never left this little seacoast town in all my life. I'm ready. Will you show me the world? As my wife?"
The girl looked around at the gawking patrons and announced, "I know this is a library, but I'm taking this one," she pointed to me and looked into my eyes, "and I'm not bringing him back."
She took the ring on her finger. An old lady knitting in the corner started to clap. Then we got kicked out.

And the rest has been a blur of hawking all my possessions (except my guitar and violin since it turns out she can play like Mozart) to the pawn store. I drove the van down to Boston and gave it to a homeless guy in Chinatown. He was a little suspicious but he fit perfectly on the bed so he didn't complain. I warned him about the balding tires but he didn't really take me seriously. What can you do?

The ship leaves in a few minutes so I just had time to write this out and upload the porn video. My wife (we got married by a Wiccan priest last night) didn't really want to post her sex tape but I thought I'd surprise her.
It's been nice knowing you all. I really doubt I'll come back this way considering how undesirable I am in this area and continuing to post on this blog seems hypocritical so.... Since the van belongs to a hobo in Boston now I gave him the login information and told him the one condition of taking the van is he had to continue the tradition of economical urban living and an occasional essay denouncing Hannah Montana. Let's hope he follows up on it.
I hear the steam whistle blowing now and my wife is pulling me away. We'll be at a farm in Venezuela. I'm not sure which one but how many can there be? Just look us up sometime!

Bonnie Video

I posted a video of my dog companion that took so long to process that I've already moved past it. Check it out here!

The Mic is Open

Tuesday is open mic night at the Press Room and I've been playing Jackson Brown's "For A Dancer" so much in my room that I figured I just have to get out and play it. I mean, what the fuck am I doing with my life?

So I braved the rain and went to the Jazz jam but was snubbed by the pros. I waited my turn at the open mic and got incredibly nervous even though I've played these songs hundreds of times and there is no one there. Fortunately there was no turning back but as usual I changed my plan at the last second and sang "Nobody Home" by Pink Floyd on the piano. "I've got a little black book with my poems in it..."
Then into "Rosie" by Jackson Brown "For all the lonely guys in the audience." And I really wanted to sing "After The Goldrush" by Neil Young but chickened out because I forgot how the last verse goes. I love those seventies songwriters and I'm told I look like Jackson so here's a comparison of myself and J.B. One guy said I look like Cris Angel, the magician, but I don't see that at all. George Harrison and Cat Stevens and I have some features in common but I think Jackson Browne is the closest celebrity look-alike. Oh, if I could sing like him all would be perfect.So I got up and grabbed the guitar (I haven't practiced the changes on the piano because apparently not one church in Portsmouth wants a free janitor) and started into "For A Dancer". I wanted to video tape the performance but also chickened out because I'd have to ask someone to hold the camera and it seems so intrusive. I heard someone say, "I love this song." as I started singing and I don't blame them. It's great songwriting and easy to play. Not so easy to sing as I sounded like a wounded cat. Fortunately that song is so good you can't fuck it up. Since there were so few people I was able to fit in "Shanty" by Jonathan Edwards which kind of sucks to play alone as it is a blues with no solo. I gotta bring my harmonica next time.

But the cool part was the host was Jerry T. and he sings a song called "Forty Dollars" that has been haunting me for a month because I decided it was the song I want to make a music video for. Now, a music video usually involves a studio recording and then many different takes of the band pretending to play that exact studio recording. They don't actually play on the video. It's dubbed. They lip sync the whole thing. But I don't have a studio recording so I'm just going to get creative with the live footage. I told Jerry I wanted to make a video and he seemed surprised. He's probably 70 years old and who knows how he's survived in the world but he's a good songwriter. His hands were cramping up and last time he had some teeth fall out so it's not like he's got a long career ahead of him. So I got that in the can.
There's another trio of a David Gray-ish cat and two young women harmony singers that are next on the list. Never mind that the girls are cute I feel like they are actually talented and charismatic and should have a video. They also seemed surprised that I wanted to record them. Are we not living in a video age? Is this news? And music videos can be put together in a few hours for no money. Well, they're next on the list. I forget their name...like Gideon Breeze or something like that. Fuck. I didn't get their number either. Fortunately they are there every Tuesday so next week we're filming whether they like it or not. They must have a studio recording. For three kids they were pretty good and I'd love to promote them with a video. Or give them the video to promote themselves with. Maybe they do have a recording of their performance but they don't consider it a video because it had no production value. We'll see.

I was satisfied with Jerry's tale of bus stop heartbreak when a guy stood up to read some poetry. Really?
"You want to make a psychedelic video?" I asked.
"I'd love to."
"Ok. Don't mind me. Just read what you have."

And I crawled all over him with the camera and lay on the ground looking up at him and behind him and everything. I think the footage was too dark and the audio will bleed over with crowd sounds but between that and some pictures of frogs and a walking bass line I'll get something out of it. It was really spoken word although some of it rhymed. Not bad at all with a good delivery.

So that's another video project to work on as the world floods. I've got bananas and Ramen noodles. Why do I need to leave the house? I think videography is a legit career path for the next six months. I need a 3 chip HD camera with wide angle and a 1000 watt lighting and an audio set but that's about it. Oh, and a fast computer. $5-6 grand is all I need. My Sexy Chicken manifesto video will probably make that much in a week! The chicken doc is in standby until me and the chicken man can screen it to decide the next step. The chicken man apparently had a complete meltdown over the last couple days, lost power, lost (ate) his phones, dismantled his truck, etc. The Johnny Walker Wisdom was running high, as Leonard Cohen would say. I still need eggs. But not bad enough to drive to Nottingham on a prayer I won't be shot with a rifle when I walk on the property. I'll have to wave a white flag...or a White Russian in this case.