Don't Mince Words

I’ve always felt there’s a profession more deviant and despicable than used car salesman or insurance underwriter. That would be the “human resource” career track. Throughout my 20+ year career, they have been referred to as inhumane and no-resource.

This week I received a call from a lovely human resource woman. She was screening me for several positions in the company. Strengths, weaknesses, what do you like doing, what is your management style, etc…. Then came a question I couldn’t believe. I was so thankful I was on the phone. She didn’t see me hold the phone out, cock my head and mouth “what the fuck?”

“What do you see yourself doing in five years,” she asked me.

I laughed a little and said, “You are kidding me, right? I think I was 25 the last time I was asked that question.”

She back-peddled a little and waited for my response. During the three-second delay, I crafted the best should-be-copyrighted response:

“Considering I walked home on 9/11, I don’t think about the future that much. I live every day like it will be my last. All I can hope for in my career is to use all my skills, get some kind of satisfaction out of the work, and produce meaningful results.”

I guess the response was good enough. She called me two days later for an interview.

Should I remember my first kiss? I don’t. I do remember my first traumatic kiss. I forgot all about it until last night when it was surpassed by my new worst kiss ever.

In high school, I went on a double date with a girlfriend. She was off somewhere making out with her guy and I got stuck talking to her cousin. He wasn’t attractive, but he was nice. When he made his move, I was stabbed multiple times by his three-day shadow. The experience left me with a red-faced beard-burn lesson.

With age comes experience, right? Bob had promise. He’s a 45 year-old east coast native who just accepted a position with a new law firm. We had a great dinner and a fun evening until the goodbyes.

He came at me like a wide-mouth bass with rigor mortis. Mouth was locked in an open position and the stiff lips did not move. He dragged his lower lip across my chin, over my lower lip and across to my cheek. He repeated this mating ritual several times before I broke away with a now-classic signature sign off/cock block.

“Oh god, we have to stop, this is getting too intense,” I said without laughing.

A kiss may be a kiss, but my decades of empirical research has proven, at least for me, a good kisser is rarely a bad lover. Bob the fish may have seized the day, but for me, his trout mouth left me cold. Carp-mahi diem.