Get a J.O.B.

Recent college graduates/pre-“I’m taking a year off to travel Europe & really find myself slash avoid getting a real job” ladies reveling in the summer sun, SMU 6th-Years struggling to get by on their measly 1K/month tax-free allowances forcing the Coors Light versus Fat Tire purchase, and chain-necklace-wearing fraternity meatheads grime-ifying up my pool with their spray-on tan residue.


This is the scene I was so pleasantly able to witness on Friday as I worked from home – kicking myself for having chosen a unit so damn close to the pool. As I tried to hide in my closet while presenting my new strategic plan via conference call to VP of my department, my ability to muffle the spring break-ish noise from his ears was somewhat lacking.

“What is that?” he asked. “Are you in a stadium or something?”

“Uhhm.. Hahhaha. Um, that is just the groundskeeper’s kids. He brings them with him on Fridays and they tend to be a bit rambunctious,” I lie, hoping he isn’t thinking I’m supplementing my Friday of working from home with a little Miami Vice cocktail & pool action myself.

As I hang up the phone, my first inclination is to open my balcony door, and scream expletives including “Get a ?#@*ing JOB & get the ?#@* out of my pool, assclowns.”

Then I realized the folly in my plan. I would be saving them a great deal of thought & time in deciding where to target a barrage of raw eggs.

The issue here, really, is who the hell are these people? Homeless people with access to Trina Turk swimwear? Recently laid off sales people? Or are they simply 25-year-olds still managing to suck college education money out of their parents who they have convinced an undergrad degree takes 8 years. Who knows, but the syphilis remnants likely left floating in my pool are the only telltale sign of any kind of activity involving hard jobs. Pun intended.

So as my day began to wind to an end, and I was so glad to have made it through yet another week of hellishly-busy work disallowing me from even thinking about blogging recently, I came across yet another sight to behold in my parking garage.
‘Is that girl …?’ I thought to myself. No. Couldn’t be.

As I got closer, and watched the puddle grow, her drunkass friend walked toward me on a cell phone complaining about being lost on the property, in the big bad scary world of McMansion apartments.

I sat there. Shocked. And what I thought couldn’t possibly be true, was. That bitch had just peed in my parking garage – not ten feet from my car.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked. Her lazy drunk eyes communicated her disinterest in me or my question, as she pulled her bikini bottoms back up and stumbled toward her friend.

At that point, I threw my hands in the air and called it a day.
And as I drove off to pick up my Potbelly Wreck, hold the oil, I thought about the lucky recruiters all over Dallas who are probably dealing with candidates like the Parking Lot Pee Bandit I had just encountered. What a treat.

Get excited, Dallas corporations. We are training up leaders here in this fine city. Elite education, I think they call it. True game-changers. Your HR departments have a lot to look forward to in the coming year, so Pony Up. Coors Light, 50K graduation-present cars & $1,000 allowances just ain’t cutting it any more.