Today I sit back in wonder. I realize that my mischievous deeds, which were once comparable to small time crookery is now growing to the proportions that of a master jewel heist. In the end I would have made the jump had it not been for the monster commute. You’re probably confused right now. Sorry. Let me take you back to the beginning. It all began two days ago.
Texting my good friend Mousey, I jokingly asked her to find me a job. To my surprise she called back shortly in a few hours telling me she’d gotten me an interview with a marketing company called Vector. Excited and inquisitive, I asked her more about the company but she didn’t have the answers I needed and instead told me to go to their website. Surfing to the site, I learned that Vector was a knife selling company. I was still a little confused on how exactly that was gonna work but I figured I’d learn all I needed to know during the interview and prepared for my big commute to the land of Norcross.
I’m not gonna tell you that I bombed my initial interview by getting on the wrong bus, going way outta the way, and having to call the office back in shame to reschedule a new appointment for the following day. That would be too much information. Instead I’m going to tell you that I made it to my interview an hour earlier than my scheduled time. And for that I must thank my good pal Jose for offering me a ride to the building. Entering the doors, I signed in and proceeded to the waiting room in the back to fill out my application. This is when my first spider sense began to tingle.
When you go to a job and fill out an application, it’s usually annoying in length and most often done on a computer these days. This application was paper based and only one page at that filled with hard-hitting questions such as “What former jobs have you worked?” and only leaving a single line for your input. Not enough space mind you for the address, phone number or how many years you worked there, only enough space for the name.
I finished with the application and started mingling with the other interviewees when I finally got called to the back. After a brief meeting with my interviewer, he told me that he felt like I would be right for the job and sent me back into the waiting room for the demonstration portion to which he wowed us by such marvelous acts as cutting a penny in half with shears and displaying the awesome effectiveness of Cutco cutlery. The demonstration over, we were led to this bosses office one by one and on my turn I got the good news that I was hired.
Feeling pretty good about myself I told my pal Mousey the good news and we went out to celebrate, spending money I didn’t have by going to Quiznos. Afterwards I began the long trek back home. With a lot of free time on my belt and full of good vibrations I began calling my friends telling them the good news. Surely they’d be happy for me right? Wrong. And this is where the downfall began.
Everyone and their mother that I called either worked for Vector, knew someone who worked for Vector, or heard about Vector and most opinions all concluded with the same four letter word, S-C-A-M. Wanting to remain optimistic, I initially didn’t want to believe the claims and told myself that maybe things had change. I mean the Vector I knew promised to pay me $15 dollars base pay even if I didn’t make a sale. They soothed my nerves by letting us know it was a low-key sales company meaning that we didn’t have to be pushy like most other salesmen because all the mattered was presentation of the product not selling it. I decided to find my own answers by googling them.
And sure enough as soon as I type the word “Vector” in the google search bar, the word “scam” pops up right beside it. I’m a stubborn individual but even I know when to call it quits. I had been had. But even though I knew it wasn’t on the up and up, my lack of stable income twisted my mind just enough to where I thought maybe there was something I could do to make it all work out. Damn my eternal optimism.
I go back to the office for my first day of training. While on the bus there I meet two women named Nita and Shanell and after a short conversation, come to find that we’re all going to the same place. Walking down the street to the building, together I’m mildly trying to get to know Nita better because, well, she’s cute. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say but I thought there was a slim chance I might be able to zoom-a-zoomzoom in her boomboom so I started mackin. But during my mack, she said, and I quote “I’m 10 weeks into it.” And I’m thinking, “I know you’re not talking about what I think you’re talking about.” To which Shanell confirms my suspicions by asking “which nigga did it?”
So thanks to some dude named Daevon I wasn’t getting anywhere near that. We finally make it to Vector and I’m directed into the training seminar room. What I see when I enter sinks my heart to the lowest depths of my soul and rips apart the tiny shred of hope I still had left. I hate to be prejudiced, I know it’s wrong and I try very hard to disspell this myth that America has tried to portray about my brown brothers and sisters but the entire room looked like a 40-man Devry commercial.
The only thing that kept me up through the entire thing was meeting this old war vet named John who was a master in at least three different styles of martial arts and had all these bad ass war stories. I begrudgingly finished the first day of training and after returning home decided that it just wasn’t worth my effort. On to the next one. I’m looking at you Fulton County library system.