No. 50 Jeffman’s Sour Grapes

Some people haven’t got the manners they were born with…

Scrub that.

A lot of people haven’t got the manners they were born with. When that means you lack the simple courtesy of a squawking, wailing bundle of uncontrollable shit and piss, well that’s some achievement.

Courtesy has gone the same way as respect – a word, incidentally, that some brain donors think can only be gained by putting a bullet in somebody else’s head.

Jeffman promised sour grapes last weekend, and it’s a rather toxic looking bunch of sour grapes that he delivers.

You see, Jeffman was cordially invited to attend a job interview for a job that would’ve been of a particular benefit to furthering his path towards his eventual goal. He won’t say he was particularly excited, because the word ‘excited’ doesn’t exist in his repertoire, but it would’ve been a thankful release from the day to day turmoil of being bored to bloody tears.

Anyway, being the courteous type that I am, I threw on my best bib and tucker and hotfooted it straight to my pre-arranged appointment.

Suffice to say, all went fine and dandy and Jeffman quickly extracted himself from the aforementioned engagement and rushed back home to sit by the phone.

Where he has remained until this day.

One has to question the credentials of a company that promises they’ll be in touch and then, to paraphrase Blondie, “Leave you hanging on the telephone”.

Well what do you expect from a marketing company? A shoddy trade that is populated by Flash Bernards who think a wide-awake suit and a Mickey Mouse haircut amount to having a real job. A shabby bunch of chancers that’re so utterly obsessed with making money for themselves, and as a by-product their slipshod clients, that they’ve had any basic skill of human interaction, unmotivated by profit, sucked kicking and screaming from their vapid, decayed, vacuous husks.

And it’s not the first time this has happened to Jeffman. Oh no, Sir Cliff.

There have been numerous occasions where he has taken the trouble to attend interviews, only never to hear from the bastards again.

Maybe they’re still considering my application, but two, three, four, or five years down the line seems to be a rather strenuous vetting process, even in these days of global terrorism.

One interviewer once had the audacity to even tell me that if I was offered the job, I must let them know of my response as it was evidently “Common decency and good manners”. Thanks for that lecture, cock! Needless to say I never heard from them again. Thankfully the company was out of business within two years, which I see as some sort of karma-inspired vengeance for the smiting of the mighty Jeffman.

In all fairness, this probably sounds like a pretty bad indictment on Jeffman’s good self. Maybe Jeffman is a terminally poor interviewee. Perhaps beneath the polish and shine, and the courteous demeanour they spot that Jeffman is in fact a misanthropic cynic with no desire to be beaten into the conformity they require to justify their shallow existences. Or worse still, they think he’s a pushover undeserving of a thirty second phone call or a polite letter of declination.

If the latter is the case, then come my next interview I shall turn up drunk, kiss the interviewer, punch the receptionist, and proceed to urinate in the corner of the room.

If that doesn’t get me the job, then nothing will.

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