You Got Served

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The other day I decided to put in an application at a new restaurant that is opening nearby. I needed a summer job and figured that being able to set my own hours and instantly pocket the money I made was a good idea; it would give me time to write, go to the shore, and do any other meaningless pursuits I could come up with.

I went to the restaurant and was directed to the hiring trailer. Since the restaurant is under construction, the staff is doing all its hiring in a nearby trailer, presumably trying to draw in a white trash core of employees.

I walked in, grabbed an application, and started filling it out. Behind me one of the managers chatted idly about the Boston Red Sox. I stored this knowledge and continued writing. When I was finished, I handed it to Red Sox Man, and figured I'd be on my way. But a strange thing happened... the door to the trailer slammed shut with a steel barrier. Red Sox Man pulled me aside and told me that I looked like a worthwhile challenger, and that he was ready to interview me. I wasn't ready; I felt panicked.

I went in armed with only my meager application (with meager restaurant experience), my wit, a standard mega buster, and his weakness: a love for Boston sports. We battled.

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