Dirty Old Harry took my game away

I went into a strange office today, a parallel universe of sorts from the one I'm used to. For one thing, it was... ugh... clean! There was glass everywhere, which kinda fooled me cause I couldn't see a thing. That was how impeccably clean it was. And you know those office chairs, those on plastic wheels that swivel and spin? The wheels actually turned and it went wherever you wanted it to go. Not a single ball bearing out of place. Then the people actually occupying these offices came in, and let me just say, I was tempted to run away in terror, seeing that every square inch of fabric was ironed to a crisp. Even the hair on top of their heads seemed to be ironed down as well.

Now I'm not exactly a hobo, but I was feeling as insecure as a lizard missing it's tail. Suddenly every unsightly crease, every piece of lint, every strand of hair out of place stood out for everyone to glare at. Why was I here?

Well, I'm actually in this office for an interview. Yeah that's right, somehow I have brought all this upon myself, I have convinced myself that I wanted to go to the King's grand ball, and I'm waiting for my bad-ass godfather to show up and put me in an Italian suit and crocodile skin shoes, lighting up a Cuban while I'm at it.

I guess you can tell I'm having some serious second thoughts. I hate changes. I don't even change bedsheets and pillowcases until I really really...really have to. Changing offices, is one thing, but having to shed my old threads for those crispy numbers may be a bit more than I bargained for. I was willing my legs to stand up and start running, but while waiting, they fell asleep and I was kinda stuck there, wide-eyed and scared shitless.

*****

I haven't been to many interviews, but I could imagine it to be as close a feeling as a bunch of inmates waiting for their "moment of truth" on death row. There you are, along with a bunch of well-dressed strangers, waiting for some guy in a suit to ask you a bunch of questions to which you have no idea what the right answers are.

So I was there, by myself, letting my legs go to sleep, when a hot chick in a really nifty blazer sits beside me. I smile of course, and start a light conversation. You know, the typical "It's kinda cold here, isn't it?" and "Boy, what about this weather, huh?". Before I could make the transition to one of my killer lines, ("Nice shoes, wanna..."), this stately dude comes into the room.

Stately, by the way, is a word I use which I don't know the exact meaning to. The word just came to my mind all of a sudden at the sight of him. White hairs growing underneath the fading dyed strands, hardened face and hands plus a fair amount of age freckles. Kinda Clint Eastwood-like.

So this dude sits on the chair beside the chick-in-blazer and then chats her up. Apparently, his lines were a heck of a lot smoother than mine, and so I'm left starting into the back of her head the whole time while waiting for the hour of judgment. So there I sat, twiddling my thumbs and committing every word he says to memory. God he was good, I sure hope we weren't going for the same spot, else he'd totally cream me.

*****

By the way, I'd like to give a big shout-out to all the poker gods up there! Thank you, guys... I'm friggin' back!