"You ever have a nightmare, then decide to tell somebody about it, then halfway through your explanation you realize you're retarded?"
-Daniel Tosh***
As the forest green SUV approached the intimidating building, my anxiety increased. My pulse was easily louder than any boastful, young teenage boy beating on a snare drum could ever be. My heart was going faster than any automobile known to man.
"Remember the tips," my dear Aunt, who has always been my most trusted mentor, instructed me. "And good luck!"
I nodded, and quietly murmured a small, "Thanks."
I opened the door, and got out, caring a brown paper bag--filled with nice clothes. I walked up to the building, taking small, timid steps.
The interior of the building was very. very chic. Everything from the tile, to the windows, to the secretary's desk was modern and stylish. It was like how Ferris Bueller once described his friend Cameron Frye's home ("it's very beautiful and very cold, and you're not allowed to touch anything").
There were small groups of people scattered amongst the large room. There conversations consisted of the usual boring rubbish that did not particularly interest me. I had much more important things on my plate:
First off, school was starting in approximately 45 minutes. I hate school; that's no surprise to you, I'm sure of.
Secondly, I had a job interview in 15 minutes. I have never had a job before, and my lack of ability to talk to people has made the task of getting hired rather difficult. I can only pray that I may be the few, the proud--the Toys R' Us employee.
So here I was: pacing nervously in my usual attire (worn out jeans and bulky black t-shirt, with a band logo that some may consider "rancid, violent, and overall inappropriate") waiting impatiently in the lobby of my high school/local Toys R' Us store (the two separately owned companies decided to merge...a wise business choice).
I glanced at my wrist watch, which I had never had until just now. I had ten minutes until my interview. I sighed and then walked into the locker room.
Due to the new renovations, the locker room had greatly improved. It was very much similar to a fancy gyms' locker room. There was mirrors, with pretty lighting, and stalls that were made of a beautiful, rich-colored wood. The icing on the cake? It did not smell like feet.
I found my own stall, desperately needing privacy, and emptied the contents of the brown, paper bag. It was clothes, which I personally found hideous, but my Aunt told me it would make a lasting impression on my potential employer.
I put on the ugly clothes: which consisted of a magenta blouse (*vomits*), black slacks that were made of an odd velvet-like fabric, and cubic zirconium hoop earrings. The sight of my reflection in the full length mirror made me die a little inside. I shuddered.
Suddenly, the ground started to shake. It felt as though there was an earthquake in the lobby...or worse.
The sudden realization dawned on me. My eyes bulged out of my sockets, and my mouth fell ajar, "Great Scott," I whispered.
I ran out to the lobby, and it was just as I suspected: a stampede.
The animals (stuffed animals, but of course. After all, this was Toys R' Us) were out of control. I had heard of this incident many times, but never once did I think that I would actually encounter it. One of the many precautions you face when working at Toys R' Us.
The sight was something I never wish to see ever again in my life. In fact, I envy those whose eyes have never been scarred with such a thing. It was an absolute blood bath. Animals were trampling children left and right. The sight of parents trying to rescue their families was too much to bare.
But that wasn't even the worse of it.
At the end of one isle, I saw him. He was more beautiful than I could have possibly imagined. All the pictures and movies I had seen of him did not do him justice. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, it was the one, the only, Clint Eastwood.
But he was about to me trampled by an elephant!
I knew the moment I laid my bloodshot eyes on him that he was the man of my dreams. I couldn't possibly let his life end like this--in such a cruel, untimely way...at such a young age...
He went from being 78 to being 35. I can't explain why this was. I'm sure there was some reasoning behind it.
I ran fast...as fast as I could, to be exact. Not even Maniac Magee or Sonic the Hedgehog could compete with me. I had more motivation than anyone could ever have--Clint Eastwood.
I pushed him out of the way just in time. I silently muttered obscenities to myself, because even though I saved his life, I allowed his precious body to touch the ground. God dammit, Sidewinder!
I looked at my mysterious watch once more; it was two minutes until my interview. I had no time to waste! I couldn't even allow one more glance at the beauty that was Clint Eastwood.
"Wait!" I heard him yell at me, as I ran away.
But I didn't wait. I didn't even hesitate. I didn't even give him the courtesy of turning my head, no matter how much I wanted to. I did what I thought was impossible: refuse Clint Eastwood's wishes. My God, I was stronger than I thought.
In ways that I can't explain, I made it to the interviewer's office on time. I looked on the plaque on the white, bland door. I gulped, feeling a sudden dryness in my throat. I knew this man. He was not only my potential new boss, but he was also my current principal (no balls). Needless to say, we were not on good terms.
I turned the brass knob of the door, and walked in slowly.
"Take a seat," he said, only to glance up and see me.
I did my best attempts to make myself comfortable on the black, leather seat opposite of his desk. He scanned me from head to toe; he very slightly, but very obviously, shook his head in disgust.
I remembered of the stampede. It's cruelness had left me looking like a train wreck. I was sweating, panting, my hair was messed up, with leaves and other debris tangled in it (though I had not been outside and even when I was, there were no leaves in this area), my clothes were torn and stained with blood, and my pale skin had scrapes of it's own.
I heard loud noises emerging from the lobby. It sounded like there was some sort of quarrel going on, but I pushed that to the back of my mind. It didn't matter, it didn't even concern me anyway. Besides, I had more important things to do.
My principal started to speak, breaking me away from my thoughts. "I'm sorry, Miss." he said in a fake tone of sympathy. It was like listening to a cliche break up("We need to talk...", "It's not you, it's me...", "It's been great and all, but..."). I wanted to vomit. To think I had dressed up for this man's balderdash.
"But," the principal said, resting his pen on the big, oak desk. "You're not what we're looking for right now--"
But before he could finish his sentence, or more appropriately, before he could finish beheading me, the screams outside the door got louder, and I suddenly realize that the altercation could, in fact, directly involve me.
The office door was kicked down violently, yet with such grace. It flew to the wall parallel of it, leaving much damage to this bastard's office (I smirked at the thought). I knew there was only one man who could possibly execute the move so flawlessly--that's right, Clint Eastwood.
He pulled out his .44 magnum ("the most powerful handgun in the whole world, that will blow your head clear off, so you got to be asking yourself one question...do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?") and shot my sad excuse for a principal right in the knee cap.
The asshole hunched over his battle scar, screaming in pain.I would never lie to you, when I say this: he cried that day. I saw tears. He got what he deserved.
I turned to face my rescuer...my hero...my Savior...my Prince Charming...the light him in such an angelic angle. He looked so beautiful, so majestic, that I knew with all of my soul, that he was a God.
He looked at me. And I swear to you this: staring into his eyes was the most astounding experience ever...so intimidating...yet so pleasurable...I will treasure that moment for as long as I live.
His voice was so marvelous and alluring and yet so demanding. The next words he spoke were so powerful...so wonderful...so simple...
"You're hired."
***
I had this dream three nights ago.
Unlike my idol Daniel Tosh, I didn't come to the conclusion that I was retarded, but rather that I am totally awesome.
See you in the funny papers,
Sidewinder
