A major part of every week for me is sending out resumes. It's a very time consuming, mind-numbing process, but I do it with relentless passion. Well, it's something similar to passion, anyway. I send off so many of these things that, quite frankly, I can't always keep up with what I've sent where. So, last week, when I got a call from the state Department of Youth Development, I had to be reminded of the position I had applied for. "Youth Care Worker". Sounded right up my alley, so to speak. (along with a pack of no-good stray cats and a grody Chinese restaurant) With enthusiastic friendliness, the woman I spoke to set up an interview....and that was that.
I had been instructed to show up at an establishment called a "Youth Center". I drove through ghettoed (made up word) outskirts of town for 45 minutes until I found this place. Normally before going on an interview, I'll research the respective business/organization so that I know what I'm dealing with. However, I had been unable to find any information on this place via the internet. As soon as I approached the barbwired perimeter of what was OBVIOUSLY a prison, I wished my research had been more fruitful. Funny how the woman I spoke to numerous times on the phone had failed to mention the phrase "Correctional Facility". Giggles all around. I parked and then sat in my car for several minutes; debating whether or not I wanted to go inside. I quickly convinced myself that I didn't drive all the way out there for nothing.
The guards at the entry gate laughed at me as I walked up. Seriously....they laughed at me. They both spoke to me like I was a 6 year old selling Girl Scout cookies. I felt like an idiot, but I didn't let it discourage me. Job interviews bring out an uncharacteristic perkiness in me. A big smile goes well with a dark suit; that's what I always say. My three interviewers seemed initially pleased with the smile and the suit, but I realized in due time that their warmth was actually heat seeping out from the fires of hell that surrounded the building.
The beginnings of our conversation were padded with lots of Social Worky terms. The position of "Youth Care Worker" was one that would better the lives of young people; establish life-changing relationships; and be filled with lots of challenging, yet rewarding obstacles. Before detailed specifics were mentioned, the director asked me "Do you want to continue with the rest of the interview?" I knew right then that it was going to be all downhill from there.
Job Description: The facility currently houses several hundred young men between the ages of 14 and 21...many of them are murderers and violent sex offenders. I'd be working in their "dormitories", sometimes all night long, one-on-one and in groups with these guys. "Because you're a young woman," I was told, "these men will try anything to undermind you. They'll masturbate in front of you, make vulgar threats, and sometimes they'll even hit you. How do you feel about that?" My initial gut reaction was to admit that I actually enjoy a little masturbation for my benefit every once and a while, but I refrained. Instead, I dropped my attempts to sell myself all together and told them that the job sounded anything but good. I've always fantasized about screaming to authority figures..."Take this job and shove it!!", but again....I refrained. Besides, an angry blurt like that would really only make sense in a quitting scenario.
As I left the building and walked the half-mile stretch of gravel road back to my car, I laughed out loud to myself. I imagined that my interviewers had found our meeting just as amusing as I had. After spending 20 seconds in my presence, it would be apparent to ANYONE that I was, in no way, cut out for that job. Anyone who thought otherwise would be in need of a check-up from the neck up. Perhaps if I were the big scary butch type.....but even then, it would be the makings of a disaster. Apparently, these people are desperate for employees, because they called me yesterday to schedule my drug screening. Needless to say, I gave them permission to scratch me off their list of victims. I can't decide if the prospect reminds me more of a cheap porn flick or a Lifetime version of "Dangerous Minds".
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You were not living a moment in a cheap porn or a Lifetime movie. You were dangerously close to being Jodie Foster or "Clarise" in Slience of the Lambs, when she is inside the jail interviewing Cannibal Lector and a guy throws his cum on her. You should have taken the job and then sued the facility for not providing you with protective goggles or a bio-hazardous coat to protect you against possible flying objects.
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