Always Wear Underwear

¡Hola! Everybody…
I had some great experiences over at the Occupy Wall St movement. There’s been a lack of coverage and what coverage there has been has been misleading. I will be sharing more on that this coming week. Yesterday and today, I couldn’t participate because I was called to do some paid work.

Speaking of which… I was called to interview for a position that comes close to what I see as a “dream job.” It will engage skill sets that have been neglected in the past and takes me away from the direct service aspect of the work to the advocacy/ social policy side. Oddly enough, sometimes I can be a horrible interviewee, but I’m really hoping I can ace this. Think good thoughts for me (even if you don’t like me! LOL)

Speaking of interviews…

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-=[ Your Mother was Wrong ]=-

Or: Why you should always wear underwear... period.

As most of you who know me, or have ever followed this blog, already know, I had managed to make of my life a fuck up of epic proportions. In fact, even after all these years, there’s still wreckage I’m attending to. The only way I keep what little sanity I can claim, is that I take it one day (sometimes one breath) at a time.

It’s like the “starfish” story in which a man comes across a young woman trying to save starfish. Early one morning this man was walking along the beach, watching the ocean waves breaking on the shore, and he saw a most unusual thing. He saw that the beach was littered with tens of thousands of starfish that had washed up on shore and were dying in the sun. Far down the beach in the distance, he could see a young woman picking up starfish and throwing them back in the ocean, one at a time.

When he was close enough to her to be heard above the waves the man said, “You’re wasting your time. There are thousands of starfish here. You can’t possibly make any difference.” Without pausing, the young woman reached down, picked up a starfish, and threw it as far as she could back into the sea. “I made a difference to that one,” she said, as she reached down to pick up another.

In that way, I patiently, often painstakingly, attend to the pieces of my life that have washed up on the shoals of my life. It’s not always easy, but a measure of gratitude goes a long way and sometimes I can even make a dance of the whole process (on my good days). LOL

There was one particularly challenging period in which everything I had worked toward seemed to be imploding: my relationships, school, work -- everything seemed to be shifting, disintegrating, and, to compound matters, I couldn’t get a J-O-B to save my life. I had been out of work for almost two years and after months of rejection after rejection, my confidence had suffered and morale was at a low point.

I had an interview for a position that I really wanted. It was perfect for me, a way to break into my chosen field in a meaningful way. I was very low on funds and had to borrow for carfare. Also, I didn’t have money to wash my clothes at the laundry and I had no clean underwear. I figured, what the fuck, I can go without underwear, my mother’s admonition of always wearing clean underwear (You never know when you might get hit by a car!) echoing at the back of my mind somewhere.

I got to the interview with time to spare and while I was waiting I used the restroom to take a good piss. I was very anxious, but I had researched the organization well and I was well-prepared and that took the edge off the anxiety somewhat.

And damn if I wasn’t kicking some major ass during the interview! The interviewers were two women, one an African-American sitting next to me, and the other a Puerto Rican sitting across from me at this huge conference table. Half-way into the interview I knew I had the Puerto Rican woman sold. I even caught her from the corner of my eye nodding affirmatively to her colleague sitting next to me.

But for some reason, I wasn’t connecting with the African American woman. She wouldn’t make direct eye contact with me, and seemed extremely uncomfortable and conflicted. And no matter how well I responded to her inquiries, she didn’t seem satisfied. Something was clearly wrong and I couldn’t put my finger on it.

Well, you probably know where I’m going with this, right? When I used the restroom, I forgot to zip my zipper, and as I sat in the interview chair I rested the ankle of one leg across the knee of the other, so my cock had apparently made its presence a part of the interview process. I didn’t realize my fly was open until I went outside and felt the cold wind caress my balls.

And no, I didn’t get the job. My cock, it seems, wasn’t up to the woman’s standards.

And as usual with shit that happens in my life, that’s not the end of the story. Years later, I was recruited for another (really great position) and who was on the board of that organization? Yup, you guessed it. When I was introduced to her (I had to meet with the full board), I wanted to make myself invisible -- crawl underneath the carpet and do a "time out." But then I thought to myself, She probably doesn’t remember me.

Wrong!

She approached me later in the evening and asked if she had ever interviewed me. I guess that while my cock couldn’t get me a job, it at least left a lasting impression.

The moral of the story? I don’t know if there is one except that your mother was wrong -- even dirty underwear is better than none if you’re at an interview.

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…