OK, so I’m minding my own business, had just finished brewing some Chai, when my phone goes off in the other room.  (Memo to self:  You have GOT to change the ringtone from that Ratatouille Tango music at the end of the movie.)

It’s a call from Virginia and after a quick, paranoid reverse-lookup to make sure it’s not a collection agency, I graciously agreed to take the call.  A staffing company likely responding to resume #3,564.  Naturally, with my luck, I can’t understand ONE word he’s saying.  For now, I’m going to profile his sacred-cow-ass and call him “Hadji”.  You can fill in the blanks.  Or in this case, connect the dots on his forehead.

So, Hadj (I call him Hadj) is shopping for an underwriting assistant for a 6-month contract in Costa Mesa for GMAC doing auto loans, which are 15 minute no-brainers.  NOTHING like a full mortgage loan file.  Fine.  I’m good with that.  I’m not really a big fan of The Orange Curtain, but I wouldn’t throw up in Costa Mesa/Newport Beach.  And I don’t necessarily need to be a full-blown underwriter, considering that got me thrown under the bus last time around.

After much back-and-forthing and my continued requests for a bare minimum hourly rate so we don’t waste each others time, he finally gave me the punchline.  $14/hr.  In Costa Mesa.  Umm, people, that’s where the fucking South Coast Plaza is.  It’s Newport Beach, for God’s sake.  $14/hr comes out to $2,427/mth BEFORE I get taxed up the ass for not having children or an underwater mortgage that hasn’t gone to foreclosure yet.  The last time I made that kind of money, Bush 1.0 was still in the White House and I wasn’t paying rent.

So after I Touretted-out, “Are you fucking kidding me?” he continued to read from his script, since Dots was clearly incapable of holding a spontaneous conversation in English.  Not listening to a word I was saying, he then wanted to leave his contact information in the highly unlikely event that I wanted to refer any friends or former coworkers who might be interested in this grand opportunity.  I had to tell him, “Hadj, I can think of someone who is qualified for this, but if I even tell her the punchline of your quoted salary, she will toss her black ass into the car and head up to Oceanside to essentially smack the white clean off of me.”

He continued to thank me profusely and I could almost feel him genuflecting through the phone.  It was the one time I wish there was a button I could have pushed that would have caused a mechanical hand to come out of his phone and rub the red dot off his forehead and then slap him silly for calling me at 7:30am, when I could have been wasting time on the lastest Plain/Sheen/Lohan article.

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