Mistakes Were Made (Part Two)


God damn! I completely forgot about this story. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks. I don’t apologize, because I doubt anyone cared or noticed but here’s the conclusion you filthy bastards.

If memory serves correct, I had just finished trying the absinthe poured over sugar and it was so good. Like liquor candy. After trying the diluted absinthe I began running through the halls like witch on acid demanding everyone come into the kitchen and try this crazy magic drink Adam brought back home. Most people wretched at the idea or outright refused, fuck them, more for me. After about three or four more shots I started getting rowdy. For those of you that have been lucky enough not to be around me when I drink, I am a very destructive alcoholic. I can either be very fun or the Tasmanian Devil from Looney Tunes. Take a guess which one I become in this story.

I was a complete mess; I ripped one of the bathroom doors of the wall and kicked a hole in another one. Doors did not have a very long lifespan in our house. I don’t want to sound like Hercules, because there are an infinite number of people in this world that can kick my ass (men and women alike) these were cheap ass doors that were made with sub-par materials.

“Let’s mix them together!” I shouted now having returned to the kitchen.

“What?!” Ken and Adam said almost in unison.

“Together, the Everclear and absinthe,” I stated once more. They were both speechless and merely exchanged a series or confused and worried glances trying to figure if A) I was being serious, and B) what the fuck should they say. Keep in mind, I’m a very large man, at least 300 pounds, and I love to fight so I completely understand their hesitation to reply. Ken decided to be brave:

“I mean, I think you could die man. That’s like the purest alcohol. Next to like, rubbing alcohol.”

“Die?!” I started, “I’m a fucking viking warlord! I’ll be fine.”

SIDENOTE: I’m half Finnish so when I get drunk I like to refer to myself as a viking even though I don’t think there were any Finnish vikings. If any of you have more knowledge on this subject please comment and educate me because I’m an idiot that went to college on a football scholarship, therefore I’m the epitome of a dumb jock.

“Bro,” Adam chimed in, “This is some dangerous shit. I mean, you can drink like a champ, but this is a really bad idea.” I stared at both of them for what felt like an eternity.

“I’ll be fine, let’s do this,” the famous last words of an idiot.



Mistakes Were Made (Part One)

I’m sure it comes as no surprise to anyone that I love to drink (I’m almost always drunk when I write something for this blog. Hence the litany of typos that I refuse to change even after I sober up because I don’t care and no one reads these devil words that closely anyway).

I’m pretty sure I’ve consumed just about every type of alcohol available, and if you’re like me (an alcoholic) then you have probably made some drink combinations that were vile and could peel the paint off a boat, but you probably also finished said drink only to have some sort of negative consequences. This is one of my favorite times.

(Frat story approaching just FYI)

So two of my brothers, Ken and Adam (neither of their real names), were going on simultaneous trips and I had a rule at our house, if you go to another state you have to bring back a local beer (I’m a huge fan of cool local brews if you’ve never read my yelp page which I highly recommend). Instead of beer, they both brought me something much better. Ken brought Everclear (the real stuff not that cheap garbage they sell in Minnesota) and Adam brought a bottle of absinthe (I’m assuming not legit absinthe that makes you hallucinate and shit but it was still pretty damn cool.) Naturally, my reaction was like when I’d wake up on Christmas morning and my parents had stayed awake all night to build some giant elaborate toy or structure for my siblings and I. Alcohol is adult Christmas. God bless my parents and God bless my former housemates.

First thing I did was rip the cap off the Everclear and pour shots (because I’m a sadist.) Now, regular vodka is bad enough to do shots with but Everclear should not be allowed on store shelves, this shit serves no purpose except to make large batch death brew for an awful party. Ken and Adam immediately refused the shots but being the housemaster (and much larger) I made them. They both wretched at the smell and nearly died from the taste while I couldn’t control my violent laughter.

“Let’s try the absinthe!” I shouted like a viking warlord thirsty for blood. They both responded with pained groans but ultimately agreed.

Absinthe is so cool. It came with this medieval spoon and it’s fucking green! It looks like something from a science fiction movie. I pulled the cork out and started to pour a drink for myself.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,”  Ken said hesitantly.

“Yeah he’s right bro,” Adam chimed in, “You have to use that spoon and pour it over sugar.”

“Sugar?!” I yell/ask.

“Yeah bro, sugar.”

“Well fuck that! I’m on Atkins!” I yelled as I continued to pour the absinthe into the nearest vessel by me. (SIDE NOTE: I was not on Atkins and I have no idea what Atkins is even to this day).

The green liquid smelled awful,for those that don’t know, absinthe has a very distinct black liquorice flavor, but that didn’t stop me from downing the green substance in one painful swallow.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Adam said.

“Fuck you, it’s the best idea,”I’m such a clever drunk.

Adam then proceeded to place a sugar cube on the fancy spoon and pour the absinthe over it into another glass and it became clear! Fucking clear! This stuff is so cool. It tasted much better with the sugar. I was proven wrong once again.


Deal with it. Part two will be out shortly. I didn’t want to write one long alcohol saga so I made a multi part epic. Enjoy this while I sleep off my hangover.


After School Special

“Come on man, you’re going to love it I promise,” Jake said while holding a marijuana pipe in his hand.

I had never done anything beyond having too much to drink so this was quite a new experience for me despite being in my twenties. The idea of drugs still seemed scary and dangerous as all those teachers in grade school had made it seem. Indeed, I was a truly ignorant child.

“I swear, you’re going to love it,” Jake assured once more as he handed me his pipe.

“I don’t even know what to do,” I said both honestly and ashamed at my inexperience.

“It’s easy, just put your thumb over the hole on the side, light the top, and take a big inhale. It’s just that easy.” I did just as he instructed.

As the smoke traveled through my mouth down my throat it felt as if a thousand very sharp knives were stabbing my esophagus. I coughed instantly and Jake began laughing hysterically.

“That was really good,” he said, the pride beaming from his eyes knowing he had taken my narcotics virginity.

“Let’s go for a drive,” he said with a big grin on his face.

We jumped in his hot rod and began cruising down country roads taking rips off his pipe. I felt like I was the coolest person in the universe.

I wish I could say we got into all sorts of drug addled shenanigans or got arrested and make this a cautionary tale, but we didn’t. We drove around, smoked pot, went home and watched a television documentary about super volcanoes. At some point in the night I switched to alcohol and passed out on the couch. I woke up the next morning to find Jake sleeping in the bath tub. Apparently he finished our vodka and thought the tub was a safe place to sleep. Moral of the story, drugs are fun.

Please Don’t.

This is another story from my fraternity years.

Do any of you have a friend (or friends perhaps?) that are absolutely clueless? I certainly do. His name is Matt (not his real name) and Matt is a nice guy, but he’s about as intelligent as a wet rock.

I was throwing a party many years ago and I invited one of best friends and personal adviser Sarah (also not her real name). A little background on Sarah, she was about five feet tall, if not shorter, and she was very very very pretty, like crazy beautiful. She always took great care of herself and dressed to the nines, HOWEVER Sarah was also a lesbian. TWIST RIGHT?! And when I say lesbian, I’m not talking about some college girl that’s a “casual lesbian” and makes out with her friends after one too many tequila shots. I’m talking about the fact Sarah has (probably) fucked more girls than me, and I’m a human petri dish.

SIDE NOTE: Guys, if you want to get laid beyond all belief, like so much your dick’s going to fall off, have a girl as your wing man, trust me. Ladies, what makes you more comfortable: another girl or some sweaty dude named Chad?? I rest my case.

ANYWAY: flash forward to my party featuring clueless Matt and very gay Sarah. Sarah looks amazing and Matt, well, looks like Matt. Matt sees Sarah across the room and instantly falls in love with her.

“Dude, who’s that?” Matt asks me.

“Oh, that’s my friend Sarah. She fucking awesome.” I say very casually.

“Have you ever, you know… done stuff?” Matt asks very seriously while I attempt to stifle my laughter.

“No. No we have not.” I say with a straight face.

“Do you mind if I ask her out?”


Do I tell Matt about Sarah being crazy gay, or do I let him off his normally short and quiet leash and experience the sweet satisfaction of life?

“Fuck no dude, go for it,” I say. Looking back on it… I have no regrets.

Matt approaches Sarah and starts talking to her, and surprisingly it’s going very well. It’s natural, it’s fun, I’m in the background praying Sarah doesn’t kick this guy’s ass for asking her out.

Matt finally makes his move: “Would you want to go out sometime?” His face was so pure and innocent, and Sarah starts to laugh which makes me laugh HARD.

“I’m really sorry man,” Sarah starts, “But I’m gay.” Matt looks like he’s never heard that word before.

“So… is that a no?” Matt responds. In a fit of hysterical laughter I drag Matt away before he got his ass kicked by a small woman.

In a White Room

Intro: This is a piece I wrote some time ago for a school project. It’s been a great while since I posted on here. I’m hoping to start posting more pieces again.

I release a desperate plea for air from my heaving chest as if I’m awakening from an underwater exorcism. All I see is white, but not perfect white like some padded room in a loony bin, it’s more off-white like the dull monochromatic glow from too many fluorescent lights in a cheap call center. There’s a man at a desk sitting across from me, was I just hypnotized?

“No, you weren’t just hypnotized,” the man says.

“Holy shit, can you read my mind?”

“What? No, you literally just said that out loud,” the man replies in a tone that sounds rehearsed.

“That sounds rehearsed,” I reply.

“What do you mean by rehearsed?” The man asks with clearly fake curiosity.

“You know, like you knew what I was going to say and you planned all this out ahead of time.”

“How could I have planned this if you didn’t even think you were talking in the first place?” He replies while writing something on a clipboard. It strikes me as odd that there’s nothing on his desk, no paper, no books, not even a computer or one those giant desk calendars that always get coffee spilled on them and then you’re forced to either live with the stain or throw the damn thing away.

“Why is there nothing on your desk?” I ask.

“What would I need on my desk?” He replies.

“I don’t know, office stuff I guess? At least a book or something.” He continues to write on his clipboard without looking up at me.

“I have a clipboard,” he replies.

“I can see that,” he says nothing for awhile. I sit in silence and listen to the dull scratching of his pencil on paper.

“Look man,” I break the silence, “why am I here? Am I being evaluated or something? Did I have a mental breakdown? Where the fuck am I? And for that matter, what the hell is so damn fascinating about me that you feel the urge to continuously write on that piece of paper?” The man sighs, sets the clipboard on the desk, folds his hands and looks at me for the first time since I woke up.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” he says.

“Please don’t,” I respond.

“You’re dead.”

“Excuse me?” My tone is not amused.

“You’re dead,” he says again.

“I’m dead?”

“Yes, you’re dead.”

“Like right now?”

“Correct.” I look around the office just to make sure I’m not having a vivid, yet boring, dream.

“Is this some sort of boring dream?” I ask.

“Well if you consider death to be boring I suppose so,” he replies.

“So this is a dream?”

“Oh no, you’re definitely dead.” I look around again, this time touching my face and arms.

“Are you sure?”


“Then how am I here?”


“Here, right here, in this room?!” My tone gets substantially louder.

“There’s no need to shout,” his tone is so calm it causes me to correct my volume.

“Sorry, where am I?”

“You’re in the afterlife.”

“The afterlife, you mean, like heaven?”

“Well, not heaven, more like purgatory I suppose.”


“Yes, not literally, just similarly.”

“How the hell did I get here?”

“You died.”

“And you’re not fucking with me?”

“Not at all.”

“How’d I die?”

“You were shot.”

“I was shot?!” I start shouting again.

“Well yeah, why is that surprising to you? It happened while you were looking right at the man who shot you. It’s not like an assassination.”

“Shit man.”


“So what do we do now? You know, with this whole purgatory thing. For that matter is this how it is for everyone?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, with all the religions in the world, does everyone go through this rigamarole regardless of their beliefs?”

“Well, I can’t speak to the specifics of other faiths, but it’s different for everyone. The afterlife is catered to the individual based on their personal beliefs.”

“So every religion is right?”

“Yes and no.”

“Well, what’s the no option?”

“Consider this,” the man starts, “what religion are you?”

“Nothing I guess, is that an option?”

“Of course, now if you believed in nothing but were a stellar person there’d be a few more options.”

“Such as?” I ask.

“We’re not going to worry about that because you’re not a stellar person.”

“Harsh, I didn’t think I was especially terrible.”

“You weren’t, but you weren’t great either.”

“So what does that mean for me?”

“That’s where I come in.”

“And what exactly are you?”

“I am your Afterlife Reassignment Guide.”

“Congrats, what does that mean?”

“It is my job to help you with your transition into the next stage of your metaphysical evolution.”

“Seems legit.”


“So what’s going to happen to me?”

“You’re going back to Earth.”


“Yes, as a ghost.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re going to be a ghost.”

“A ghost?”

“Yes, a ghost.”

“Like a traditional ghost?”

“Are there other types ghosts?”

“I suppose not. What am I going to be doing as a ghost exactly?”

“Your spirit will wander the Earth until a suitable full time existence has been determined for you.”

“Is there anything specifically I should do as a ghost? Like, do I haunt people?”

“Only if you want to be a total dick. For the most part you’re going to wander around and I’m going to check in with you to see how you choose to spend your time. If you spend it wisely and fulfill your purpose, the we can discuss a more suitable afterlife for you once one has been determined.”

“And what if I do nothing?”

“You’ll remain a ghost.”

“Can people see me?”

“Some are more in tune to the spiritual realm than others, but to most you’ll be completely unnoticed.”

“So what about all the horrible people in this world that don’t believe in anything, what happens to them?”

“They get my job. Have a fun afterlife.” Before the man can complete his sentence another blinding light removes my consciousness and everything fades to white.  

Draft- Cart Pusher- Part One

NOTE: This is the first part of a TV script I wrote awhile back. I want to go back and do some heavy revisions but I figured I would post what I started with. Originally, I was shooting for a hybrid workplace and young adult drama. Again, this is a VERY rough start, and I apologize for the formatting, I copied it from another file and I was too tired to change anything.


A cookie cutter department store rests in the center of a neighborhood that isn’t quite bustling enough to be considered a city, but it definitely isn’t Podunk enough to ever be thought of as a small town. People file through the electronic doors in an orderly fashion. The parking lot is nearly full as the early afternoon crowds hit the stores for some shopping. One by one the stored gradually becomes more filled with bored teenagers and desperate housewives searching for something to make their families for dinner.


(Nick, Mike, Brett, Jake & some extras for scenery)

Enter on a poorly lit break room of a department store. The room is relatively large, but the walls are the most depressing shade of grey that has ever been created. An out dated television is broadcasting some sort of local program as no one pays attention, it is merely serving as background noise to the mind numbing boredom of part time labor. At a cafeteria style lunch table in the corner two young, twenty somethings, discuss their plans for the night ahead of them. They both are speaking in hushed voices so their conversation is not overheard by unwanted ears.



What about the new guy?


What about him?


Should we invite him? I mean, he seems normal enough.


I’m almost positive if you were to talk to anyone that has ever intimately known a serial killer, the words “normal enough” are sure to occur at some point.


I’m sure he’s fine. I just want as many people as possible to be there.


Listen, we just moved in together, and the last thing I want is to get evicted within our first week.


Mike, I understand and respect your concern, but I also need you to understand, that there is no goddamn way this party is not going to be the single greatest social event of our lives. Thus far anyway.


Do you honestly believe, for one second, that I wouldn’t want to throw the biggest party these people have ever seen? I just think we should hold off for a couple weeks until we’re fully settled. Come on man, have you even finished unpacking yet?


No, but that’s only because I was planning on doing it after the party. I don’t want my valuables to get destroyed from drunk strangers and slutty girls.


Your valuables?


Yeah my valuables.


And what valuables have you been hiding from me for all this time?


Mostly my CD collection, but there’s some rare pressings in there.


Nick, I mean this with all the love I would give to a sibling or parent, but your stuff is worthless.


You’re so cynical, does sentimental value mean nothing to you?


You don’t want me to answer that question.


(Before Nick can respond their coworker Brett grabs a seat at the same table and tries to jump in on the conversation.)



What’s up whores? So is all this talk I’ve heard about a party tonight true, or is everyone just fucking with me?


Well gee Brett, I don’t know, you’re gonna have to talk to my man Mike here because he’s trying to shut the whole thing down before it even starts.


Mike, why you got to hate fun so much?


I don’t hate fun, and I would greatly appreciate it if you could keep your fucking voice down because the last thing I want is every idiot in this place to know that we’re throwing a party tonight.



So you guys are having a party tonight?


Mike’s afraid that we’re going to get thrown out.


Didn’t you guys just move in?


Just last week.


Then why are you being such a pussy?


That’s a valid question Mike.


I don’t think being homeless is such a good choice right now.



Well I’m assuming most of your stuff is probably still in boxes so I mean, even if you did get thrown out, the move would be a little easier. Besides, what place is going to throw you out after one party? As long as you don’t set the house on fire, what’s the worst that could happen?


What about the cops?


What about the cops? We’re all adults.


Nick wants to invite the new guy.


I wouldn’t do that, he looks like a serial killer.


He looks normal enough!


Then you go right ahead and invite him over, but when you wake up dead, you can bet your ass I’m going to say “I told you so” at your funeral.


You’re too kind.


Hey, don’t get me wrong, I’ll be sad and all that shit, but being right is always important even after someone has died.


I believe Gandhi said that.


I’m inviting the new guy. You guys can deal with it.



Honestly, I don’t give any amount of fucks who comes, I just want to get hammered.


Sounds fair. So Mike, can we have a party?


Yeah Mike, can we have a party?


Jesus, you two are pushy, alright fine we can have a fucking party, but if anything happens I’m telling our landlord this was all your idea.


That’s fine with me.


So, who else should we invite tonight?


I thought you said you didn’t care who came tonight.


I don’t, I’m just curious.


Well, I’m assuming you’re going to bring Neil as your plus one.


Real funny dickhead, but yeah he and I are a package deal.


Who else?


What about Jake?


Well yeah, he always has weed and he’s willing to share.


If you invite Jake, then you better make sure you don’t invite Hillary.


Why not? They’re a great couple.


A great couple that technically isn’t supposed to be together.


Can I just say, I think that whole rule is bullshit by the way?


What rule?


You know, coworkers can’t date each other.


No, no, no, you got it wrong, you see, the three of us can date any other employee we want, as long as they’re our equal, but Jake can’t date anyone affiliated with this store because he’s a manager. Corporate doesn’t give a fuck about “office romances” they don’t want anything that can even remotely be considered nepotism.


That’s fucked up.


Yeah, no shit.


I’m inviting them both. I don’t care.


Are you fucking deaf or just an asshole? I just explained the situation to you and that’s your reaction.


It’s a party, what do you expect? Even if anyone found out about it, it wouldn’t matter. It’s not like they’re going on a date together. They’re meeting a group of mutual friends after work for a couple of drinks to unwind. There’s nothing wrong with that.


Are managers allowed to spend time with their employees outside of work?


Technically yes, it’s frowned upon, but there’s no official rule saying they can’t.


So, you can “hang out” with them, you just can’t fuck them.


To be fair, the rules don’t forbid sex, they just forbid “romance.”


Perfect, that just means whenever someone bangs a chick from their office they need to do it with the lights off and no eye contact.


I wasn’t aware there was any other way.

Draft- Far From Wall Street- Part One

NOTE: This is a VERY rough draft of a script I’ve been working on. It’s only the first few pages and I will post the rest in pieces due to the size. It’s very loosely based in some reality. I come from a very white collar background; I’ve spent the entirety of my professional life in offices and I can honestly say it has been the best times of my life. Aside from my wife and family, my job is the best part of my life, and I wanted to create a potential series based around these experiences. Again, this not auto biographical, but there’s real world inspiration.



A gorgeous board room containing ten eager twenty something men dressed in refined business wear sit and listen anxiously to a man in his forties at the front of the board room addressing the group. One young man Calvin, sits and glances around the room attempting to mask his boredom. The man in his forties continues speaking with a general lack of interest.


After one month here at First National, half of you will be fired.

This grabs Calvin’s attention whose eyes dart to the front of the room. The man continues speaking in a ‘matter of fact’ tone.


This may come as a surprise to some of you, but I’m sorry to say, that’s just the way things work here.

A random young man from the group raises his hand.


Excuse me sir, but if half of us are going to be leaving, then why did the company hire ten new employees? Why not just hire five?


Because the fact is, not all of you are going to succeed here. The company has found that, on average, from every ten new employees, only five have what it takes to be competent associates. So why hire two people when you can hire one that can handle the workload of two? This is a cutthroat industry and the only way to guarantee a position at this company is to make as much money as possible. I’m not going to lie to any of you, this job has the potential to ruin lives. I’ve seen a lot of people come through here who end up folding shirts at the mall only a few weeks later, but you’ve got to be willing to gamble your livelihood on the fabulous prizes. Any questions?

No one says anything. The room is filled with terrified looks and enthusiastic grins.


Perfect, if you’ll all follow me I will get you set up with your work center.

The man leads the group of young men to a pair of ornate double doors. He throws the doors open and the scene on the other side resembles a country amid a civil war. Dozens of men and women are standing and shouting on their phones while others attempt to crouch under their desks for silence. Papers fly, people curse, and bodies run by in pure chaos.


Welcome to the Call Center gentlemen, your new home.

The man starts dispersing the group amongst the vast floor of madness. The room is not divided by offices or cubicles instead, it’s a series of adjoining desks divided into separate communes amongst a wide open floor. The group gradually thins until Calvin and one other guy are left.


Alright, you two are going to be working here in Lot F, find an open desk and get situated.

The man wanders off and disappears amidst the insanity. Calvin sets his backpack down on the first empty space he can find and the second young man sits at the opposite end of the Lot. The man next to Calvin is speaking on the phone in a calm manner, Calvin tries to not look like he’s listening as he slowly empties his bag but he can’t help but listen to this man talk; his demeanor doesn’t match the rest of the office, he’s cool, relaxed, and talks slow. Calvin notices the placard on the man’s desk it reads “Mark Cather.”


(On the phone)

Hey, I completely understand sir, and I apologize tremendously for the inconvenience, but what I’ve done for you today I, I have waived the late fee, but I have to tell you, that this balance will need to be paid in full before the end of the month or else I won’t be able to waive the next fee.

(Listening to customer)

Uh huh, well that sounds great sir, if there’s nothing else I can do for you, you have a great day, and thank you for choosing First National.

Mark hangs up and turns his chair towards Calvin. Calvin averts his eyes and stares at his belongings on the desk hoping Mark didn’t notice him watching.


(Extending hand)

Hey! A new guy, how’s it going man? I’m Mark, looks like we’re going to be work mates. What’s your name bro?


(Shaking hand)

I’m Calvin.


That’s awesome man, you excited to be here?


Yeah, definitely man, I mean, I’m nervous but it’s a good kind of nervous.



Yeah I hear you man, this place still scares the hell out of me, but trust me, things only gets easier from this point forward.


I think the guy that trained us would disagree with you.


Who, Frank? Forget about that guy. Frank has been here longer than anybody and he still gets passed over for managerial positions, he’s a miserable dick. This place isn’t nearly as bad or as scary as Frank would like you to believe. Did he tell you guys about how half of you are going to get fired over the next month?


Yeah he did. Is that not true?


No, it’s definitely true, but that’s only because most people can’t handle the pressure that comes along with this job. Take a look around. You see all these people? They’re all going to die, and I’m willing to bet that most of those deaths are going to be from something stress related. Once you realize that, nothing seems that important. Here’s the fact about this job, yes sales are not only important they’re mandatory, but they should never be your number one priority. Your number one priority should be customer service. You see, this place is basically just an elaborate customer service center, except we’re all dressed much better, and as long as you can keep the customers happy, then you’ll be fine.


What about the sales?


Most people prefer to be aggressive and shove every product and service our bank offers down everyone’s throats, but me, I prefer to keep the customers satisfied and the sales come naturally. You need to let the customer come to their own conclusions. We are only here to provide information to help them make the best decision possible. The customer will be happy, you’ll save yourself a couple hospital bills, and the company will still make money, you won’t be the number one salesman but it will surely be enough to keep your job. Have you ever heard the expression ‘never take no for an answer?’




Well forget it, completely erase it from your memory, that’s how rapists think and we’re not here to rape anyone. Are you a rapist Calvin?


Oh God no!


Well that’s good because I’ve got to tell you, I’m not comfortable working in close quarters with a rapist. But anyway, over the time I’ve been here, I’ve altered the phrase to ‘never take maybe for an answer.’




Yes, maybe. You see, maybe usually means probably, the customer just needs a little more information to make an educated decision, and that’s what I do. I provide a stress free, educated environment for everyone that contacts me.


That makes a lot of sense. Why don’t more people act like that?


Because I don’t make many sales this way. If the customer doesn’t feel pressured then they don’t feel like they need whatever it is you’re trying to sell. They need to believe that they need whatever it is your talking, and in a pressure free environment, the need disappears. So while my commission checks are smaller I like to believe my soul remains intact for not selling someone something they definitely do not need.


Morals over money.


Exactly. I think we’re going to get along. Let me ask you something, you get high?


Um, what? Like, on drugs?


Well I’m not talking about getting high on life. Yeah bro, like weed.


Um, yeah, sorry, should we be talking about this here? I mean, someone could hear us.



No one cares about that here. Didn’t you think it was weird that you didn’t have to take a drug test?


I guess I never really thought about it.


Like I said man, this is a stressful job, I don’t know a single person here that doesn’t do drugs, and we’re not just talking about weed bro, if you take a lap around the office you’ll come across at least a dozen people doing enough shit to stock a pharmacy, a pretty sketchy pharmacy, but you get the idea.


You can’t be serious.


Oh yes I can I’m willing to bet that half the people here right now are fucked up right now on any assortment of narcotics, and I suppose booze as well, but we don’t really count that around here.


You don’t count alcohol?


Of course not. Alcohol is categorized with coffee and water to these people. It’s just something to get you through the day.


So, no one cares?


Hell no! Here, watch this.

Mark stands up and peers over the crowded office and yells as loud as he possibly can.


Hey Will! Will!

A man’s head pokes up through the crowd about twenty feet away.


What do you want Mark?!



Do you want to get high at lunch with the new guy?


No, I can’t, I have to work through lunch today. What about after work?


Alright, sounds good bro, we’ll talk later!

Mark sits back down and sees Calvin, whose now slack jawed and speechless.


So, want to get high after work?