Picture it: Sicily, 1943...
I have a client who is looking for precision welders. I'm talking MIG and TIG badasses here. They're looking for guys who were born to burn. Part of their interview process is a hands-on weld test that consists of fine welding. Stuff like two razor blades or two Coke cans. For those not in the know, this is typical benchmark work. This is meticulous, slow TIG welding on very thin, tempermental metal. Welders know this as a standard of bravado. My job is to find the capable men and women who can do this level this work.
For ten dollars per hour.
Don't get me started.
Since I'm handicapped by my client's parameters I normally deal only with lower skilled welders who've lied to simply get an interview (or remain on unemployment) or people so fucked financially that ten dollars per hour is the price of their pride.
Today's candidate was a little from column A, a little from column B.
We'll call him "Steve".
Steve is a disheveled man in dirty clothes who hasn't shaved in at least a week. Steve proceeds to wow me with his resume that stretches back some sixteen years. The longest he's had steady work in that time is three years. The rest is a hodge-podge of a few months at employer A, months on unemployment, a week at employer B, months at employer A again, etc... for sixteen years. But he considers those months as full years and has designated them as such. In other words, his resume is totally indecipherable. At this point I'm winging it, asking about work experience, his skillsets, yadda, yadda. I finally decide "To Hell with it" and begin speaking about the position in question.
Me: So, Steve...How's your TIG?
Steve: *grimace* Not so good.
Me: Okay... (Hmmmm. So he lied to my assistant? If he'd have given her that answer I wouldn't be sitting here)
Me: Uh, okay. Well I'm looking for fine welding. Could you weld two razor blades?
Steve: Sure. I could try.
Me: Okay... (I didn't ask if you could try, dude...)
Me: Okay. Could you weld two Coke cans together?
Steve: *eyes me* I could probably do it...
Me: Okay. (Thank you, Jesus. We have progress.)
Steve: ...but I wouldn't want to.
Me: Um. Why?
Steve: You don't want to be welding on Coke cans and containers and such. They'll blow up on ya.
I stare for a second and then I realize this jackass thinks I'm asking him to weld two sealed and full Coke cans together. Now, this in itself is funny, but the next line he uttered was his coop duh gracey.
Steve: *Nods knowingly at me* They'll blow up on ya. They got molecules in there.
I bit my lip and curled my toes under my feet hard. I breathed deep and shallow and simply said "Of course" as if he'd said something completely natural and expected. Say, for instance, "I am a terrible welder".
At that point I'd decided the interview was over. I wasn't wasting a specimen cup on this guy's urinalysis.
Me: Well, Steve, I think we can let you get on with the rest of your day. I'll call you if I get a bite.
Steve: Ain't there a piss test for this job?
Shit. He remembered from the job posting. Caught and knowing I can't lie and say we're out of cups because my co-workers had just had a loud discussion about how many cups we had on hand, I say "Sure, Steve! I totally forgot. Let's get you set up!"
We head to the bathroom and I step into the one-seat shitter and proceed to give my instructions:
Me: Okay, Steve, I'll need you to go ahead and place the sample in the cup, put the lid on tight and place it on the back of the tank. Don't flush. Don't wash. Let me in at that point and once I make sure everything is kosher you can go back to the room and wait for the results.
Steve nods at me and then closes the door with me in the room with him, and him beginning to drop trou. I sigh and exit a moment before the splashing begins. I stand outside the door listening and thinking "Thank god I'm done with this guy."
I hear the doorknob turn and I begin to step towards it. Beating me to the punch, Steve steps into the hall and thrusts his full urine specimen jar right in my face with a hearty "Here!"
I'm not squeamish and I don't mind fluids. I wear gloves and observe universal precautions. But Jesus, dude! Just as I'm taking the cup in hand and politely moving it and his still-grasping hand from my face, I see it: the fairly noticeable line of piss dribble trailing up the back of his hand. For a moment I'm revolted. Then I start wondering about the physics involved. Did he attempt some sort of boner-pissing? And underhand pass technique? Or did he simply grab his dick with his left hand and piss all over his right hand, wrist and forearm? The mind boggles.
I thanked him and told him he could return to the interview room. He passed his test and I sent him home. After making sure he was safely out of the building I sat down and laughed myself hoarse and put his paperwork in the "Do Not Use" cabinet.
