"The time has come," the Valrus said
To talk of many things
Of Hick and drugs and job prospects
And lack of cell phone rings
Also, if Hick can be hired
And how unemployment stings."
Perhaps you recall how Hick has been professing for a over a year now that he's going to get a job at an unnamed pharmacy that operates out of an unmarked storefront on the abandoned plaza in Backroads. How Hick heard from a clerk at Casey's (who no longer works there) that this No-Name Pharmaceutical Den was hiring, and he picked up an application, and was certain that he'd be working the next day. Because the guy he talked to said Hick lived so close that he couldn't wait to start sending him on deliveries.
That's the scratch of the needle of misfortune upon the LP record of life. Hick turned in his paperwork, including a letter from the Social Security office regarding his lost card, before we went to visit The Pony. That was June 6, 7, 8. He heard nothing from his sure-thing employer.
Let the record show that the evening before we left for Oklahoma, HOS (Hick's Oldest Son), who had also applied for one of the delivery jobs at the No-Name Pharmaceutical Den, sent a text that he had been hired, and was going out on a run that very night.
Oh, the irony (I think), so sweet!
All along, Hick had declared that he was a shoo-in for this job. But it was given to HOS over Hick. Which was okay with Hick, because he had gone on and on about what a shame it would be when he got the job, because HOS needed it more than him right now. Heh, heh! Hick even has a Class D driver's license, which is supposedly required, and HOS doesn't.
Of course I've spent many a day ribbing Hick about being by-passed for the job. "Well, I guess you scared them, asking all those questions, and refusing to sign some of the paperwork. Maybe you should have just signed it without reading it, like HOS."
"I can't believe he signed that he'd had safety training, and been given equipment, and all that other stuff that they wanted me to sign. Like I had a copy of their rules, which they don't give out."
Last week, after calling the place several times, asking if they still needed someone, Hick decided to let it go. "I don't really NEED that job. It might interfere with my Storage Unit Store. It would be handy for winter, though, when I'm not selling..."
The next day, a guy from the No-Name Pharmaceutical Den called Hick, to tell him there was a problem with his paperwork, and that he could come by and pick it up. Hick brought home a big folder, with pages he hadn't signed. Which he then signed, even though he still didn't have the information it said he did. Hick said he'd asked the guy about it to clarify that he still didn't have them, and got a partial explanation.
When Hick took his paperwork back, the guy told him, "You know that you have to dress like a professional, right? And make sure you wash your hands, and don't have grease under your fingernails. For example, you could go home and take a shower and get cleaned up, and you'd be okay to make a run."
HAR HAR HAR HAR! I'm not even going with heh, heh. This was freakin' hilarious! Because Hick, even though he leaves smudges on the top of the paper towel roll, never has obviously dirty arms and hands. And he was wearing a pair of jeans, a maroon short-sleeved T-shirt with an emblem from his old workplace. No rips, no stains, and tucked into his belt. HOS, on the other hand, has a penchant for wearing ripped jeans, and shirts with the sleeves cut out.
Anyhoo...on Tuesday, Hick got a call! He was supposed to show up at 8:00 p.m. at the No-Name Pharmaceutical Den, to accompany HOS on a run to the city, as training. That irony (I think) gets sweeter and sweeter! At 9:39, I got a text that Hick and HOS still didn't have their pharmaceuticals to start their run. At 11:20 p.m., they made their first stop. By 12:30, they were on their way home, and got back around 2:00 a.m.
Hick, who's used to 9 hours of sleep every night, was up again at 8:00. He should have been more careful what he wished for.