The throne (pt. 2)
“Oh yeah. He’s doing something in the bathroom that he can’t do in the other rooms of the house.”
“Oh. My. GAAAWWWWWWD!” I squeeze my eyes shut and scream into my hands, while hunching over. Mortifying! Did he just say that? Why did he…? Oh God, why did he…?
“Yeah, he’ll call you back,” my father says before he hangs up the phone.
The sound of his footsteps becomes louder as he approaches the bathroom.
“Steven? Someone called for you. They said it was about a job. Call them back.” I hear him walk away.
After finishing my business, I exit the bathroom to look for my father. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, the newspaper in front of him. Must be calm, I think.
“Uh, pa, why did you tell them that I was in the bathroom? Do you know who these people were?” My left hand rests on my hip, with my arm at a sharp angle, and my right hand scratches my head. My expression is one of confusion and intense rage.
“What did you want me to do? Lie?” he says with no noticeable change of tone. Touché. He is nothing if not truthful.
“Well, you didn’t have to lie, but you could’ve said something else, like I was busy and would call them back. The last thing they want to hear is I was taking a crap,” I reply.
His eyes don’t move from the paper. Conversation over.
Turning on my heel, I run back to the confines of my bedroom. With the door closed, I pick up the phone. Luckily, I have their number memorized.
How will I explain this to them when I call? What the hell am I going to say? Doesn’t my father have the funniest sense of humour? He is such a gas! Uh, wrong choice of words. Maybe I should just stick with the basics. Lie though my teeth.
The rings on the other end are making me nervous again. What if she does pick up? What if she doesn’t want to answer the phone…?
“Hi, this is Coco.”
Shit.
“Oh, hi. This is Steven. You phoned a couple of minutes ago. I was a little busy.” My forehead is sweating and I am verging on hyperventilating.
“Uh, yeah. I kinda guessed that from your dad’s response.”
Dad, you fucker.
“Yeah,” I feign a laugh. Not very convincingly. My throat is sore and I muffle a cough with my hand. “So, what’s the news?”
She tells me. It’s not good. We say our goodbyes. Our conversation ends the way it began: awkward and rather abruptly.
Great. So, I know I didn’t get the dream position with the prestigious, internationally-recognized, cultural organization in North America.
My mind begins to wonder why I didn’t get the position. Was it because I was overconfident in my second interview? Was it because I dressed more casually, yet snappily, than usual? Was it because there was someone better than me?
No.
Ultimately, I believe the reason why I didn’t get the job was because my father told them I was taking a crap. Maybe they believe I’m too special to get my ass off the throne to pick up the phone. Not even a king can be in two places at once.
“Oh. My. GAAAWWWWWWD!” I squeeze my eyes shut and scream into my hands, while hunching over. Mortifying! Did he just say that? Why did he…? Oh God, why did he…?
“Yeah, he’ll call you back,” my father says before he hangs up the phone.
The sound of his footsteps becomes louder as he approaches the bathroom.
“Steven? Someone called for you. They said it was about a job. Call them back.” I hear him walk away.
After finishing my business, I exit the bathroom to look for my father. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, the newspaper in front of him. Must be calm, I think.
“Uh, pa, why did you tell them that I was in the bathroom? Do you know who these people were?” My left hand rests on my hip, with my arm at a sharp angle, and my right hand scratches my head. My expression is one of confusion and intense rage.
“What did you want me to do? Lie?” he says with no noticeable change of tone. Touché. He is nothing if not truthful.
“Well, you didn’t have to lie, but you could’ve said something else, like I was busy and would call them back. The last thing they want to hear is I was taking a crap,” I reply.
His eyes don’t move from the paper. Conversation over.
Turning on my heel, I run back to the confines of my bedroom. With the door closed, I pick up the phone. Luckily, I have their number memorized.
How will I explain this to them when I call? What the hell am I going to say? Doesn’t my father have the funniest sense of humour? He is such a gas! Uh, wrong choice of words. Maybe I should just stick with the basics. Lie though my teeth.
The rings on the other end are making me nervous again. What if she does pick up? What if she doesn’t want to answer the phone…?
“Hi, this is Coco.”
Shit.
“Oh, hi. This is Steven. You phoned a couple of minutes ago. I was a little busy.” My forehead is sweating and I am verging on hyperventilating.
“Uh, yeah. I kinda guessed that from your dad’s response.”
Dad, you fucker.
“Yeah,” I feign a laugh. Not very convincingly. My throat is sore and I muffle a cough with my hand. “So, what’s the news?”
She tells me. It’s not good. We say our goodbyes. Our conversation ends the way it began: awkward and rather abruptly.
Great. So, I know I didn’t get the dream position with the prestigious, internationally-recognized, cultural organization in North America.
My mind begins to wonder why I didn’t get the position. Was it because I was overconfident in my second interview? Was it because I dressed more casually, yet snappily, than usual? Was it because there was someone better than me?
No.
Ultimately, I believe the reason why I didn’t get the job was because my father told them I was taking a crap. Maybe they believe I’m too special to get my ass off the throne to pick up the phone. Not even a king can be in two places at once.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
5 Comments:
Hang in there, babe. I'm sure it's probably because she figured what you were producing in the, um, "one man meeting room/library" was better than anything they had to offer you.
60 or 70 years from now, you'll look back on this, and laugh.
Who am I kidding? You'll look back and think, man, I wish I could shit like I did when I was younger. I wish I could do ALOT
of things like I did when I was younger.
And by the way, parents, can't live with them, can't shoot them - unless you're trying for a segment on 60 minutes.
Isn't it amazing how honesty can be such a great trait, right up until it isn't? You know, you could file this experience and save it for your own use later. There will be a time when he's indisposed and gets a call, or church people knock on the door...and you can tell them with confidence (and honesty)that they may have a little wait, because he hasn't been getting enough fiber lately.
adding to the church people thought..........you could still take the little pamphlet, and he could eat it for the fiber, or use it for paper. He'd be saving a valuable resource in the meantime.
I'm sorry. I promise I will go away for awhile, now.
The experience is equivalent to having someone fart in an elevator and telling everyone, "It was me!"
Well, isn't it better to blame not getting the job on you taking a poop, then blame yourself or them?
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