They Always Find A Way

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Or, as it's more commonly known "The Business District. However, as I'm currently beginning to understand, there have ALWAYS been dragons, I just didn't recognize them behind the three- piece suits, expensive cars, and even more expensive wives. 

 

 I sit at a local bar in "The Valley". It’s one of those expensively decorated places that serve specialized cocktails with strange ingredients and odd favors, but, still contain the regular alcohol and the extra $7 might be for the floating shark gummy candies or a puff of cotton candy on the straw. 

I sit at a local bar in "The Valley". It’s one of those expensively decorated bars that are enveloped in highly varnished pine and brass with leather trimmed bar stools that are supposed to mimic the rustic look of an old Irish pub that are so common in and around Boston. Having never been to Ireland, I can’t vouch for its Irish pub authenticity, but as Boston pubs go it falls fairly in the typical range. I am quite sure, however, that the typical Irish pub cannot boast of quite so much Boston sports memorabilia adorning its walls. I've drank enough of the local IPA to start finding myself in that not too drunk to be unaware of my surroundings, but, to start feeling nostalgic for the youth I had been when I graduated top of my class from a decent university and felt I had the world by the balls. While tracing the lines of the faux Irish bar’s surface, I contemplate the fact that I'm in my mid 30's and nowhere where I thought I'd be. At this point, I assumed I'd own a Brownstone in the Back Bay area, have an amazing, unbelievably beautiful woman who I'm considering proposing to and making at least 175K a year. My reality is, I can barely make it by on the 65K, ever rising rent in the Metro Boston area and live with 3 other roommates. None of which are the woman of my dreams. Just guys like me who have also had their hopes and dreams come crashing into reality and the highlight of their weekends are hoping to land a decent piece of ass over the weekend who doesn't expect to spend the night.

The television in the corner holds no interest for me. It’s tuned into the DOW Jones report that, for most of the people who frequent this bar at this hour, is considered prime time. It’s 7:00 Thursday evening. The bar I sit in contains a crowd that consists of the currently celebrating members of the financial district. In the heart of Downtown Crossing, in a place cleverly named The Valley, I sit and observe. There are females standing in groups of three. Always in threes, like the leaves of poison ivy. The office girls have cleverly converted their day outfits to evening by darkening their lipstick and hanging their power jackets on the chair. Underneath they expose shoulders toned by the office gymnasium’s workout machines. The lower ranking members of the secretarial pool are still dressed in their business casual, although, they, too have darkened their lipstick and have added a mild glow of bronzer. The interns are the most fun to watch. They all changed into tight jeans and barely there tank tops. Taking up residence by the jukebox they are the brightest little gyrating spot in the place. Their goal isn’t an education, it’s a wealthy successful husband. They haven’t yet learned the sad fact of life. Bigwigs fuck down, and marry up. The Bigwigs you can recognize right off the bat. It’s not the suit that gives them away, it’s the red faces. Only at that high a level can you comfortably get drunk and celebrate your successes. Their jobs are relatively secure. The ones surrounding them are the Sharks. They hold their drinks, yet rarely sip from them. They are constantly on the lookout for that spilling blood, that little bit of bait dangled by their mentors or the minor slip-up their intoxicated mouths may accidentally slip forth. The Sharks are the “yes” men, the ones you can count on in a pinch and the ones you can count on to stab you in the back faster than you can say “corner office”. In between are the few mediocre folks. Comfortably Mediocre. You see very few of those in a bar such as this as they all take their Comfortably Mediocre slowly expanding selves home to their Comfortably Mediocre slowly expanding wives and their Comfortably Mediocre children. The few you do see sit uncomfortably between the bigwigs and the sharks, tugging at their ties and laughing politely at the dirty jokes while all the time their faces expose the fact they would rather be home eating the meatloaf the wife prepared and drinking the beer he has in his hand in front of the TV while watching the Red Sox game instead of in this bar celebrating a success that really has nothing to do with him. A song by the Red Hot Chili Peppers comes on the jukebox. It’s a particularly middle of the road one that I know my mother loves. Its interesting to look back to the days when the RHCP and I were both punk rock. It was a sad day for me when my mother sat in the car with me and turned up the music by a band that had once been relegated by the very same mother to “headphones only“ back in their earlier days before their commercial radio success . I’m not going to sit here and look down on them and call them sellouts because the real fact of the matter is they are sellouts sitting on a pile of money. Integrity and being true to one’s self doesn’t pay the bills. I kept my Mohawk throughout high school and grew it out in collage. By the time I received my degree I had cut it down to business length and convinced myself the length of my hair had nothing to do with my sense of self and my own ideals as a person. My newly shorn self, my power suit, Grateful Dead tie, briefcase, talents and ideals were what I thought would be enough to make it in the business world. All I needed to find was a mentor and a job. The job was easy enough to come by. I was hired by an investment company I did my internship with. The mentor I found after working for the company for a year. Jason Mathers was a person I admired. He had no interest in dirty dealings and shady business. He, like I, wanted to succeed on pure merit. He was a boss I could admire and who’s shoes I could aim to someday fill. We shared ideals, he encouraged my creative suggestions and would readily give me credit for the ideas that were mine. I had felt he had high goals and the intelligence to have a future in the company. His career had advanced to a nice mid-level by the time I met him and my plan was to ride his coattails to the top by learning, growing and earning the respect of my peers and higher ups. Future growth and success had been the carrot that had been dangled before me to encourage my work ethic. The harsh reality had taken five years to sink in. The carrot set forth in front of me I’ve come to realize will remain forever out of reach. My respected mentor has become my roadblock stemming the flow of my career with empty promises. His lack of motivation to advance his career has in turn blocked mine, for if he does not move on to a higher position I can’t in turn move up into his. Jason Mathers is Comfortably Mediocre. His life is settled, his salary in a high enough range to pay his bills, send his kids to a decent college and take the wife on a second honeymoon once a year. His needs are simple, his life comfortable and he has no need to take on the stress of a higher position. I understand his reasons, yet I grow resentful of his position. My high ideals, youthful optimism and naïve view on the world have led me here to this valley of crossroads both literally and figuratively in this case. As I get more and more drunk off my pretentious Bostonian IPA the quiet anger I have inside builds to a fiery intensity. My life feels wasted. The thirty-six years I’ve spent focusing on my career have been a wash. I’m too old to advance and to young to retire. Forced into Comfortably Mediocrity I’m anything but comfortable. Work has always been my main focus. I had always lived under the assumption I would “be someone” and that I was “going somewhere”. Personal relationships were put on hold to be something I would focus on at some future time when my career had panned out. I would date, of course. Woman would be with me also under the assumption that I was “going somewhere” but usually after several months or even several years would figure out I was not. Things would have been better for me if I has taken a cue from the woman in my life and realized the standstill instead of remaining in denial for ten years. Instead of building roots I’ve lived like a tumbleweed, only tumbleweeds probably go much further in the span of their lives.. The career I’ve aimed for has suddenly become a job. My focus is gone and now I’m just existing into retirement. The cash register rings and calls to mind George Bailey in “its a Wonderful Life”. It's unfortunate that Clarence the angel couldn’t come down and show me my life’s worth. George Bailey may have been in debit and on the brink of losing everything while he cried into his beer at the bar, but, lets face the fact that he was losing a Savings & Loan inherited from his father. His career had been handed to him and that ungrateful sap needed an angel to make him appreciate it. My father was a mechanic and my mother a secretary (not a Customer Service Representative, just a secretary). The only thing I had inherited from them were useless morals and an unrealistic sense of optimism. The pretentious Bostonian IPA buzz has not only fueled a hot burning ember of anger in my stomach, it is festering that sorry-for-yourself feeling that is best wallowed in and marinated sufficiently by a nice smooth ale. Not even “Comfortably Mediocre” I fall into just plain “Mediocre”. If I were a pudding, I’d be vanilla. The Mohawk I sported in my high school years were a result not of a need to fit in, but a need to stand out. Nothing about me had ever set me apart. Standing at 5’9, with sandy blond hair and hazel eyes I am neither attractive nor unattractive enough to stand out in a crowd. Mid-level intelligence and a sense of humor of the type I can laugh at jokes, but rarely am quick enough to make my own. Mohawks on 36 year old business men will most certainly make one stand out, but in a crazy man on the bus sort of way. At my age being weird is just being weird.

Suddenly, the door swings open. Not such an unusual occurrence in such a venue. Neither was the smell of early November in New England. The particular blend of the dusty end of fall, the hint of early frost and a smoky undertone, almost like sulfur and a campfire. But, the breeze felt different somehow and with it brought the most exotically beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life. Her skin was so dark, it almost gave off a blue sheen. Her eyes were blue, almost silver and stood out against her dark skin like the glass cat's eye marbles I had played with as a child. Her hair was braided in multiple braids and the ends of them danced around her waist as if they had a life of their own. She wore a white long sleeve, but low cut dress, and judging by the way her nipples jutted out, she wasn't wearing much underneath in spite of the slight chill in the air. I saw folks turn to her, glance over her breasts appreciatingly, but, went back to their celebrating, drinking and showing off. It seemed as if I were the only one in the room who could fully see this woman, this woman, unlike any other I have ever seen. I don't know if it was because the two chairs on either side of me at the bar were the only ones available, or if she also felt my eyes on her and figured (correctly) I would buy her drinks all night just to be able to sit next to her, but, she sat on the chair to my left, barely looked at me, and asked the bartender to bring her "My usual, and another of whatever the man on my right is drinking". First off, I've come here every Thursday and never saw this woman, let alone would have ever assumed she frequented the place long enough to have a "usual", but, why would this amazing goddess want to buy me, Mr. Mediocre a drink? My night just became 100% more interesting.

Now, I'm not unaccustomed to being flirted with by attractive woman. I'm mediocre, but, not entirely unattractive. I'm relatively fit, and my height, hair and eye color is neither outstandingly attractive, nor outstandingly unattractive. I just don't stand out in any crowd. I'm more of the type that "blends" into a social scene in that Tom Hanks sort of way and usually attract other females that also fit that category. Attractive, relatively fit and reasonably attractive, but, not anywhere near the level of the woman to my left who made even the hottest woman in the room look like a dowdy housewife. And here I am, with her buying me a drink while I'm desperately trying to come up with a reasonable comeback without sounding like a desperate teenager or, worse, like a guy who isn't used to this sort of thing happening to him. I had no worries after she turned those devastating icy eyes that held the power to equally freeze someone in their tracks or turn them into a blazing fire and asked me in a voice that sounded exactly like the smell of the breeze she brought in with her "Are you hungry?". Somehow, at that moment, it was either the comfort of her voice or the IPA , but, my mind, body and soul relaxed and I was instantly at ease. "Hungry?" I replied. "Somewhat, but, I gather from your order you are a regular here and know the drink menu is great, but, honestly, the food choices are sub-par." She laughed, and her braids danced along with her laughter as she casually tossed them over her shoulder and replied "No worries, honey, I know the owners here and I'll order you what I'm going to assume you want, if you don't mind me taking such a presumptuous gesture". Intrigued by her suggestion and her indefinable accent, I agreed. Hell. What guy would refuse? She spoke to the bartender, but I couldn't make out what she was saying over the DOW report and the jukebox being turned up now that it was past midnight. Minutes later a platter appeared in front of us "To share, if you don't mind partaking some nourishment with me, that is"., she had said. The platter consisted of the finest of cheeses, steamed oysters in their shells, shrimp cocktail, the leanest, most delicious marinated thin strips of lamb on a stick kabob style with caviar, truffle mushrooms and an assortment of deliciously styled chocolate mice that I knew were from a prominent chocolate shop in Boston along with some North End mini eclairs. Somewhere between our typical "getting to know you" type conversation, she ordered a bottle of a red wine of a vintage I had never heard of. In the back of my mind, I couldn't believe I had this intoxicating woman who was not only taking interest in me, but I was eating the finest of foods and, she was also, obviously, incredibly wealthy.

As the night went on, we opened the bottle of wine she ordered, and such a wine is one to be savored and appreciated, not a bottle one seeks to become intoxicated from. Also, it doesn't need to be said, by that time, between this amazing woman, the timbre of her voice and the food and wine I had been partaking of, I didn't need there to be any other means of intoxication. My mind and my body was fully alert and almost in that zone of hyperawareness that only comes in such extreme situations. I didn't only want to fuck this woman, I wanted to be inside of her, become part of her and carry her somewhere inside my soul. It didn't matter where we left from The Valley, I knew she would always be with me.

As the night grew on, Boston being the Puritan city it is, rolls up it's sidewalks at 2 AM, I felt more attracted to this woman, more at ease with this woman than I'd ever felt with any other. Because she apparently knew the owners and staff (and was probably quite a great tipper, according to how they catered to her), we stayed in the bar just talking about life, the future and, mostly about me. I've never really met a person, let alone a woman like her, actually take an interest in me and only me. It was always "we" or "US". like, "where do you see US in the future?", "We need to do ____in order to do ___" etc. My thoughts and opinions always became unimportant once I became an "Us" or a "We". It had been so long since someone actually asked about me & only me. However, the bar did eventually have to close, but they allowed her to take the remaining bottle of wine with her. We walked down through the Boston Commons, sat by a pathway that had a small cemetery on one side and much further to the other side was the duck pond. Our conversations stopped being the casual get to know you, but, the deep hearted type of conversations that only happen a few times in a lifetime. The ones that really cut you down to the base level of how you feel sort of thing.

It was at this point I realized two things. One. I wanted to kiss her. Badly and almost to the point of madness, and two, I never asked her what her name is. I felt like an utter shit until I also realized, she never asked for mine, either. So, I took the situation at face value and asked, humbly "Um...you know? I'm really realizing what an asshole I am because here we are, having this amazing night, and trying to figure out a way to kiss you, but, just realized we never exchanged names." She tossed those dancing braids, laughed wholeheartedly and agreed "Yes! We did seem to overlook that point, didn't we?". My Name is Eve. At that point, I shook my nondescript sandy hair and laughed and said "I'm not even joking. My name is Adam". And then she leaned over and kissed me.

I've kissed many a woman. Casually, romantically, pretend romantically just to get laid, but, this was a kiss I'd never experienced. It almost felt like the beginning of a beginning, as crazy as it sounds. I entered the "Twilight Zone" so to speak. She didn't just kiss me, she DRANK me from somewhere I can't define. When we parted from that kiss, she asked me....So....Adam...what is your deepest desire? Now, before You answer, I want you to think about what really your deepest desire is. Ha..beyond your loins, as I'm sure I, along with the pants you are wearing are quite aware of your immediate desires.

If you were offered 3 wishes, knowing the price would ultimately be your soul, would you take those wishes? And, if you took those wishes, do you think you could outwit the Devil himself? We both know you are far more intelligent than most of those bigshots that come to that bar. I saw that in you from the moment I walked in. That’s why I chose you.

I think you could. I've been trying for years. What would your 3 wishes be and do you think you could outwit the Devil Themselves? I Contemplated. A lot. And came to my conclusion.

Yes... Since we are speaking hypothetically....

I'd want to be the wealthiest, most successful person on the planet

I want to meet and spend a lifetime with the love of my life

I'd be immortal

She laughed that beautiful laugh, while her braids danced along as if they were flames in a fire. "So, why did you choose those wishes? I looked at her, in her eyes that spoke of ice, but felt like fire and said. "Because, the first two guarantee me what I want most, but the third wish assures that I'll never die, thus rendering my soul not for sale"

"Adam", she said in that smokey voice while looking at me with those eyes of ice so cold it burns, "The Devil always wins". I laughed and shook my hair in disagreement. Eve held up the bottle of amazing red wine and replied "so, considering this situation is fully hypothetical, shall we drink to it with this delicious blood of the earth and hope you are correct?". It being such a surreal night and being intoxicated by wine and Eve, I agreed. She drank lustfully right from the bottle, as if she were at a frat party and handed it to me where I did the same. Then she kissed, no, drank from me, as if absorbing my soul. That last drink of wine brought out a hidden, more aggressive side of me I wasn't aware existed, and I started kissing her with the same sense of reverence she had kissed me. I drank in the essence of her, the same as she drank from me. The hour was late, the area secluded, but, looking back, I wonder if that would have mattered, but, I felt her breasts, her nipples standing out from either the chill in the air or the heat of desire. The fact she allowed me to remove that white dress so I could fully see her body, in spite of that we were outdoors, I can only assume the latter. I stood back to look at her. In spite of the darkness of her skin, her nakedness glowed beneath the full moon. Her eyes like mirrors , I could see myself in them as she saw me, and within her eyes, I was just as magical. I took off my own clothing, not bothered by the chill of November and went to her.

I've fucked woman, I've made love to woman, but, never have I had an experience such as this. We looked at each other's nakedness, exposed in the moonlight until we joined and melted into one another. It was like a fever dream. Within each other, we explored the wildness of the jungle, the stark heat and bright colors of the desert, the deepest of waters and the vision of the birds high in the sky, feeling the feeling of the wind on our face, being carried in the air, until we both came like a volcanic eruption. She whispered quietly in my ear as I came back to earth, but, still within her, "I am not the love you seek, but we will meet again."

Chapter 2:

I awoke the next morning with the previous night feeling like a fever dream, or more, like it was was flashbacks of a night after drinking too much. However, rather than the dehydrated feeling I've always thought of in my head as the feeling of the dried out top layer of a corn husk, I felt tired, somewhat disoriented, but, shot up with adrenaline simultaneously.

Thursdays, after the DOW prime time, most of the workers arrived in the state of semi-hangover and find me usually amongst them. Today, I woke up disoriented, questioning how much of the previous evening was imagined or actually real. However, it didn't matter. Today I awoke knowing things would be different. I Shit, shaved and showered, same as any other day. I may have instinctively put on one of my better suits, but, still, the "rebel" in me chose a Beatles Yellow Submarine themed tie, hopped onto the T (as Bostonians call it. In every other place on the planet, it's an underground train) and went to work per usual. However, the Front Desk Lady, you know the one. The lady who knows everyone's name, but nobody remembers hers (Janet? Louise? Ann?), never forgets anyone's birthday and will retire, beloved in memory for the fact she remembered everyone else. She (?) stopped me, wearing a grave face, and said in her subtle, yet still existing Southern accent, Adam. I have some awful news. I hate having to tell you this myself. I feel, given how close you were and how long you have worked together, it probably should have been told to you by his wife or another member of the family, but Mr. Mathers passed away suddenly last night. His wife brought him into the ER assuming he was either having an attack of diverticulitis, which we all knew he suffered a bit from (aside from me, I guess?), or, at worse, perhaps a kidney stone. Turns out, it was a massive heart attack, and he was well gone before he got there, God rest his soul. His poor wife called 911, assuming he was having an attack of some sort, without noticing h wasn't even breathing. He was a good man. Good father and a good husband. Also, he was so kind to bring you up the ladder with him? (in that southern way that will somehow, like Canadians, make a statement into a question that anyone outside the relm aren't sure what to reply, so you just give a half smile indicating you understand, even when you don't.)

I was, quite honestly shocked. But I'll also admit, I questioned my job prospects. I followed my mentor into a subset of our company that attempted to make the workplace more "fun, inviting and productive", but considering the fact he valued my input and when he presented them to the Bigwigs, they were mere platitudes, such as team building ideas involving Escape Rooms or Cooking Classes. Things that would force a team to unify & somehow translate this into the workplace. I took my current positive good attitude, surprising lack of hangover into the elevator to the 7th floor per usual, not knowing what would happen from there.

I arrived at the 7th floor to a flurry of what seemed like a full barnyard chicken plucking session. There were words, rumors, and tears ringing through the entire department. Some were innocent "he had a heart attack while hugging his daughter after she announced her engagement!", or less innocent "He died in his wife's arms just after making love", or even less innocent "he was found with a prostitute....and a male one at that!". The truth of the matter is, he had an uneventful dinner with his family, the kids who were still living at home went to bed and his wife said she was going to bed, to which he said, "OK, dear. I'll be up to join you right after this episode". I don't know what television show he was watching, it somehow seemed impolite to ask, but all I can say is. Mr. Jason Mathers, I hope you at least saw the end of the episode before we saw the end of yours.

Chapter 3

Now, Mathers being my mentor, I still had no idea where that left me and my job position. According to the law, companies need to publicly post a job, even if they knew someone is an obvious candidate for the job, which, as his protégé, I clearly was. But, we can't assume anything anymore these days, can we? I knew I needed to apply for the position that should have naturally come to me, and, yes, I will admit, the business industry knowledge has a shorter shelf life than un-refrigerated fish. Technology moves faster and faster and there are people being hired fresh out of school who have been offered a higher pay rate than myself after 16 years of experience. They have the advantage of being more up to date, but, on a more subtle degree, they are younger, have more longevity and because they are young, active and instead of binge-watching TV, they went mountain climbing, got into cross fit, took up Keto or Vegan diets and were less of a strain on the insurance companies, who started taking on expenses such as "wellness encouragement" and putting focus on "end of life discussions".

The Desk Lady came into my office at a moment where I had my face in my hands that she presumed as grief, rather than future financial despair and said in her soft spoken, slightly southern accent, "Mr. Adam. Mr. Breakman would like to meet with you." To which I sat up like a firework ready to go off. "Mr. Breakman? Are you sure", to which she replied "well, honey, I'm assuming we are both referring to the same Mister, unless you know of another one located on the 13th floor penthouse office." And she left the room like the whisper she came from.

Nervous as fuck, but, completely glad I wore my best suit and My Beatles Yellow Submarine tie. Therefore, showing the persona I wished to project. Class, dignity, but still had a whimsical, creative edge, I took the elevator up from floor 7 to 13. It was only 6 floors, but, felt like 3 times as long.

I entered Mr. Berkman's office and realized on the outside of the building, the building was a complete rectangle, but somehow, his office somehow portrayed a circle. Mr. Breakman was obviously accustomed to this reaction, because before I said a word, he said "Remarkable, isn't it how just using smoke and mirrors, we can change one's entire perception of our reality?" I had to nod in agreement, but still had an odd feeling of vertigo and wasn't quite ready to open my mouth, in case the wrong things started to, quite literally, come out. It took, perhaps only a minute or two to regain my foothold on my reality, and, because it was an amazingly clear day, the view was spectacular. Mr. Breakman pointed out way beyond us, the other highest peak that could be seen from his office was Mount Washington. Only visible on a clear, cloudless early November day such as this.

He sat me down, initially at a small wooden desk and chair that seemed out of character of the office overall, until he explained that the table and chairs belonged to Edgar Allen Poe, himself. Upon that statement, I was impressed for 2 reasons. First, he somehow sought out these particular pieces and, more important, he actually used them for their intended purpose, rather them than keep them behind curtains safe from the tourists and their camera flash. It was there that he told me I was special.

He had platters of food, wines of the finest vintage, one I recognized from that fever dream of my last night's escapades. We ate, drank and had a full Bacchanalian feast at the table once owned by Mr. Poe Himself.

After consuming some amazing food and that incredible wine, Mr. Breakman decided this was the point where I was the most relaxed and therefore most honest, he subtly started the interview process. Mr. Breakman started our conversation with some generalized small talk, until he felt I was loose enough, relaxed enough from the decadent food and wine. Thats where the real interview began. It started with the usual questions about my education, experience and what I felt were my strengths and weaknesses. Then the questions that executives throw out randomly (or, what they feel are random), such as "recently a situation arose and it was managed _________way. How do you feel about their decision and how would you have handled it, if you were the one in charge?

I'm not unfamiliar with these tactics, while the interviewer feels they are original, they really aren't and the intention of them is obvious. They want to catch you off guard to see how you'd manage a sudden change of circumstances. Usually, I would give my prepared answer as I've studied interview tactics, but, at this point, with my immediate supervisor having passed on and knowing full well I'm the prime candidate for the job, I disregarded every interview tactic I'd ever learned. Hell. At this point, I was either an immediate shoo-in or completely jobless. When you don't have anything, you don't have anything to lose, right? So I was completely honest. The more questions he threw at me, the more honest I got. "So, Adam, what do you feel the employees want most to make them feel valued and avoid our high turnover rate?" "Well, Mr. Breakman, one of the biggest complaints amongst the staff is if the company closes due to weather, they are forced to take their own, well earned PTO time, rather than the company choosing to pay them regardless, or at least have the option to take the time off unpaid. Considering the company is based in the Southern States, this may not be a huge problem for most employees who live in the warmer parts of the country, however, in New England, we all "budget" at least 5 days out of out PTO time for our unpredictable weather. For example, I have 5 weeks vacation per year, however, I only actually take one vacation per year at the beginning of the rollover period to make sure I at least get one real vacation and, if I'm lucky enough to submit a day or two that conjoin with a long weekend, it's a bonus, but, first come, first served is also first come, first served & who has worked here longer makes for a very marginal timeframe". Breakman stopped and pondered this for a moment and then said, "Adam, that is an interesting point, but when it comes to checks and balances, we will end up losing revenue if we pay people to not work." To which I pointed out that most of the states the company holds controlling interest in the weather cancelations may be 2 or 3 days a year and mostly during random events such as hurricanes and tornado warnings, as opposed to the 2 companies they own in New England. Boston and New York. The numbers will balance themselves if you look at the statistics of company closures instead if looking at numbers on an executive level. He actually took my words to heart, saw the statistics and looked at me and said "Adam. I'm not hiring you to fill your supervisors position". My heart dropped to the heels of my feet, until he said "Adam, I like your fresh attitude I don't mean that in the sense of what you would expect from a man my age, but, I like your youthful perspective and honesty. I feel you are a man I can count on.

I don't want you to fill your supervisors position, and while I felt my heart sinking like an anchor , he continued with "I want you to be my personal consultant. Right Man Hand, so to speak. Do you feel you can be as honest and upfront with me as you are now if you weren't obviously throwing caution to the wind assuming, quite frankly that either way, you assumed you'd be job hunting tomorrow? Because that is the Adam I want to hire, not some buttkiss asshole who tells me what I want to hear. I want honesty, integrity and truth. As I stood, I held out my hand for a handshake, and when he took hold of my hand, I felt a charge. Like This is where I have always longed to be. After our agreement, a bunch of paperwork I signed without reading, assuming they were the usual tax forms, company policies, compliance etc. And then Mr Breakman poured us each a glass of that amazing vintage red wine and he proposed a toast "To success, and to Adam, a man named appropriately to begin a new world. May all your wishes come true". For a moment, I caught a familiar mirror like image in his eye that brought back the look of Eve's eyes glowing in the moonlight and again, saw myself as I've always been wished to see. But it was a flash, like a twinkle of a disco ball and ended up in the ride of my life.

After consuming some amazing food and that incredible wine, Mr. Breakman decided this was the point where I was the most relaxed and therefore most honest, he subtly started the interview process. Mr. Breakman started our conversation with some generalized small talk, until he felt I was loose enough, relaxed enough from the decadent food and wine. Thats where the real interview began. It started with the usual questions about my education, experience and what I felt were my strengths and weaknesses. Then the questions that executives throw out randomly (or, what they feel are random), such as "recently a situation arose and it was managed _________way. How do you feel about their decision and how would you have handled it, if you were the one in charge?

I'm not unfamiliar with these tactics, while the interviewer feels they are original, they really aren't and the intention of them is obvious. They want to catch you off guard to see how you'd manage a sudden change of circumstances. Usually, I would give my prepared answer as I've studied interview tactics, but, at this point, with my immediate supervisor having passed on and knowing full well I'm the prime candidate for the job, I disregarded every interview tactic I'd ever learned. Hell. At this point, I was either an immediate shoo-in or completely jobless. When you don't have anything, you don't have anything to lose, right? So I was completely honest. The more questions he threw at me, the more honest I got. "So, Adam, what do you feel the employees want most to make them feel valued and avoid our high turnover rate?" "Well, Mr. Breakman, one of the biggest complaints amongst the staff is if the company closes due to weather, they are forced to take their own, well earned PTO time, rather than the company choosing to pay them regardless, or at least have the option to take the time off unpaid. Considering the company is based in the Southern States, this may not be a huge problem for most employees who live in the warmer parts of the country, however, in New England, we all "budget" at least 5 days out of out PTO time for our unpredictable weather. For example, I have 5 weeks vacation per year, however, I only actually take one vacation per year at the beginning of the rollover period to make sure I at east get one real vacation and, if I'm lucky enough to submit a day or two that conjoin with a long weekend, it's a bonus, but, first come, first served is also first come, first served & who has worked here longer makes for a very marginal timeframe". Breakman stopped and pondered this for a moment and then said, "Adam, that is an interesting point, but when it comes to checks and balances, we will end up losing revenue if we pay people to not work." To which I pointed out that most of the states the company holds controlling interest in the weather cancelations may be 2 or 3 days a year and mostly during random events such as hurricanes and tornado warnings, as opposed to the 2 companies they own in New England. Boston and New York. The numbers will balance themselves if you look at the statistics of school closures instead if looking at numbers on an executive level. He actually took my words to heart, saw the statistics and looked at me and said "Adam. I'm not hiring you to fill your supervisors position". My heart dropped to the heels of my feet, until he said "Adam, I like your fresh attitude I don't mean that in the sense of what you would expect from a man my age, but, I like your youthful perspective and honesty. I feel you are a man I can count on.

I don't want you to fill your supervisors position, and while I felt my heart sinking like an anchor , he continued with "I want you to be my personal consultant. Right Man Hand, so to speak. Do you feel you can be as honest and upfront with me as you are now if you weren't obviously throwing caution to the wind assuming, quite frankly that either way, you assumed you'd be job hunting tomorrow? Because that is the Adam I want to hire, not some buttkiss asshole who tells me what I want to hear. I want honesty, integrity and truth. As I stood, I held out my hand for a handshake, and when he took hold of my hand, I felt a charge. Like This is where I have always longed to be. After our agreement, a bunch of paperwork I signed without reading, assuming they were the usual tax forms, company policies, compliance etc. And then Mr Breakman poured us each a glass of that amazing vintage red wine and he proposed a toast "To success, and to Adam, a man named appropriately to begin a new world. May all your wishes come true". For a moment, I caught a familiar mirror like image in his eye that brought back the look of Eve's eyes glowing in the moonlight and again, saw myself as I've always been wished to see.