Where I Once Worked (Naughty, So Don't Read If You're A Prude)

I was once an inside salesperson at the western office of the Canadian wing of a then Fortune 500 company. Inside sales in this case meant taking phone orders and calling on customers, but mainly taking orders.

It was certainly an interesting experience working there after having spent so many years as a student and working out at UBC. The sales people were a raw, self-destructive bunch, preoccupied with sex, fast cars, parties, and sex. Most were a $5 cab ride from the nearest bridge. And what's so great about all those cars and parties anyways?

A Jewish co-worker there once explained to me what a Jewish Dilemma was. Free pork, he roared in laughter. He'd incessantly brag about his six-figure income generated by his rental property—"Paint the walls, that'll sucker the buyer everytime," he'd say. The schmuck once beamed that his dad would never hire anyone with a formal education. His son was apparently very "gifted"; the rabbi performing the circumcision ceremony couldn't get over the enormity of the baby's piece. Just before I left the job to go back to school again, he was going on and on whining about his wife. How stupid she was. How the only three reasons he didn't divorce her were the kid and her huge breasts.

I sat beside P., who drummed up a lot of business from his accounts, especially those with female employees placing the orders. I want to #$!? you right now, I remember him saying on the phone to one of his regular customers. He was sleeping with his team lead, E. at this time, from whom I learnt that there were two types of girls when it came to fellatio: swallows and budgies. One of E.'s friends sent a man to the hospital while vacationing in Spain when the convertible they were in swerved suddenly. [INSERT MENTAL IMAGE]

Then there was the reception goddess, X. She was beautiful, Paulina Porizkova beautiful. If only half of the following second-hand morsels about her are true, I think I will have left you with an impression. X, who slept with the VP. X who was dating a skinhead (his Bronco was five feet off the ground). X, who I've been told, was once on Oprah talking about her father who was in prison for murdering someone over a thirteen year old girl. X, whose mother was in the nut house. X who admits having done just about everything sexually, except maybe with babies. X who slept with a salesperson at a conference, and then told him to bugger off after he'd quit his job in Toronto and travelled across the country to be with her, because he crossed his legs like a woman.

Need I go on? [Sure, you say. Note: if you consider yourself to be conservative and prudish and have gotten this far, then you are in denial.]

There was S.S., who barked out one day that work sucks,everything sucks, everything except my wife.

L. who gushed with pride over her boyfriend's weekend win in Surrey for "Best 4X4", and said that she's witnessed a few orgies there.

Then there was S.A., a very intense, over-caffeinated, can't sit still, knee-bobbing, fifteen-smoke-breaks-a-day, individual who ended up in RCMP custody, all because he had just missed Hot Wing Hour at the local pub, and he wanted wings, needed wings.

Now, why the heck did I make this entry. For a laugh or two, and for the record book. BTW, my time there was truly a low point in my life—more because of the unfulfilling monotonous duties than the people.

Cheers!