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My First Piss Test
I took my first piss test lately.
Was it a coincidence that it happened to be six weeks after my last
dabble?
No I don’t guess.
Would I have taken one in those many years of my job hopping past, if
not for the fact that I wouldn’t have passed without the help of
another bladder or some clever chemical additive to my ensemble?
Probably.
Still I told most of those companies or temp. agencies that I
was “boycotting,” at the time, and in my own very self-serving way I
guess I was.
But it all brings to mind a story about a temp. agency which didn’t
just want me to sign a waiver granting the right to give me a piss
test, in spite of my highly political boycott, should I happen to
have some unfortunate accident fall against me, so that the company
might prove beyond a shadow of doubt that the injury was very
definitely my fault; they wanted to give me a piss test before I took
on any assignment at all.
And I didn’t find this out until a few pages into their elaborate
application. So I picked up the whole mess, with my name and social
security number and all those things scribbled on every other page at
least; started to walk out.
“Um — excuse me,” the mousy little counter-girl squeaked, “Were
you going to finish that?”
“Oh yeah.”
She was quickly following me out the front door, “Because those forms
are company property…um…”
For a stoned guy I was pretty quick on my feet: “I was just going to
finish it up on the toilet, I’ll be right back.”
“Oh,” she squeaked feebly, then watched me get into an elevator which
had nothing to do with any bathroom in the place.
“Thanks” I guess I might’ve said; or, “Thanks for your interest;” or
something like this.
Save the piss tests for airplane pilots and roller coaster mechanics
and shit, please. First fucking test I take and the company is run
with a level of professionalism comparable to the journalistic
integrity of Fox News.
Just picture a clique of aloof New Mexican bitches in charge of the
home lives of the domestically Challenged.
Just imagine a handful of master manipulators ready to aim their
residents’ resentments in any direction, such as toward that new guy
that came along, daring to whisper a few words
like, “Safety,” “Catheder training,” or “Who’s oncall?”
First fucking test I took and I think this may have finally soured me
for life on the whole goddam industry they call, “Care.”
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