Thursday, March 24, 2005

Best. Job. Ever.

At some point in high school, I began thinking about what I wanted to be when I grew up.
As a young boy I had answered the question with the truth of the time: "I want to be a policeman!" I illustrated my desire with a stick B wearing a cop hat, shooting hyphens at a burglar who lay dead, x's where his eyes should be, in a pool of red. The sun, as he always did in my illustrations, had a big smile on his face as he looked down upon the carnage.

I received a "Good Job!" and a stamp of an elephant wearing a sailor's cap from my teacher for my effort.

High school led me to think that perhaps I was too much of a wuss for policing, and shouldn't it be a nicer life just pretending to a police officer in the movies and on teevee.
So actor it was.

I met a gentleman on Parliament St. the other day who chose a much different path from both the Young B and the Present B: he turned on and off the ignitions of a sheik's Mercedes Benz collection. All day. Every day.

To describe him, I can't avoid telling you that he had one proper arm, and one that was more like a chicken wing. That was not his key turning arm, thankfully, or heaven knows what he would have grown up to do!

The SmartCar, which I may or may not begin calling Dilton after Archie Comic mainstay Dilton Doiley (who was the smartest person I knew growing up) served as Matchmaker for this platonic meeting of two men with little to do. I was waiting for one of my beer customers to open her doors; he had a shipping tube which his chicken wing was flipping around like a baton--neither of us particularly busy.

The conversation grew so quickly from Smart-centric questions to "I worked for a sheik in Dubai who was so stupid!" that I don't even recall how he and I got in Dubai. But with an opener like that, I quickly forgot all about Dilton and threw myself headlong into the "Arabian Nights" tale unfolding before me.

"Every day I turned on each of the sheik's 160 Mercedes, let them run for 10 minutes, then turned them off. I had a stopwatch."
A was answering a question I suppose he saw in my eyes; more accurately, my eyes were saying "What the fuck!?" not "However did you know when the 10 minutes were up?"

"For this I was paid $100,000 American dollars! Which is very good money. But this sheik was so stupid. He was illiterate! He couldn't even write his own name! He could afford to pay me $100,000 American dollars, but he couldn't buy himself some sense!"

I was more happy at this moment than I had been all week! And it was THURSDAY! This man, A, was making my day a classic!

"He thought that I had caught the eye of one of his 20 wives--he had 20 wives! it's true!--and came to me one day. He told me, 'I know that you are trying to fuck one of my wives, and I want you to leave. Here is one million dollars. Go.' So I went. And it was not true that I was trying to (hand gesture roughly like that of throwing a jab in boxing) his wife; but he had so many wives that he couldn't fuck them all himself! He would fuck one for maybe one week, or two--a month if she was really hot--then leave her and marry another. He was so stupid! All these wives and he couldn't fuck them all!"

Such a waste! I swore, silently, that I would never marry so many wives that I could not sex them all up. The key would be to have a great personal organizer.

There was no stopping my new friend! How'd he leave Dubai with a million dollars?
"Taped to my body--that much money is heavy and hot to wear!" (I'm sure that I'll never know)

Were there any other jobs? Perhaps I could get a sweet job, too?
"He had twenty or thirty Phillipino servants, because they were small, and he fucked all of them too! Men and women! And he gave them a thousand dollars to keep them quiet."

I suggest passing on that job if you see it come up on

Was there a uniform?
"One day I took him to a market, because he wanted a new robe. We found this robe made from baby camel hair--the mother was killed, then the baby pulled out and skinned--and the sheik wanted this. He paid way too much for it; but he had no sense!"

How much is too much for a robe made from aborted camel baby fur, really?

I was heartbroken when the restaurant owner showed up, bringing an end to my deeply engrossing conversation with A about the "dumbest sheik in Dubai"; but all good things in life must come to an end.

Waving goodbye, I couldn't help wondering how someone gets to a point in their life when they get paid great money to do something so beautifully simple--something they love. . .
. . .then I took a nice long pull off my Steam Whistle, which I am obliged to have as part of my Sales duty (we like to call it 'rotating the stock') and thought about what to have off the menu.

Work work work.

No comments: