In Which Dr. Woofers Works for a Pyramid Scheme

I would like to apologize for the immense gap between my last post and this one. I would like to say I'm sorry and promise to post more regularly in the future. But honestly? I've been busy. And am often lacking in the motivation department. So, I'm not really that sorry. But I hope you enjoy this post, and maybe (if you don't do bad things at night) I'll write some more posts at some point.

I'll know...

Nearly a year ago, I moved my primary residence to Louisiana (a move completely unrelated to a malpractice suit involving a certain chew toy allegedly being "misplaced" in the operating room), which was a bit of journey from my native land of North Carolina.

An "incredible" journey? Maybe? Okay.

Anyway, so since most of the things that we need in this life require some form of money or a sketchy goods/services barter system, I set about finding employment. Many of you might recall from an earlier post that I had briefly herded large groups of human adolescents (while attempting to indoctrinate them with historical knowledge and the "hidden curriculum") in exchange for payment. 

Not the hidden curriculum you were thinking about... Pervert.

Sadly, the great state of Louisiana was fresh out of education jobs. Because clearly they had done all the educating they needed to get done that year. So what's a dog to do? Turn to the interwebs for help, of course! 

After checking a few scary sounding websites (and Craigslist) I stumbled across a job opportunity that promised me everything I never knew that I always wanted. It had performance rewards, leadership training, entrepreneurial opportunities and they were looking for college graduates. I was a college graduate! It seemed like a match made in heaven.

And 100% fact based, just like "Space Jam"!

Well, of course, being the lovable scamp that I am, I got the job. The job being in something called "direct sales" representing the small business branch of Staples, known as Quill. And that's how I began to work for a pyramid scheme version of Dundler Mifflin. For the sake of the story, I'm not just saying Dunder Mifflin because I want to make some references to "The Office". I'm saying Dundler Mifflin because I literally sold Dunder Mifflin paper. If you don't believe me, check this link to the company's website.

Dunder Mifflin Paper

Also, I'm not in any way trying to bad mouth Staples, Quill (or even Dundler Mifflin) in this post. I'm just letting you know that my actual employer was a supplier of cheap door to door salespeople for hire, and our particular branch was currently being paid by Quill. Where it gets to be a pyramid scheme (maybe even cult?) is where the rituals and hierarchy were concerned. 

Yes, I said rituals. Creepy, huh?

Essentially I was getting paid next to nothing (working on commission) to traipse around southern Louisiana during August while wearing a shirt and tie and being told "No", often in a rather rude tone, for ten hours a day. No, we were not compensated for gas spent. No we were not given a base salary like waitresses. There were days where I made no money while spending ten dollars in gas to have people tell me that they didn't want any office supplies. Sometimes the sales I made didn't even get me a commission, because the business didn't "Quill-ify" for the promotions. 

And yes, I was supposed to say "Quill-ify"....

My co-workers were an interesting group of ne'er do wells. They ranged from the fresh out of college with a communications degree types to the sixty year old used car salesman that was trying to strike it rich. I even worked with a member of the LSU SEC championship team from the previous year. He was actually probably the most thoughtful and articulate person I worked with. Go figure. Almost all of them were drinking the Koolaid and were sure that they would be millionaires in a few years. And who knows? Maybe one of them will. But I very much doubt it.

Our boss was a bro in every sense of the word, but he meant well, and was only perpetuating a system in which his hard work had paid off, netting him some of the pyramid's benefits. Those benefits being that once you've made some sales, you start recruiting a team, and once your team has made some sales, you get to be an assistant to the regional manager.

Okay, fine. I had to work in one reference.

Then once you had been doing that for a bit, you got to become the manager of your very own new branch, making a cut off the top of whatever capital your branch produced. But the person who promoted you also gets a cut of what your branch produces, all the way up the ladder (or pyramid rather) until the CEO of the company is just diving into a swimming pool filled with money like Scrooge McDuck. 

And no, I'm not going to include a picture of that, because you all know damn well exactly what that looks like. And if you say that you don't, that's what our benevolent overlords at Google are for.

I would have to say that the only redeeming aspect of this job was that it helped me land my current job. One sweltering, sweaty, sunny, summer day I was going through my shtick and the manager I was speaking to basically interrupted me and said that she didn't want to buy any of these office supplies, but she was willing to offer me something else...

Again, not THAT hidden curriculum. Weirdo...

She offered me a job. A real job. As in, I would come in to work every morning and sit in my air conditioned office and make lots of work related motions and sounds in exchange for a paycheck every month. 

Fun fact: I don't actually need glasses. I wear them to look smart.

I didn't even really wait to see how much the pay was before being like, "Yes. Yes I'll take that job. I'll take that job so hard. No. No, I didn't mean that to sound desperate and/or sexual." 

And I worked there for the rest of my days. Or at least until I stuff all my belongings in a sack and start thumbing my way back to North Carolina.

Top 5 Reasons Not to Be In Australia

The continent/commonwealth of Australia is consistently ranked as a great place for people to live, or at least visit. Tourism brochures advertise the great weather, the friendly locals, the stunning geography and unique wild life. Movies like Australia, The Rescuers Down Under, Crocodile Dundee and Finding Nemo certainly paint the place as interesting, if not awesome.

"Kangaroos AND beaches! Awesome!"

Here's the thing. That's all a lie. You should never, under any circumstances, visit Australia. If you live there, you should probably move.

I could just as easily refute the earlier points by giving examples of terrible movies set in Australia (ABBA: The Movie, Mission Impossible 2, or shudder... Kangaroo Jack), or movies that show Australia for the terrible, terrible place it really is (post-apocalyptica: Mad Max, vampires: Daybreakers, statutory rape: Age of Consent)

But instead, I will simply list the top five reasons not to be in Australia. I'm not limiting it to just warning against visiting Australia, or even living in Australia. These are reasons simply to not be in Australia, regardless of why. You can be a local, you can be a tourist, you can even be an alien with a downed spaceship problem. Whatever the case, you should try and get out of Australia.

At any cost...

Here's why.

5. High Costs

Australia's currency is the Australian Dollar. As of right now, it is valued at .952 of a U.S. Dollar, so it's not like going to Columbia where a greenback exchanges at 1,816.04 Pesos.

Fun Fact: Colombians usually pay bills in powder form.

Here's what you don't know about Australia and conversion rates. Most things in Australia are pretty expensive compared to awesome nations like America. One of the budget areas where you'll notice this jump is the kind of important commodity of food. Here's a quote from a website called Immigration2Australia, whose purpose is to make you want to immigrate to Australia. "Australian’s love to eat out, a typical restaurant meal will be around $60 per head."

Seriously? What kind of restaurants are we eating at there? Another quote further down on the page paints this glowing picture: "Australia does seem to get more expensive the longer you live here". Concentrate on the fact that this website's job is to make you want to move to Australia, so is this really the best they can do?

Makes me wonder how bad it really is over there. Oh, and good news! Australia's cost of living has been steadily rising for the past several decades as they've been dragged kicking and screaming into modernity.

"Lunch is on me; I just sold a kidney."

"Okay, so I'll just have to budget more for food" you say. "It's probably not that big a deal, and I can still enjoy the naturally resplendent geography of the land down under for free, right?" Part of the back-story of Reason #5 is Reason #4.

4. Harsh natural climes

The tiny continent of Australia manages to pack a lot of bad geography into one fun-sized package. It's like that girl who's short, stout, pimply and also has alopecia, but because she has a pretty smile people still say nice things about her.

"But what about the Great Barrier Reef, and the plains full of kangaroo?" you ask. "Those are great."

Too bad that the vast majority of Steve Irwin's homeland is fucking desert. Seriously. That's part of why food is so expensive. They can't grow anything there.

40% of Australia is sand dunes.

A full half of the place gets less than 300 mm (11.8 in) of rain a year, with another third getting less than 600 mm per year. The eastern half of the U.S. gets above 1,000 mm annually. And the western half of America has Oregon to make up for the poor rain-shadowed desert region. But never fear, Australia has monsoons! Those are fun, right? Up to six months of rainy weather?

Guys?

Not exactly paradise. Oh, and this "paradise" that you're stuck in has people who were stuck there a long time before you showed up. That's right, I'm talking about those people who (according to Zoolander) believe that having your picture taken steals part of your soul.

3. Aboriginals

Just like the Native-Americans that were marginalized (see "genocide") in the United States, Australia has its own original culture and society. They're usually called Aboriginals, and they are from a variety of different sub-cultures. They can be found all over Australia, including the terrible desert regions that are left for them to inhabit.

"Thanks for nothing Hugh Jackman!"

Aboriginals are not to be painted as savages. But they are certainly not on the same level of health and wellness as the rest of Australia. According to the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare, Aboriginals are usually 2-3 times more likely to report having health problems. They are 10-70 times more likely to fall prey to communicable diseases like tuberculosis or gonorrhea. They're chronically unemployed.

Native Americans at least get romanticized in American culture. The Last of the Mohicans, Dances With Wolves, Windtalkers and other movies give us that. Sure, in the past they were portrayed as savages or straight up morons. Even "heroic" Native Americans were often poorly constructed stereotypes.

Good job kemo sabe.

But America, and the rest of the world is actually a bit infatuated with Native Americans, even if they don't show it in the best possible way. They enthrall other nations who yearn for a simpler life style, a simpler time. A noble people at one with the land they inhabited. How much of that is true and how much of that is just white guilt, we may never know. But the point is that a lot of people feel sorry/admiration for Native Americans. Not so much Aboriginal awareness out there...

Plus Native Americans have casinos these days. What do Aboriginals have? Nothing. A whole lot of nothing. I'm just waiting for them to rise up and massacre some Aussies, serve them up nice and toasty on the "barbie", or however those weirdos spell barbecue.

How are these called "biscuits"?

2. Populated by Criminals

Okay, so you've managed to get past the tragedy/creepiness of Australia's aboriginals. Good job. Now, let's move on to the majority of the population, because those poor stone-age peoples only make up about 2.7% of the population. I'm sure that some of you reading this are aware that many of the first settlers to Australia were straight up criminals. If not, well...now you know.

My room mate and I joke about Australia being started by criminals, so they could only go upwards from there. If the UN were to hand out medals or trophies to various countries, Australia would get "Most Improved".

It means you really sucked, but now suck less.

Now, not all of these felonious founding fathers were violent criminals, a lot were debtors. So you basically have an entire nation started by the ancestors of Ron Artest and Kenneth Lay. That's scary.

And the propensity for drinking that most Australians have (Fosters being akin to water there) combined with their natural inclination towards criminal activity makes it a dangerous place. Fun fact, the only thing besides health care that Aussies brag about being cheap is their alcohol. Not a good combination. At all.

1. Deadly animals

And far and away the number one reason why you shouldn't be in Australia is the plethora of deadly fauna that populates the continent. The only animals that don't want to kill you are the rabbits that have run rampant across that terrible, terrible place. This article probably could have been just "Don't ever go to Australia because every living thing there wants you to suffer".

Take a look at this brief video extolling the virtues of Aussie wild-life. It's catchy too.
Learning about Australian wildlife

Here's a quick list of some of the fun loving animals ready to greet you in Australia.

Sharks - Great White Sharks, the largest predatory fish in the world. All ready to make you the star of your very own Jaws movie. Don't forget Tiger Sharks, one of the most aggressive shark species in the world. And Bull Sharks. Did you know that they can swim several hundred miles up-river? Yeah...

Box Jelly Fish - One of the deadliest jellyfish in the world. They're everywhere in Australia. Just floating around that scenic Great Barrier Reef, waiting for you to stumble upon them. Even the so-small-they're-almost-invisible baby ones can make you regret being in Australia.

Snakes - Australia has over 100 species of venomous snakes, and 12 of them are lethal. Tiger snakes (deadly meets deadly, great!), death adders (Spoiler Alert: they're deadly), Coastal Taipan (don't let the name fool you, they're deadly) and of course: sea snakes. That's right. You can't even escape the snakes when you're in the middle of the fucking ocean!

What I imagine Australia is like.

Crocodiles - Crocodile Dundee wasn't joking around about the crocodiles. While not exactly Lake Placid sized, salt water crocodiles can easily grow to be twenty feet long. But here's the thing, they aren't limited to salt water. Any billabong (look it up) can be home to a salty just waiting to bring you to a watery demise with a death roll.

Spiders - Funnel-Web Spiders, Bird-Eating Tarantulas and Red-Backs. These things live everywhere. In your apartment. In the wilderness. Under that rock. Seriously, watch your back. They are everywhere, and some can even swim.

Dingos - Yes, they will eat your babies. Only in Australia and Africa (my pick for overall deadliest continent) can you find packs of indigenous wild dogs that will hunt you down.

Octupusses (Octopi?) - The Blue Ring Octopus is widely recognized as one of the most venomous animals in the world, these too-many-limbed freaks are also really smart. And can alter its coloring. The Blanket Octopus rips tentacles off jellyfish and uses their poisonous stingers as whips. These things are like real life versions of Predator.

And no, Arnold cannot save you.

Bull Ants - Seriously? You have to be afraid of the ants in Australia? Oh yeah. Just a preview, they also go by the name "Inch Ants" or "Jumper Ants". I'll just let that sink in.

Poisonous Cane Toads - Thought that South America had a monopoly on poisonous amphibians? Wrong. These toads can grow up to 15 inches, and will kill your pets if they get eaten. Also, creepily enough, they will hump nearly anything.

Stonefish - These are fish that camouflage themselves as rocks, just waiting for an innocent swimmer to wander by. Then their toxic spines kick in. And by "kick in", I mean that they can straight up kill you. What a dick move!

Pictured: Super dick!

But don't forget all the cute or interesting animals. They won't shy away from injuring you in the least bit.

Kangaroos - Those overgrown rats will viciously kick, punch and maul you if you get too close to them, or make too many jokes about their pouches. And they can pack quite a punch.

Tasmanian Devils - They're not exactly like the animated version you see from Looney Tunes. They're tougher. They eat anything, like carnivorous goats. Seriously, anything. And as a result, their saliva contains toxic levels of bacteria and other gross shit.

Platypusses (Platypi? Whatever...) - Yeah, they're venomous. The male of the species' spines (yeah, they have hidden spines on their ankles) are toxic, and they can mess you up. First you think, "Aww...they're so cute and oddly put together. I love them!" Then you're clutching a festering wound, cursing at the heavens.

"Curse your egg laying selves, monotremes!"

So for these five reasons, and probably several more that I don't have the space for, are why you shouldn't be in Australia. Don't live there. Don't visit there. Don't even fly/boat near there on the off chance that your transportation breaks down and you're stuck there.

Car Problems, Part Two

After my car broke down the other week, and the terrible yet rather funny experience with the worst mechanic known to man, I was fairly certain that my car troubles were over for at least a few days. I had my car parked in front of my apartment, my room mate had just come back from his med school interviews, blaring "Where the Party At?" on his car speakers.

Happy days!

Life was good. I figured that my troubles were going to be held at bay for at least a few days. I mean, how much could go wrong with my car in the next 24 hours? I don't know why I even bother to think that anymore.

Seriously though.

I drove my car to class that night, and as I got out of class and turned my phone back on, I saw that I had a text message from my room mate saying that his car had a dead battery and that he'd appreciate my help jumping his car. I thought, "Sure, no problem."

So I got back to the apartment, parked my car and walked inside. Turns out what had happened was that since he has a keyless start, he had accidentally left it in idle after turning it on briefly to roll up his windows. No big deal. It's a pretty new car, so we figured it couldn't be that big a deal to jump it and didn't get out there right away. We ate some dinner and watched like forty-five minutes of television and then decided it was time to go outside and jump his car.

This is when things begin to go downhill.

Perhaps I should have realized that my battery might not be the strongest. For one, it's probably the same battery that came with the car when it rolled out of the factory in 1999. Also, it had been loitering in a public library parking lot for an entire week while that rocket surgeon of a repairman tried to find and then subsequently fix my car.

What I'm getting at is that my battery was dead.

My room mate decides to call University Transportation, because as part of our status as tuition payers we get some decent perks, like somebody to come jump our car on campus. And we live so close to the medical campus that there's normally no problem with a request like that. Well not this time.

Not only did the person we got on the phone somehow not know where the medical campus was, she couldn't comprehend that we live on the same street that runs right next to the regular campus and she didn't understand that there were two students, each with a dead car. She wasted nearly ten minutes of our time asking for our vehicle make, model, license plate numbers, telephone numbers, student ID numbers, mother's maiden names, etc before we finally hung up in frustration.

"I just told these two grad students to shove it"

No problem, right? We've got friends. Some of those friends have cars. Some of them are even reliable enough to help us out. So we sent out some texts desperately begging for help. But in a dignified manner.

Hey, we've got our dignity.

One of our friends decided to help us out. So he shows up and tries to jump start my room mate's car. To no avail. Now, I had been thinking about getting a new battery for my car anyway, so instead of just trying to jump my car, we drove to Walmart and bought a new battery for my car. That should help our situation out, right?

So we get back to the apartment, install my brand new battery, so fresh that you can smell the acid (not really), in my car. Since it's a brand new battery, and I was already parked next to my room mate's dead car, we decided to jump his car with my car. Seems like it would work, right?

Wrong. It didn't work. His car showed less signs of life than a career path as one of those guys who light the whale blubber oil lamps. Or perhaps an elevator operator.

This guy knows what I'm talking about.

Since that didn't work, my room mate managed to convince our friend and me to try something that he called the "double jump". For anyone who might not realize what the double part of that phrase refers to, it means that we were going to hook up two cars to the dead car. Sounds like nothing could go wrong, right?

Surprisingly, nothing actually goes wrong with that part of the plan. What does go wrong is that when we attempt to position our cars so that both batteries were in range of the jumper cables, my car doesn't start. Not like, has problems starting. Like, won't even beep when you put the key in the ignition.

Seriously, how often does this shit happen?

Somehow my room mate's car managed to suck the very life force out of a brand fucking new battery. How is that even possible? Like seriously, how can an entirely new battery fail to produce enough power to jump another battery? It's not like we were trying to start an F-17 with a golf cart. It was car to car.

My room mate turns to our friend and says, "Try to jump my car with yours now." My friend and I both turn to each other and say something along the lines of "Hold up! We don't need to have three cars all with dead batteries."

Bump that noise.

Luckily though, we were able to line up a second friend with a car who would be willing to come try and jump our cars if my room mate's car managed to drain the soul out of our friend's car as well. So we used the friend's car to jump my car, and then lined up for the double jump. Both of our cars hooked up to my room mate's car, attempting to breath some life back into the black hole that is my room mate's car.

Somehow, his car managed to take the combined power of two batteries, two fucking batteries, being run pretty hard, without getting more juice than was needed to roll his windows up or down. This isn't just one battery that failed. His car was showing less life than... well... you get the point.

It's probably just taking a nap.

So the next day, he calls AAA to get a truck out to our apartment and jump his car. The truck shows up with one of those handy dandy portable jumper batteries. Big surprise, that doesn't work on his vampire of a car. This is like the fifth combined battery that has failed to power his car and I'm starting to think that maybe we should just start sacrificing virgins or something.

You didn't think I meant hot girls, did you?

So the mechanic asks to borrow my jumper cables, and hooks my room mate's car up to his tow truck. The truck has two batteries in it, each of which is more powerful than a regular car battery. At long last, my room mate's car rises from the dead with a roar. He let it run for a good fifteen or so minutes, and I swear I heard it revving it's own engine a few times.

That car scares me now.

My Night of Shame

In an effort to avoid having every single story on here paint my room mate as the one who makes mistakes, I'm going to include the story of the worst night of drinking I've ever had.

If only I was this dignified at the end of the night.

Allow me to preface this story by telling you that while I do no not drink heavily on frequent occasion, I have an excellent track record in dealing with nights like that. For one, I'm a pretty big guy, and thus able to shrug off some effects just based on size alone. Secondly, I normally prepare myself fairly well, drinking water throughout the day, being sure to eat foods that aren't too likely to react poorly with alcohol while ensuring that I don't drink on an empty stomach.

Indian food can mess you even without drinking.

This particular night, I was not prepared. At all. My room mate had an old high school buddy visiting this weekend, and so far we had all been having a good time hanging out, going to the gym, playing video games, etc.

Normally we would have shown the friend around downtown Greenville, but it was freezing cold that night, so we were planning on just having a quiet night in. However, my room mate got a text at around 7:30 or so from a girl who was having a bit of drinking at her apartment and wanted to know if we would join her and her friends.

Artistic simulation. Actual girls not that hot.

Naturally, we said yes. I'm all for a chill night of drinking at somebody's apartment, and it was nice to have something to do. I hadn't had dinner yet, so I quickly make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, wolf i t down with a glass of milk and am out the door. Mistake number 1.

We bring some beers, and the girls had some mixed drinks. I had a few of each. How many is not important. Also, I don't know how many.

Who the fuck do you think I am?

Shortly though, one girl wants to shotgun a beer, but doesn't want to do it by herself. I volunteer because it's always fun to do something a bit outgoing at parties, and she was kind of cute. Mistake number 2.

For people who take their binge drinking seriously.

I was wearing a nice pullover that was a gift from my cooperating teacher during my senior year at NCSU. Thoughtfully, I remove it. I didn't want to get beer on it.

If only there were some product I could use for that...

Well, after that, everything goes downhill. My room mate quickly realized that I was on the verge of becoming a shit show. In my infinite wisdom though, I did not hear/heed his advice. At one point I think I was drinking wine straight from the bottle. Mistake number 3.

Just let it be said that I was fairly wasted at this point. So of course we decide to go down town anyway. Drunk logic: it's inescapable.

Also, there are minotaurs.

A lot of the other people are hungry, so we decide to partake in perhaps the best food for drunk people in downtown Greenville: Michelangelo's Pizza. Just to give you an idea of how many drunk people eat there, it is the only pizza place I've ever been to that has bouncers. They aren't there to protect the pizza, they're there to defenestrate the drunks. (Look it up if you don't know what it means)

These guys will toss you out, and then eat your pizza.

Michelangelo's is one of those pizza places with large slices and various fancy types of pizza in addition to the plain old pepperoni and cheese. My room mate didn't have any way to pay because he had lost his credit card a week or so prior, so I agree to pay for both.

Unfortunately, my room mate likes to eat odd pizzas like buffalo chicken and asparagus pizza. I was too drunk to tell the cashier that I wanted two different types of pizza, so I just got a slice of the pizza my room mate had selected. Mistake number 4.

Seriously? I guess this is technically a pizza.

After the first few bites hit my stomach, I start to feel kind of bad, so I go to the restroom and stare at the toilet for a few minutes. Nothing. Oh well, I'm good right?

Wrong. Now my room mate and everyone else are definitely sure that I'm wasted-face, and decide to go home for the night. Mistake number 5.

As we cross over the railroad tracks on the way back home, I feel a rumbly in my tumbly.

And not the good kind.

Frantically, I roll down the window and blow chunks all over the outside, and even the inside, of the Jeep. Some got on my pullover, all that carefulness earlier was for naught. But it wasn't done there. Oh no. Twas not done there.

As everybody else watched "The Hangover" in the living room, I was busy positioning myself so that the stuff spilling out from my mouth would make it into the toilet. Oh the shame. I'm not one to go down without a fight though.

Yes, I'm picking on the French.

So as I lie there, huddling over the toilet (luckily I had just cleaned it that morning), my room mate comes in to check on me. After establishing that I was fine, I told him that I was sorry for making a bad impression on his friend. I don't often get to meet my room mate's old friends, and it sucked that I was in such a predicament.

Then I said, quote "He's a pretty cool guy, even if he doesn't know that blowjobs make a sound." (Some of the conversations we have can be a bit awkward) My room mate replies with, "Maybe she just wasn't giving it a hundred percent effort?". Choking back my vomit for a few more seconds I say, "More like zero percent effort!"

Oh shit! Somebody call the fire department!

Then it was back to puking my guts up.