I moved out to Arizona a year ago.

I got stuck with a bunch of bad debt after my marriage ended.

Since then, I have been searching for gainful employment.

I am astounded by the cast of characters out here who call themselves recruiters.

Real estate agents for humans.

And this one poseur who has the misfortune of breaking my camel’s back. He crossed the threshold.

As therapy, I’ll write about him. This way I won’t have to punch him.

He reached out to me on LinkedIn. A very bad move for him because now we’re Linked.

That’s like being handcuffed to a suicide bomber.

In my life I’ve been contained, constrained, conscripted, probed, detoxed, deprogrammed and financially sodomized.

I’ve endured a long, dead, marriage and been legally restrained, ex parte.

You’d think I wouldn’t feel anything by now.

How I escaped circumcision is anyone’s guess. Knowing my parents, it had to be a financial decision.

I’ve met with recruiters who were drunk, high, soiled, morally bankrupt, inbred and incapable of linear intercourse.

Ones with writing on their face, metal in their nose and motor oil in their hair.

Oh, I have endured.

But this guy…

I drove 90 minutes on a busy afternoon at his request to meet in a sweltering shoe box.

I am greeted at this humidor by a woman who appears to be waiting for a bus.

After enduring a series of non-functioning computer intelligence tests, he enters.

Underwhelmed is an understatement. He slouches in wearing a grape colored tent flap hanging out of his drawers with a sheen of sweat on his more than ample face.

With no air in the room, he starts to expel his after-lunch cigarette onto my person.

Think: grandma’s attic.

Although he shows up late for our appointment, he keeps mentioning how he hopes he won’t be late for his next one. How special can I feel?

Beads of flop sweat and disappointment are trickling down the crack of my ass. I close my eyes, praying for Kansas.

If he steps out for even a second, I’m gonna pull the fire alarm.

But the job he’s hawking is one I happen to be interested in. It pays decent and it’s close to my house. Very convenient.

Out here, 50 miles is considered down the street.

I’ve got a little dog who needs my attention in her advancing years. Izzy’s almost blind.

Proximity is required.

After a short interview, he’s convinces me I’m the guy for this job.

Alrighty then, maybe I won’t hit him with that rubber cactus.

He has to run now, but he assures me he’s going to immediately present me to his client who wants me on that job like, last week.

He is blissfully unaware of what I have been going through. That’s unfortunate.

His last words were, “Stay by the phone Bob, I’ll call you for sure by 4:30.”

Which 4:30?

My mother used to say, “Know how to keep an asshole in suspense? I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

It’s tomorrow already.