Ind e-Pen XXI

The Ind e-Pen

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Introduction:

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So there I was, checking my e-mail, when I ran across my first submission to the Ind. e-Pen ever. My first thought was, “wow, someone actually wrote in,”… then I thought, “ha, wouldn’t it be funny if I didn’t publish it?” Ha ha!

See, this is exactly why I should never have been in charge of editing my elementary school newspaper. I actually wasn’t in charge of it, but that’s not the point. The point is that I shouldn’t have been. Ah, memories… or the absence thereof.

Jobs, selling out to Corporate America, and the waterworks
A few of my friends and I have been looking for jobs for the past few weeks (“I’ve got a job for you”). We’ve applied everywhere in town (well, not everywhere. I refuse to work with food again, and I’m afraid of getting shot, so I’m not going to work at a gas station or the doctor’s office.
There’s something about having only worked at two places in your life (and quitting one of them after two weeks), that makes you less likely to be hired anywhere else. It’s a vicious cycle, not unlike anorexia nervosa and the Golden Globes.
After applying in a billion places (no, YOU’RE an exaggeration), I decided that I would pursue another venue of making money: selling out.

Or advertising, whatever.
Seeing as I’ve had my own paper for about five years now (speaking of which, I’m going to have a fifth anniversary special in September), I figured that it was about time I had some sort of sponsor. I mean, Michael Moore had his paper be statewide in only ten years.
The initial suggestion was that I ask the good people at Coca-Cola for sponsorship. “They have money to throw around! Just show up, look nice, say you want it, and they’ll give it to you!”
Then the debate started. “But if he goes to Coke, that’d be like selling out, I mean, he doesn’t support Coke, right?” they say to me whilst I drink a Dasani.
“You should only sell add space to local businesses. That way you’re not selling out, you’re just supporting the little guys.”
“Selling out is only when you sponsor something that you don’t believe in. If you were going to do it anyway, it’s just like getting paid for nothing!”
“My foot’s warm.”
It seemed that everyone but me had a rock solid position on this (except for my friend who kept changing his mind). So I did the only thing that made sense: I wrote Michael Moore and I asked him for advice.
What did he say? Well, he probably hasn’t read it yet, seeing as I wrote him less than twelve hours ago. Right before I left for the annual MESA/Science Olympiad party, in fact.
In dozens of high schools around the nation (New Mexico is a nation, right?), there are these programs that are essentially the geek’s excuse to miss school (although, ironically enough, almost all of the trips these clubs take are on weekends). Quite naturally, I belonged to every program I could find. Most of which I was in for all four years.
These two particular programs (MESA and Sci. Oly.) have their end-of-the-year parties together every year (and why not? About 85% of the people that are in one are in the other). When I graduated high school, I thought that I’d gone to my last high school party. Boy, was I delusional or what?
Yesterday, someone asked me if I wanted to go to this party. I said yes, why not? So today, instead of being a diligent worker and writing a letter to Coca-Cola, or writing this e-mail, I went to this party (which was both anti-liquor and anti-vegetarian. Yup, they hate me).
In these types of celebrations, there’s always a period where they take pictures and present awards. I don’t know why, I just know that it’s always when I finally get comfortable and find food I can digest. I think they do it on purpose.
For some reason, towards the end of the awards, they started giving away random objects like “Chicken Soup” books, scrapbooks, and water guns. As you can probably guess, people began throwing advice at each other.
I mean wetting each other. Wetting each other.
A few people took these water guns and started wetting everyone. One girl made the mistake of wetting me. And, before you could say statutory, I was off after her. I stole someone’s water gun and proceeded to engage in an all-out guerilla war against the poor saps that happened to not have an aquatic weapon handy.
Then I sat on the swings for several hours (I have an anti-climatic personality).
Eventually, however, someone began wetting me again. Grabbing a gun, I went and popped a cap in their ass.

I go on trial in July.

I kid, I kid. No, I gathered two or three of my best comrades and we began our tyrannical, if short-lived, reign of terror over the rest of the party-goers. We particularly picked on the same poor kid that I picked on all through high school (his name is Josh. Let’s all laugh at him for a moment).
(nope, a little longer)
(ha ha!)
Anyway, eventually, Josh and his posse caught us off guard (when we were fighting amongst ourselves… it’s hard to share tyrannical power). They stole our water guns and wet the bejeezus out of us.
So we did the only manly thing we could do. We hid in the bathroom for an hour.
And we made water balloons. Lots and lots of precious water balloons.
Then Josh anticlimactically left. So what do ex-tyrants with a newly formed militia and no enemy do? Create an enemy, of course.
We called it Josh 2: Tyrants United.
And now, to anticlimactically end this column.

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The Forum:

Okay, a nice story that people all over the country would enjoy reading? Well, since I live in New Mexico, the only things that have gone on lately involve cops, three drunk guys, and a drag queen (apparently it was a graduation and three guys decided to play a joke on their friend while he was passed out on the couch. It could happen to anyone, I assure you). However, my story has nothing to do with that.
Well, with the three conscious guys anyway…
Wait. No, I was right. Nothing!
This story is about my job back in the day when I was a workhorse for a semi-major baseball corporation in a local town (this mysterious anonymous baseball corporation is available on the web at www.diablos.com).
This was my first job ever and I was working with a grood friend of mine at what turned out to just be a giant playground for us (complete with a built-in fort with built-in blunt, wooden weapons and angry tobacco- chewing uniformed henchmen).
Our job title was “Parking Attendant,” but we ended up doing everything… most of which we weren’t supposed to do, but nobody has to know about that.
Every year in this stadium, they give out this award that they call the “Raving Fans Employee of the Year.” Since this was our first year and we were parking attendants, we thought that we would never win.
We did, but that isn’t the kewl part.
That night also happened to be the night that I got into a fight with another employee ten minutes into the game. Quite naturally, I left the stadium for the rest of the game, not caring about the work that needed to be done.
Of course, the boss knew about the fight, but I was gone before he could do anything. As the game was about to end, another employee came looking for me saying that the boss wanted to see me. I thought I was going to have to work, but when I got back in the stadium, they called for my friend and I to report to the field. Then they proceeded to tell the whole stadium that we won the award and gave us a fifty dollar bonus.
So we blew off work after that and sat in the box seats to watch the fire work show. Wouldn’t you figure, the one night I don’t do my job is actually the night I get recognized for it?

-Jack N.

A Small Quiz:

The winner gets a free Pix Capacitor. No big prize, I know, but it is mailed with a cool little envelope.

Question 1: What, exactly, DOES constitute selling out?

Question 2: Give me money. I’m ever so hungry..

Question 3: If you had a water gun, would you go power mad?

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The Ind e-Pen +++vol+1++BT+21+++ Introduction: =============== So there I was, checking my e-mail, when I ran across my first submission to the Ind. e-Pen ever. My first thought was, “wow, someone actually wrote in,”… then I thought, “ha, wouldn’t it be funny if I didn’t publish it?” Ha ha! See, this is exactly why I…