The only thing more humiliating than getting cab-jacked is subsequently having to find a new job. Whoring myself on the streets is looking like a much more attractive option every day. Actually, if all the bullshit was extracted from the whole interviewing process, and it was a straightforward matter of "you give me a blow job, and I'll give you a job”, it would probably be an improvement. At least, I wouldn't have to waste so much time. Instead of an hour or so later, I'd be done in five minutes, get the standard closing spiel, "Well, I have a number of other candidates waiting to suck me off, so I'll be in touch...”, a quick handshake and be on my way. That sounds a lot better than the endless rounds of second, third and even fourth interviews I've been subjected to lately. Jeez, by the time I get one of these jobs, I'll have forty hours there already!

And what kind of high fallutin' position am I vying for? What crucial role will I fill for my new employer that justifies such extended and stringent interviewing? Will I be entrusted with state secrets? Running a multi-million dollar corporation, perhaps? Caring for small, impressionable children, even? Oh, no. If I can jump through the hoops, and clear the hurdles, then I'll be chief of nothing other than bottle washing. I'm looking for a frigging bartending job, where the greatest on the job responsibility is garnishing martinis correctly! And I'm only looking for part-time, at that.

It didn't used to be this hard to get behind a bar. In fact, before I moved to Oregon, I never spent more than three days looking for a job. In New York, I'd walk into a place, ask if there were any openings, tell them my experience, and start a few days, or even a few hours later. Here, you have to start with a resume. Not just an application, but a real resume. If you can prepare a resume properly, you're probably overqualified for bar work, anyway. But then again who isn't? To paraphrase the old theory about chimps writing Hamlet, if you left a hundred monkeys behind a bar long enough they'd probably make every drink in Mr Boston's and then some. And if they could dump ashtrays, clean toilets and make correct change, I'd be out a job, permanently.

As if the injury of a resume wasn't enough, the state of Oregon adds the insult of having to be "licensed"as well. In order to bartend here, you have to fork over twenty-five bucks for the privilege of struggling to stay awake through five hours of repetitive drivel known as the OLCC (Oregon Liquor Control Commission) class. This class doesn't cover any useful topics, like how to make layered shots or the perfect Bloody Mary, instead it focuses on the adult babysitting that's mandated for bartenders by this state. So you spend your money and your time having your intelligence insulted and your occupation intimidated by a part-time housewife propped up as an instructor, put there to put the fear of the wrath of the OLCC into you, the heathen bartending bastard. Don't serve more than two drinks per person per hour. Cut people off the minute they start to show signs of intoxication, like "laughing inappropriately”. Don't ask your customers if they'd like another drink, because that's "pushing alcohol”. It just goes on and on. The state's point of view seems to be that Oregonians are god fearing people who can easily be led astray by the wily and ever-resourceful bartenders among them. So, in the class they make a big deal about how some asshole drunk can sue you if they do anything stupid or harmful after leaving your bar. I'm surprised the state hasn't okayed suing the bartender if you sleep with an ugly chick while under the influence. Responsible service is a good goal, but asking bartenders to be the conscience of every customer they encounter is ridiculous! Carrie Nation could probably devise a more equitable system. But enough of my pontificating. Obviously, I have a little too much time on my hands these days. Man, I really need a job...

Back to the interview process. Like I said, it's up to about four hours of interviewing for a lousy twelve hours a week bartending. And then there's the dreaded piss test. I don't think anyone should have to pee in a cup unless they're a pilot or a bus driver or something of that ilk. If the occupation involves other people's lives being potentially at stake, then I can see the justification for a drug test. But for bartending? Even if I was a junkie, what's the worst I could do on the job? Leave the vodka out of a Long Island Iced Tea? Eat too many mozzarella sticks? I don't even want to get baked on the job, because there's nothing worse than getting paranoid with a bar full of drunk losers leering at you. And after hours, that's my business, buddy. Ninety-nine percent of all restaurant owners don't bother to provide health insurance, so what do they care if my lungs are all black and shriveled up like raisins? But for whatever reason, more and more of them do care, so I've had to curtail my extra-curricular activities of late and subject myself to drinking vinegar to cover my chemical trail. I may smell like a Caesar salad, but my pee sure is pure!

Is there anything worse than job-hunting? Maybe dating. But at least with dating you sometimes get laid. With job-hunting, you just get fucked. Sometimes I think employers who are feeling a little low in the self-esteem department take out help wanted ads just to build their egos back up. It must be great for them, sitting back while a parade of desperate types like me stream by them in our Sunday best, shamelessly kissing ass, if not outright begging for a job. And their ego inflates as they secretly think "I don't really want you. I just want to toy with you today. Let's see what ridiculous crap I can dish out to you. Gosh I'm so glad I own this place and I'm not a poor slob like you..." Oy, vey! Well, I'd better get back to beating the pavement. If I don't get a job fast, this'll come out and I'll never get hired!