Photo by gluemoon
Harold was kind of a loser.
The job wasn’t one that most people would want anyway. It mostly involved being an office gofer, running stuff around and getting lunches and putting up with obnoxious, overpaid consultants. As a result our candidate pool was always odd when we had to fill the position, which was fairly often.
Harold, though, had the kind of interview that would have made for a Tale of the Cluefree in itself. He smelled bad. He swore in the interview. He asked if he could smoke in my office because it would “make him less spazzy.” He told me I looked hot in my pantsuit. He said he left his last job because his boss was “kind of a dick.” It was just a bad scene all around.
So obviously we didn’t hire him. We sent him the standard rejection letter the day after the interview, and we hired someone else.
The next day, I started getting calls from him. I could tell the calls were coming from his house because of the caller ID. I didn’t answer the phone the first few times because I was on another call, and he called 11 times in 10 minutes. I continued to get calls from that number every minute or two for a couple of hours. Finally I answered the phone, prepared to deal with Harold.
It wasn’t Harold. It was his mom.
And before you ask—Harold was at least 40 years old.
The mom begged me to give Harold a job. She said he’d been living in her house for 10 years and she couldn’t take it anymore. She said he smoked pot every day and it stunk up her house. He ate all her food. He took cash from her wallet. She was tired of it, and she needed him to get a job.
I let her rant for a bit (she didn’t leave me much choice), and then reiterated that we had filled the job, and told her to have Harold contact me directly if he had questions. When she realized I wasn’t going to find “he smokes pot every day and I’m tired of it” to be a compelling argument, she got mad and started screaming at me that she hoped I had a son like Harold so I’d know what it was like. She also said we were discriminating against him (on what basis, I’m not sure—he was a white male who smelled bad and stole money from his mom, which so far is not a protected class).
Kids, don’t let your moms call your employers. Ever.
Tales of the Cluefree appear pretty much every Friday. Past stories are here.