You know when a job ad on Craigslist is headlined "Really hard work, a jerk of a boss, and low pay," there's something special behind it — namely, the most brutally honest, over-the-top help wanted ever. When's the last time your boss compared himself to Gary Busey?
Grant Liban owns Renu Auto, a car detailing shop in St. George, Utah. Earlier this week, he posted this ad seeking an extra hand that was flagged by the crew at VWVortex. After reading it, I'm not sure whether to call the Department of Labor, Harvard Business School or a local priest:
No seriously, this is a horrible opportunity.
I operate a small company that is looking to expand. And by "expand", I mean, I want you to do lots of manual labor while I sit on the Internet and flirt with girls on FaceSpace. And I'm being shamelessly serious about that last part.
The company is the Mona-Lisa of auto reconditioning. We make cars look new through services like detailing, paint-correction, foggy headlight repair, ect). But rather than Jose'-&-Nester's-Bucket-and-Sponge service, we're the Ruth Chris Steak House to their soggy Egg McMuffin. In fact, I don't have a whole lot of important things in my life, so I take things like the carnuba percentages of car wax, and how well I can see my own face looks in the reflection of a hood, very seriously. That means I'm looking for someone that's going to understand the actual mission and the personality of the company itself, rather than someone looking for "a job". If you're thinking you're gonna roll in here rocking your favorite Ed Hardy shirt and diamond-rivet pants, sprayin a water hose at some pickup trucks and slapping them with drying towels, you need to go look for a different help-wanted ad. Maybe a career in landscaping or clubbing baby seals is more your forte. If you roll in here with your chest puffed out and say to me that you're ready to "wash some cars", I'm going to put a curse on your first-born child that is going to ensure it never passes the third grade.
And with all these high standards and expectations, you're now exploring your imagination, painting this beautifully orchestrated Claude Monet portrait of this ultra-sleek, modern company that runs like a well-oiled machine of pure production; it's professionalism and efficiency being exceeded only by the likes of Google. You figure Steve Jobs and I text each other high-fives over being so awesome at business. You, my friend, are incorrect. When we're in "work mode", it's usually a something like Helen Keller playing a game of Marco Polo. We're usually prank calling your wife when your phone is left on the desk, arguing loudly in our fake Italian voices with the business owners next door, staring at hot soccer-mom's down the way, or trying to convince one another that we're the most important people in existence. I promise I'm going to swear at you lots. I promise that I'm going to be so disgustingly inappropriate, it'll make a hairy-chested man in a biker bar blush. I promise you that spending a day with me isn't anything like a Monet, but rather, more of a Jackson Pollock. A Jackson Pollock, put into a mixing bowl, with a small monkey, high on cocaine, chasing around Lady Gaga, and throwing confetti. It's going to be chaotic madness.
And to deal with this, you're thinking at least the money will make it worth it. You're thinking, "Oh heavens, this koo-koo must be paying top dollar to have people deal with him on a daily basis". But no. I fully plan on paying you JUST enough money to make sure you barely don't qualify for government assistance. Your first paycheck is going to be an assortment of great recipes for Top Ramen. I plan on being late on your checks, and occasionally saying, "Look, you did a great job this week, but I blew way too much in Vegas on Tuesday night, so here's a box of Cracker Jacks and a dvd of, Dude Where's My Car".
But surely it'll be worth it to have a reliable job in this sloppy Monopoly game of an economy. Incorrect. Some days I don't have work. Work just doesn't always fall in my lap like single mothers do. Some days only enough work falls in my lap for me and I'm selfish so I'm going to do that work myself. And some days I have too much work. And there's literally NO notice of when it's going to come. So I might call you up on Tuesday at 9am and yell at you to get to the place ASAP or else I'm going to tell your mother that you married your cousin, and then you might not hear from me for four more days. It'll be the employment-equivalent of a shameless booty-call. It'll be awful. You'll hate it, and you'll want to kill me. And that's just the way it is. Deal with it.
So who is the idea candidate for this position? Ideally, someone who doesn't currently work, doesn't have anything going on all day, that doesn't need the money, and that is at least almost as crazy as myself. Preferably, this is someone that has inherited an eight-digit sum of money from an old family member, and has already traveled the world hunting exotic game to decorate their library with and enjoys smoking cigars in private clubs on exclusive golf-courses. They are just so bored with life's adventures that they want to experience the true satisfaction of manual labor, automobilia, and a level of craziness in a human being only to be surpassed by Gary Busey.
If that doesn't quite fit you, but you are a young guy that has a pretty flexible schedule, is looking for something to do, and loves cars above all else, then you might be a fit...
Shoot me an e-mail with your resume', and one-paragraph about yourself and why you're perfect for the position. If you have it, post a link to your FaceBook. Yup, being serious there. I can usually tell within about 2.6 seconds if you're a general doosh-nozzle through a glance of a facebook profile.
Thanks,
Grant
Liban has the ad down for the moment, but the job's still for the taking. You can't say you weren't warned.