Tag: lifestyle

How Would I Vontae?

Vontae Davis retiring at halftime of the Bills game against the Chargers has dominated my mind since Sunday afternoon. How can it not? The man pulled off a hall of fame resignation and somehow transformed himself from a solid but not memorable NFL vet into a sports trivia night legend that will never die.

So now I’m proposing that we officially add ‘vontae’ into the collective lexicon of cube crops everywhere. However, vonte can’t be left at just leaving leaving a job with no warning, that’s already known as an Irish Goodbye or what my dad did after they figured out I would always be a terrible baseball player. Maybe he just got taken into The Upside Down and is trying to barter for his freedom from the Demigorgon with a pack of Cloves. Is Stranger Things still a thing? I only watch one show a year just so I have something to talk about with people at bars.

No, a vontae has to be something of an even greater scope in order to properly honor this mailtime legend. So here is my formal submission to whoever is in charge of making words words (you’d think as a former librarian I might have a better idea at who is in charge of that).

Vontae – verb – To quit a job in a manor in which the story of how you do it leaves a story that will long outlast your coworkers at the time.

Get on it Merriam!

So obviously the next step in this  blog is to ponder what some of the best ways I would vonte. Now for the sake of an equal playing field the sun was shinning bright on you one day and your Friday night ritual of picking up a Mega Millions ticket along with a six pack of your choosing finally paid off and your lucky numbers finally hit. Mr. Davis isn’t exactly diving into the unknown, he managed to rack up a $53 million in career earnings over the past 10 years.

I know a lot of people that might be fed up with their jobs might want to take this hall pass to lay into their boss or coworkers about pass transgressions but being a dick doesn’t earn you legendary status and if you get too caught up in the moment it might end with the cops getting called. No, kill them with kindness, blow their minds, leave them with a story they’ll be dying to tell everyone from the new intern, their buddies at the bar, and strangers on the internet because a relevant thread on Reddit stirred up that glorious memory. Neil Armstrong is the only person to be able to lay claim to the first man to step foot on the moon but everyone who saw that unfold will never forget it.

My first delusion of grandeur involves a fading celebrity sex tape star, some foam cannons, a Cinderella-esq horse drawn carriage, and the guy that played Lloyd in Entourage.

Anyone know what Paris Hilton is up to these days? Apparently she’s a celebrity DJ that goes around and performs(?) at hotels and casinos. Let’s set the scene. It’s noon on Monday, I called in saying I wouldn’t be coming in until the afternoon because of an appointment. The appointment was to go over the set list with Paris, it’s just an endless shuffle of Sandstorm, Levels, and an EDM remix of I’m Blue.

Lunch time rolls around and everyone is heading out to their cars to go to their preferred (the only) sandwich shop near out office when they hear the iconic duh-duh-duh-duh-duh from Sandstorm. Off in the field next to our building I’m hosting my own personal Dayglow. Mixed in with the foam being shot out of the cannons are replicas of the billion dollar check I just received from the New York Lottery. Am I rolling on enough molly to permanently rewire my brain? Doesn’t matter, no more cooperate mandated piss tests for ya boy but yes. After I’ve had my fun I get to live out the dream everyone who watched Entourage really had and that’s to scream at the top of my lungs “LLOYD, no more calls I’m done with this place.” Then Lloyd pops out of a bush and scurries off to my cube to handle the paperwork and formalities resulting from my vontae. I’m on a lot of drugs at this point but I’m also responsible person so rather than driving off into the metaphorical sunset I enter my carriage and ride off as far as those horse will take me. There’s not enough room for my newfound ego and Ms. Hilton so she’ll have to figure out her exit. A job with an okay salary and health insurance just opened up so if she’s looking to find something more stable than DJing maybe she sticks around to discuss terms.

My other idea “only” requires the cast of The Sandlot. We saw at that Dodgers game that they’re all still available for the most part but I think I have the cash assets now to pursued The Jet to make an appearance too.

I go into work Monday morning and carry on business as usual. When suddenly the original boys of summer burst into the office and challenge us to a game for the fate of our facility in a Space Jam esq fashion. Obviously we have to accept this challenge, momma didn’t raise no punk ass bitches. It’s the bottom of the 9th, my companies up to bat, there’s two out and it’s a tie game. You already know how this plays out, exactly according to the script I sent with the million dollar check. Ya boy steps up to the plate with Ham Porter chirping in my ear, I point off into the distance calling my shot. The pitcher serves me up a meat ball and I mash it into the stratosphere. Rounding the bases on my homerun trot I pat our opponents on the back as I go by, on the surface it looks like I’m just displaying great sportsmanship but really I’m slipping them all a few extra hundreds for a job well done. Everyone’s so caught up in the theatrics of what just happened that they don’t realize that after stepping on home plate I kept on walking and am now too far away to see where I went. A true walk-off.

How would you vontae?

Holla at ya boy

Twitter: @LlFired

I’ve Found My Mortal Enemy

So I’m a firm believer in the notion that your surroundings are a strong indication of how you’re doing in life. There’s a reason why if you grow up with dreams of making it big you picture the bright lights, big city and hill top mansions.

My current terms of employment have me working in a one traffic light town with one bar and the great tragedy of recent memory was that the McDonalds went out of business, how’s that’s even possible I don’t know. I’m a broke ass 20something just looking to find some ground to stand on in this apocalyptic wasteland known as post-grad life. If you offer me a salary and health insurance I’m in regardless of location. This type of environment is something that I’m used to anyway. I spent last summer working in a rust belt town in the middle of bumfuck Pennsylvania where the event of the year was that a Motley Crüe cover band was playing at the railroaders memorial museum. You could say I’m the poor man’s John Taffer of towns that have been passed by in the forward march of development. Bring me in, I shout “shut it down,” but then I don’t really manage to make much of an impact. Then it’s off to the next one! I lied, there’s actually 2 traffic lights.

Let me paint you a picture of my commute as I come into work. I exit the highway and turn onto the road my office is on. At the turn there’s a plywood sign that just says “eggs” with an arrow pointing in the only direction you can continue. It’s written in red spray paint so while the arrow doesn’t really add any vital information to those driving by, it does clarify that this isn’t some poorly planned PETA sign trying to convince me that eggs are murder. The road is dotted with small houses separated by almost a mile a piece and a barn where I assume those murderous eggs are hiding. There’s something else dotting the road too. Actual horse shit. It’s just smeared across the asphalt in streaks resembling what it looks like if you take a brown crayon and lightly brush it against a piece of paper.

This is because of him, my nemesis. The Amish guy who I pass by at least once a day in his horse drawn buggy. Now Jedidiah and myself have never actually interacted outside of our passing glances along the turd paved road, almost like a rip in space and time has opened up and what once was is now staring back at what now is. The reason why he’s my nemesis ties back into the whole where you are says a lot about where you’re at. The Amish are supposed to be societies canary in the coal mine except instead of a methane leak it’s an indication of modern amenities.

There’s a reason you never see a horse and buggy rolling down Sunset Boulevard or Broadway unless it’s some over the top cheesy romcom. It’s because the 21st century has moved in and said get the fuck out of my way. We as a people stopped shitting in outhouses and now bathe using hot water because 1. Ew and 2. it’s waaaaaay better this way.

The great poet Niki Minaj once said “put this pussy on your sideburns”, but that doesn’t really apply here. She also said “my haters are my motivators.” I don’t know if he hates me the way I hate him but he’s still one of my biggest motivators so I guess I should thank him for that.

This actually isn’t the first time I’ve tangoed with Amish folk. Back when I was a young lad, probably around 12 years old, my dad brought me to a trade show he was working. The primary theme of the show was farm equipment and a handful of related markets. At the show there were a few businesses run by Amish people, I don’t know what they were but I assume they had something to do with hand churned butter or a home defense system to protect you from the Apaches. A family dawning the traditional monotone and button laden garb walked past our booth and my dads’ friend Aaron said to me “I bet you $20 you can’t get an Amish girls phone number.” It took me a few seconds but then I had the come to Jesus moment and replied in a half questioning tone “they don’t have phones.” Aaron laughed and turned to my dad to say “you got a sharp kid over here Mike.” Yeah, sharp as a butter knife.

Holla at ya boy

Twitter: @LlFired