Pretty in purple

I'm interviewing for a job tomorrow. Well, technically I've already had a phone interview, an internet submitted interview, and then a second phone interview, and then a scheduled interview tomorrow. You know, I'd be annoyed with all the red tape, but at this point in my career, I'm so far advanced along my path that it's only natural for employers to want to verify that I'm really the one. It's a complicated position, the one I'm interviewing for. It requires quick thinking, fast reflexes, nerves of some metallic substance that is slightly less over used than steel.

The job is called, "Courtesy Clerk." There's no required degree, previous job experience, or really any requirement except for the fact that you're actually alive and not just some sort of reanimated super corpse. Hell, they'd probably even let that slide if you were hot and not too decayed.

Fine. Fine, I can live with that. So I have to interview a bunch, take up some time from my life. I've got plenty to spare. That's all acceptable. What is not acceptable is the fucking purple polo shirt that I am required to wear for my job.

Somewhere along the line, some well intentioned guy with a degree in psychology and a sweater vest with wood buttons decided that purple is non threatening. Purple, it seems, is the quintessential color, the be all and end all of the visible spectrum. It's the color that the Germans would be studying in a lab sometime during World War II, they'd be exclaiming things that sound funny, like "ACH" and "BITTE, MEIN FRAULEIN."

Those guys were a crack up.

Anyway, purple polo shirt is my future. Years from now, I'm that guy who used to be seen changing on the sly after every shift. I'm that guy who would have some purple piece of cloth sticking out of his bag, and when you asked about it, he'd run away.

On the other hand, I'll be making $9.50 an hour. These riches require some sacrifices.