While scrambling through Craigslist for a full-time, easy-ass job to pay the bills… I thought I hit paydirt:
Marijuana trimmer.
After conferring with some co-workers (who had extensive knowledge of the field), trimming marijuana plants is apparently a big enough deal that it necessitates crews of full-time workers to get the job done.
I’d never thought of it before, but it made sense. (Out of all Colorado denizens, I was and am the most ignorant of the entire industry. Call that a reflection of my dorky, sheltered life.)
Anyhoo, the company said they wanted 10-20 people – no experience required.
I liked those odds… and standards
So I wrote down the address for the open interview session and, while looking around the backroom where I worked, pondered a new life as a marijuana trimmer.
My cubicle had officially been buried in a maze of old equipment and supplies from stores I had closed. We had shriveled to two locations, from eleven. Within days, it would be zero.
On the day of the interview, the gold store owner was nice enough to lend me his car – making me the only guy applying for the $10-per-hour job in a Lincoln Navigator.
As soon as I found the place downtown, I discovered landing this job wouldn’t be a lay-up.
A line of people spilled out the front doors
As I parked, I noticed the line snaking around the side of the building.
Ugh… well, I was already there. No point in just giving up.
So I got in line, amongst maybe one hundred people. More piled behind me.
While waiting, I talked a bit with a woman helping herd the crowd along. She said she’d been hired as a trimmer just a few months before, but had already been promoted.
Well, that’s a good sign, I thought.
Once I finally got around the side of the building (progress!) I looked into the distance and saw something inspiring.
It was one of the tallest buildings in Denver, The Spire.
It contained luxury residences I’d lusted after – especially one at the very top, that faced the city and the mountains
And I could see that very unit, peeking above the roofs of all the buildings surrounding me. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed such a thing: While opening my business checking account a couple years before, I saw it while staring out the window. Like a massive monolith.
A good omen, I decided. Whatever the outcome.
After maybe an hour of inching forward in line, five more people were allowed inside. Including me. We scampered through the doors, inside to discover…
… another line, again snaking around the corner.
Oh come on! I thought.
The entire afternoon, potentially wasted
If I’d known it was this long, I would have abandoned the idea from the beginning.
But because I was already there…
(That’s called the Sunk Cost Fallacy)
Finally, the line terminated in a large back room where four employees manned counters. Almost like check-out lines at a supermarket.
Except, instead of processing merchandise, they were interviewing everyone rapid-fire. No chairs, no resumes, and not much privacy either.
The excitement and fast pace was contagious, and I let it slip into my demeanor when I got called to one of the “registers.” The interview was a blur. I made sure to focus on something I figured was a hot-button for them: Dependability. I forget most of the questions he asked me. (Maybe one was “Are you good with scissors?”)
But one question I’ll never forget
“Do you owe taxes from previous years?”
“… Yes.”
“Ah sorry – it’s against Colorado law for a dispensary to hire someone who isn’t paying their taxes.”
“Oh, I’m definitely paying them – on a payment plan. It’s just that I do owe back taxes.”
“Ah gotcha.”
Whew, good thing I clarified that…
He then proceeded to nicely tell me that they were doing interviews just an as initial “get to know you round” and that they’d call me in a couple days for the next one. Or something to that effect.
Everything happened so fast, and I was so excited to finally reach the head of the line and finish…
… that I actually believed him
By the time I drove back to the gold-buying store, I surmised (correctly) I’d never hear from them.
While handing the owner back his car keys, I braced myself against the chaos in the store. He’d advertised a massive yard sale of all his office supplies, and the vultures were swarming. One guy even bought a computer, but swiped a more valuable one and walked off with it.
The afternoon’s sales shrunk the clutter, but only a little.
And in a few days, I’d spend my last ever shift as a sign-spinner, and trudge away unemployed…
