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Urban Outfitters


I’ve probably filled out ten-thousand job applications in the past four years, and I’ve noticed a particular pattern: the jobs that just barely require an IQ of room temperature tend to take themselves the most seriously. Case in point, clothing stores. The other day, I was walking past a clothing store that had a sign in the window that read:


Help Wanted: Minimum 2 years of retail experience required


I’ve worked in retail before, in a bookstore upstate. I only worked there for about four or five months, but I lied to the woman in the clothing store and said that I worked there for two and a half years. The woman behind the counter looked at me as if I had three heads, and said, “Yeah, but you don’t have any experience in clothing retail, do you?” I didn’t even bother to answer her. Pissed off, I turned around and walked out of the store. You see, I had this crazy, naive belief that retail is retail, despite what the product is. Apparently, this isn’t the case. Apparently, retail doesn’t just consist of organizing shelves and pushing buttons on a cash register. Apparently, clothing retail is a whole different ballgame from book retail. Apparently, since I only had retail experience working in a bookstore, if I were to be asked to put a pair of jeans on a shelf, I would automatically become confused and put a book on the shelf instead. Hey, it’s hard to distinguish between a book and an article of clothing! And let’s keep in mind that even if I did have retail experience in clothing, I wouldn’t really be able to get the hang of it unless I worked there for at least two years. Therefore, if I only worked in a clothing store for only twenty-three months and my boss asked me to hang up a shirt in the front of the store, I would probably hang it up in the back of the store. I could only imagine the feeling of tremendous joy that one must feel when they hit that two year plateau and finally hang up the shirt in the correct place.

It wasn’t just that one clothing store that took themselves so seriously. The most egregious example is Urban Outfitters, who, on their job application, asks you, Why do you want to work for Urban Outfitters? “That’s funny,” I said to myself while filling out the application, “I didn’t realize that I was applying to Smith Barney.” The fact that they were compelled to even ask that question leads me to believe that they don’t want my honest answer, which would be, “I want to work at Urban Outfitters to prevent my impending bankruptcy.” I figured that they wanted a more romantic answer, so I thought about writing, “Because it’s my calling.” Hey, fuck ’em. Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. Besides, a little sarcasm never hurt anyone. In addition to wanting to know why I wanted to work for them, they decided to waste more of my time while filling out the job application by asking me about my hobbies, shopping habits, and other pointless questions. Again, this was nothing more than an attempt to make themselves sound more important than they really are, so I decided to play along. Next to each one of the questions, I wrote “See attachments.” I then stapled the following answers to the job application. So far, they haven’t hired me. I wonder why.


Why do you want to work for Urban Outfitters?


In order for me to answer that question, instead of talking about myself, I have to start out by talking about my friends. My friends are shallow people with shallow concerns. The ability to pay their bills is a top priority to them. They also want such trivial things as health insurance in case they get sick. I’m getting sick just thinking about how selfish they are. In addition to wanting to be able to pay their bills and having such extravagances as health insurance, they want to be able to–are you ready for this–not just barely get by, but enjoy life and not have to worry about money all the time. Can you believe that? Greedy fucking capitalist pigs! When I came into this world almost twenty-six years ago, I knew that I was here for one reason; to help people. Yes, Mr. Outfitter…do you mind if I call you Urban? Yes, Urban, I am more than willing to forego material pleasures for the rest of my life, secure in the knowledge that when I step through those doors every morning, I am making a tremendous contribution to humanity. I could go on for hours as to why I want to work at your store, but they say that brevity is the soul of wit. However, if you wish to achieve a further understanding as to why I want to work at your store, I suggest that you read “The Purpose Driven Life” by Rick Warren.


Tell us about the first time you visited Urban Outfitters


No. Marcel Marceau once said, “Do not the most moving moments of our lives find us all without words?” He’s right. Besides, not only will my attempts to describe that enchanted day be in vain, but the time that I spend trying to describe that day can be better served by providing good customer service. Suffice it to say though that when I’m an old man and I look back at my life, the day that I will remember the most fondly–even if I end up getting married and having children–will be the day that I first visited Urban Outfitters.


What are some things you did not like about other jobs you had?


A few years ago, I worked at the Intrepid Sea Air & Space Museum. One of the main attractions of the museum was a flight simulator of an F-14 fighter jet. My job duties entailed teaching customers how to “fly the plane,” making sure that they put all of their belongings and everything that was in their pockets into a little black box next to the ride, strapping them in, starting the ride, and hoping that they wouldn’t upchuck during their three minutes in there.

In England, they use the word “cunt” loosely. If that seems unrelated to what I’m talking about, it’s not, because one time, this big, fat, stupid, impotent, English cunt visited the museum. We got to the point in the procedure where I told him that he had to put all of his belongings into the black box.

“My stuff will be safe in there, right?” he asked.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” I said.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yep. Absolutely,” I said.

By now, he had put all of his belongings into the box, and he was starting to get into the simulator. He asked again, “My stuff is safe in there, right?”

In a tone of voice that was nothing but friendly, I said, “Yes sir. Absolutely. We’ve never once had anything missing or stolen from here.”

It didn’t matter how friendly I was though, because the cunt felt like being a cunt.

“Okay, but if anything is missing, I’m holding you responsible, all right?”

Still friendly and in a good mood, not yet noticing that this guy’s a cunt, I said, “Yes sir. That’s fine by me. Your stuff is completely safe, I promise you.”

“Yeah, but if anything’s missing, I’m holding you responsible, all right?”

Perhaps he had a learning disability? I ignored him, and just kept strapping him into the simulator, probably a little tighter than was necessary.

Again, he said, “Hey, did you hear me? I said that if anything is missing, I’m holding you responsible!”

“YES!” I shouted.

“Don’t yes me!” said the cunt.

“I’m answering your question! I told you five fucking times that your stuff is safe!”

“Yeah, but you have to answer me if I ask you!”

If you were to be locked up in a box, completely out of sight from everyone, and only one person was in charge of handling your camera, keys, hotel keys, passport, wallet, credit cards, etc, wouldn’t it be in your best interests to treat that person nicely? Apparently, this guy didn’t think so. Apparently, this guy assumed that I gave a shit about my eight dollar an hour job, and that the job was so important to me that I would never even consider walking outside with the black box and dumping it’s contents into the Hudson River. He assumed wrong. I was at least considerate enough to leave a note inside of the black box for when he got out of the ride. It read:


Fat Impotent Cunt,


You shouldn’t have given me attitude. If you want your stuff back, I suggest that you rent some scuba diving equipment. Of course, it would be pretty hard to rent scuba diving equipment without any money or credit cards. Oh well.





I should mention that in addition to that job paying eight dollars an hour, it was also seasonal, with about a week and a half left in the season. Therefore, knowing that my time there was limited, and knowing that my boss would have probably frowned upon my behavior, I left and never returned. I should also mention that the fat, impotent, English cunt was traveling alone. You see, when I called him impotent, I wasn’t doing so out of malice. I hate to sound Freudian, but when a guy gets a rush out of flexing his “authority” by making someone answer his questions repeatedly, he’s either impotent, he has a two-inch cock, he hasn’t gotten laid in over a decade, or all three. This fat fuck walked into the museum and probably said to himself, “Hey, that guy is good-looking! I’m not. I’m fat and I’m bald and I’m impotent and I’m an asshole. That’s why I’m by myself. In fact, one of the biggest reasons why I’m vacationing in New York is because there are prostitutes here, and that’s the only way that I can have sex. Granted, I’m impotent, but I can at least pay a prostitute to lick my balls or something. But this kid who’s working at the flight simulator would never have to resort to going to a prostitute. Well, you know what? It’s payback time…Hey, my stuff is safe in the box, right?”

It’s just like when I used to be in sales. I used to work through an advertising firm in which I would promote Nardi, one of the top hair salons in the entire city. Basically, I would stand out on the sidewalks and try to sell women package deals in which they would receive twelve different services (hair cut, blow dry, manicure, pedicure, etc) all for the price of a hair cut. Fairly often, while I was right in the middle of a sale, some fucking douchebag would walk up to the person that I was talking to and say, “It’s a scam.” Now you’re probably wondering why I didn’t hack these people to death with a machete. There’s two reasons. The first reason is that I don’t own a machete. The second reason is that the people who ruined my sales never stuck around too long. That’s because they’re fucking cowards. They had enough balls to be nosy and to try to fuck with me by taking money out of my pocket, but they never had enough balls to stick around after they did it. Like the fat impotent English cunt, these people were intent on giving an innocent person a hard time. They saw me doing something that was extremely difficult, and they said to themselves, “Wow! That job requires a lot of courage. Personality too. I don’t have either one of those qualities. That’s because I’m a fucking douchebag. Well, guess what? It’s payback time…don’t do it. It’s a scam!”

That’s how people are. If everything is going okay for them, they’ll be reasonable. If things aren’t going okay for them, watch out! Reasonable adults should have enough confidence and strength to be able to either fix their problems or learn how to deal with them without spreading their misery to others. Most people aren’t reasonable though. They’re fucked up and immature, and I hope that all of the newborn babies of the parents that ruined my sales die of SIDS. So to answer your question, if there’s one thing that I didn’t like about other jobs that I’ve had, it’s interacting with people. Oh, by the way, if I work at Urban Outfitters, I don’t have to be friendly to customers, do I?


How would you describe great customer service?


It depends on who the customer is. I am under the firm belief that employees of Urban Outfitters are people who are called upon by God to improve society. Therefore, if someone like the fat, impotent, English cunt comes into the store, we should refuse his business. We should let him know that he’s really fucked up, and that it’s people like him that make this world a shitty place to live in. If we do that, he might see the error of his ways. Perhaps he’ll even go into therapy. Either way, we need to let people know that shopping at Urban Outfitters isn’t a right, it’s a privilege.

Also, there’s an important saying that I would like to share with you, and it goes like this: everything is better with beer. No matter what activity you’re engaged in, whether it’s barbecuing, miniature golf, gambling, storytelling, dancing, yodeling, arts and crafts, skydiving, trumpet playing, jogging, or driving an automobile, beer makes all of these activities more enjoyable. Shopping is no exception. I couldn’t possibly think of a more pleasurable activity than strolling through one of your fine stores with one of my friends while splitting a six-pack. And come to think of it, blowjobs make all of those activities more pleasurable too, especially jogging, skydiving, mountain climbing, yodeling, and storytelling.

I should mention though that if I work for Urban Outfitters, I refuse to give people blowjobs. Maybe I shouldn’t knock it until I try it, but my point is that I don’t want to try it because I’m not gay. And since I’m not gay, and since I don’t plan on going to prison any time soon, the chances that I’ll give someone a blowjob are slim. Cunnilingus, on the other hand, is negotiable. Again, it depends on who the customer is.


What do you like to do when you’re not working?


A lot of things. I like to play the card game Asshole with someone who has Tourettes Syndrome. I like to purchase a cup of coffee with a hundred dollar bill. When the cashier asks me if I have anything smaller, I pull out my penis. Whenever I see deaf people on the subway communicating through sign language, I like to hand them a note that reads:


Hey! Keep it down!


Whenever I’m about to get into a fist-fight, I like to say to the other person, “Oh yeah? Just last week, I got a ticket for riding my tricycle without a helmet! How far do you want to take this?” For the purpose of confusing people, I like to go to one of the listening stations at the Virgin Megastore at Union Square and listen to the new Ja Rule CD. However, while I’m listening to Ja Rule, I like to sing the soundtrack to “Oklahoma.” I do it loudly so that everyone in the store can hear me. One thing that I’ve never done but always wanted to do is hold a press conference. I don’t do anything that’s important enough to hold a press conference for, but that’s exactly why I want to hold one:


“Good evening. This morning, I had a toasted bagel for breakfast. I put butter and grape jelly on the bagel. Thank you. I will now answer any questions that you may have.”


I have a bit of a dark side, and that is why I like to go to funerals, find the grief stricken widow, and whisper in her ear, “So…you come here often?” I also like to quote Biblical scripture while murdering people: “And when ye stand praying, forgive, if ye have ought against any…” (MARK 11:25) BANG! BANG!


Where else do you shop, and what are your favorite brands?


I like to shop at Down The Hatch. My favorite brands are Heineken and Jagermeister.


What was the last CD you bought?


The last CD I bought was Earth Wind & Fire’s Greatest Hits. I’m a bit of a pyromaniac though, so I only listened to the parts of songs that Fire sings. Whenever Earth or Wind sing, I turn down the volume. But don’t worry. I won’t burn down the store. I’m receiving counseling for my pyromania, and my love for providing people with good customer service far outweighs my fascination with fire.


What was the last magazine you bought?


The last magazine that I read was The Christian Science Monitor. The last magazine that I bought though was Playboy. You see, someone had told me that this magazine called Playboy has lots of great articles. Being that I am a big fan of the written word, I recently picked up the Playboy College Issue. “Oh, how delightful,” I said while purchasing my copy at the newsstand. “I get to read some great writing from a cornucopia of this nation’s finest young minds.” I happened to notice that the young lady on the cover was wearing a very short skirt. I shook my head in disgust while pondering the ever deteriorating moral fiber of America. But like I said, I had heard some wonderful things about the literary quality of this magazine, so I gave the nice brown-skinned man at the newsstand my six dollars, and I went on my merry way. Well, I did not remain merry for very long, because when I opened up the magazine…God this is so embarrassing to even write about…there were pictures of naked women! I fell to the ground, crawled into a fetal position, and started shaking. You see, as a fine young Catholic gentleman, I refuse to look at such sinful smut. I have never seen a naked woman before–either in photographs or in real life–and I don’t plan on doing so any time soon.


What was the last book you bought?


The last book I bought was “Clifford The Big Red Dog Goes To Kindergarten.” It was brilliant! Not only will it change the way you look at kindergarten; it will change the way you look at everything!





October 17, 2004



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