As the unofficial assistant hiring manager for Frankie’s Frozen Pizzas Incorporated, I’ve seen my fair share of disrespectful candidates, but I can’t say I recall a potential hire as inconsiderate as the man I see before me today. You walk into my office, shake my hand, and then deliberately ignore the framed degree I put next to my nameplate and call me “Mr. Frankie Jr.” like I’m some sort of chump? Listen to me very carefully, bud:
I didn’t do seven years of community college for you to not address me as Associate of Arts, a’ight?
I paid my way through school with nothing but the money I earned working here a couple of days a month, and a small, six-figure trust my father started for me by cutting back employee benefits. I think the least you could do is refer to me by my proper title, and maybe throw in a little salute or something.
Seriously, any dough-slinger can do it. You see those guys over there? “Hey Frankie, Associate of Arts, what the fuck you doing adding cinnamon to the sauce?” this, and “Yo Frankster, AA, if you don’t put on some goddamn shoes when you’re on my floor” that. Simple stuff, even if they ain’t anywhere near as smart or financially savvy as I am. And when I graduated? Oof, they made me the best pie you could think of and spelled out “Papa’s Nepporoni” with the toppings, which they tell me is Italian for “Your Successes are All Your Own.” And I’ll take their word for it, because I don’t speak dead languages.
Says here you got an education, too, in something called Chemical Engineering, whatever that is. Be honest with me: did you ever take History of Calzones 150? Because I’d like to see you try to even get a C- in that class, which was coincidentally the grade I got on my third go-around. No, pal, I don’t know what a PhD is—is that some kind of dumb person disease you picked up for being a complete dingdong?
Hold on, is Rose Totino Community College, home of the Mighty Minneapolis Margheritas, a little too highbrow for a man of your juvenile sensibilities? Would you have given me some respect if I’d attended Yale or Stanford or one of those other stupid, made-up universities you keep yammering on about? Or is someone just a little upset that they can’t compete with a guy who spent nearly a decade in academia to get to where they are now in their family business?
Yeah, go on and get out of here, buddy—we don’t need ya. We only hire the best, and you clearly ain’t it.
Man, once I sign on my first employee, Pops is going to be so proud.