"That Time I Worked In Porn..." By Joey Boats
So I survived the first chopping block at HQ today. The whole day has been anxiety fuel like you read about. During the elimination, I was shaking like Muhammed Ali at the opening ceremonies in ’96.
We’re onto Day 2 though, and along with the routine blogs I’ll be pumping out throughout the day, I thought it couldn’t hurt to throw in a few fastballs amongst the wallpaper.
So without further adieu, here’s that time I worked in porn…
First and foremost, this is one of those stories I haven’t really told much for fear of people thinking I’m a complete and utter sociopath. For the record, I absolutely am, but I’d rather keep that stuff close to the vest.
Anyway, I used to work for a telecommunications company. I forget my job title because I was only there for a month and if I went into any more detail, you’d probably fall asleep so let’s just call it a “cube job.” Long story short, I got fired and needed work…
As I normally do when I’m looking for a job, I proceeded to go on various job sites and spray my underwhelming resume out like a firehouse. I must’ve applied to 70 jobs the day after I got inexplicably canned. A couple days go by and I received a call out of the blue.
I answered tentatively because I didn’t recognize the number and the guy explained to me that he received my application and would like to ask me a few questions. “Sure,” I replied. He then proceeded to ask me my favorite porn website. “PornHub”, I instinctively responded before briefly pausing and asking for further clarification. It was a bombshell of an opening question so I was a little thrown off but I’m an agent of curiosity. Stuff like this perks my ears up a bit.
He continued on to inform me that the position I applied for was at an audiovisual production house that specializes in pornographic entertainment. Cool. He invited me for an interview and, well, I didn’t have much of a schedule at the time so I basically just said “fuck it” and agreed to go.
The day of the interview, I dawned my best shirt an tie and rolled down to the area to meet my maker. The studio was adjacent to a couple law firms in this gigantic building. I just remember walking in with my resume and aimlessly meandering around the building like an asshole until some affluently dressed gentleman approached me and asked if I was here for an interview.
I confirmed and was escorted into a room to one of the law firms. Now, for the record, this guy clearlydidn’t represent the porn company but I was too far down the rabbit hole at that point. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I wasn’t interviewing to scan and organize legal documents; rather, to transcribe and archive anal videos in a dimly lit room for future, public consumption.
He finally informs me that there was no interview scheduled for anyone with my name, to which I replied that I was here for [insert actual company]. He goes “Oh, the porn place?” as the entire room directs their attention to me. I swear I heard a record screech in that moment. I walked out with my tail between my legs and eventually found the right door.
I hit the buzzer to be let in, only to realize I was late. Yeah, I was late to the porn interview. Anyway, the guy interviews me and then directs me to the production room, where he set me up with the editing software and a set of studio headphones that I lathered up with an inexcusable amount of Purell.
I sat down and quickly realized that every stock video in the entire archive exclusively featured black-on-black porn. This was great news for my self esteem. I sat down and started cutting up clips of some mammoth going Yahtzee on some chick who looked like she just walked out of cursive class.
A couple hours go by and I’ll be honest with you: once you got past the fact that you were literally two inches away from a gigantic screen where some girl was dismantling her father’s faith in the world, it wasn’t that weird. Video editing is a weird thing. You just sort of zone out after a certain amount of time regardless of the content.
Suddenly, the two people next to me begin to strike up what I can only assume was an engaging dialogue concerning the contemporary sociopolitical landscape. I took off my headphones to engage with my potential coworkers for the first time since I came in late a few hours earlier. This was a mistake.
Here’s how the following conversation went down…
Normal Girl: “Joe, did you vote for Trump?”
Me: “I don’t really discuss politics in the workplace.”
Normal Girl: “Me neither. I mean, it’s not like any of it’s real anyway, you know?”
Me: “…what?”
Normal Girl: “Well, I mean, we’re living in a parallel universe…”
Me: “…what?”
Normal Girl: “You know, like dark timelines and stuff…”
I nodded and immediately put my headphones back on. My boss walks over to provide some insight into the promo I just cut. He gets down on one knee next to me like a little league coach about to throw soft toss to the worst kid on the team and starts talking.
I don’t remember how the conversation started, but I do remember how it ended. After 3 minutes of constructive criticism, he leans in dangerously close to me and goes, “Your goal as an editor is to make the user feel involved. Like, at the very end where he flips her over and jacks off in her face… you want to feel it.”
And that was it. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I left shortly after with the scraps of dignity I managed to preserve throughout the whole ordeal. Call me old fashioned, but you haven’t felt vulnerable in life until you hear someone you met 30 minutes ago casually use the term “backdoor cum shot” 3+ times in a single sentence without skipping a beat. I do marketing now…