The T-Room devours souls. Or, if your car looks like Lady Geiga's, in that case it just eats your hubcaps, and it's in the form of a very, very rowdy Soul. Apparently (I refused to go) - all it took was two comments to rile up the sleeping monster (with most likely German heritage) within Soul to rip the caps off with his bare hands. That being relatively badass, it would have been much worse (better?) had The Mozz not prevented him from totally blowing it and smashing some windows with said caps. "Hey that car looks like ------'s." "Yeah, except it has hubcaps." Fuckin solved that problem didn't we?
In the meantime I was mouth-breathing at home idly applying online to jobs that companies don't actually want to fill. It's all just publicity and game for them. I'm convinced HR departments have design contests where they see who can design the most appealing job that receives the highest numbers of applications. Such is life. Chopkins came home at about 1 AM to find me with bloodshot eyes, applying to some place that literally lays pipe, and the first thing he said about his experience at T-Room: "That was a big waste of time." At least The Mozz wasn't shanked by the pimp that tried giving him advice on hustling. And at least I wasn't overcharged by 30% for the third consecutive time (by simply not going).
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