In Regard to Bullshit

As I was leaving work today after my serving test, I was absolutely exhausted. Jumping from one job then making it to the next one can be quite trying. I spent the morning working on some last minute PR work for the first job, then I had to pass the final serving test for the restaurant I work at so I can legitimately begin serving. I apparently passed about halfway through with my only critiques being: 1) Be more confident when you approach the table, and 2) When you don't know the answer to a question, don't try to bullshit people. Personality will only take you so far. Psh. Personality runs the world.
Just in case that wasn't a proven fact, as I was walking back to my car completely relieved that the day was over, there was a small man with an electronic notepad in his hand. I saw him walking around my car when it hit me. I didn't pay my meter. I ran in my serving uniform up to my car and announced, I'm here! I'm here! I'm here! The officer, completely unamused turned around and said, I'm here, too. I knew that I had to do one of two things... convince this man that I had never done anything wrong in my life or talk to him so much that getting away was more desirable than actually giving me this ticket. On impulse, I channeled every bone of bullshitting skills in my body and began, Listen, you look like a nice man. You have kind eyes. You "can" do this, but you don't want to do this. He looked at me and said, You didn't pay for the fare, I have to give you a ticket. I responded, But you don't. If you let me get in my car, I will pay every meter I ever park at. Maybe even extra! We can all forget about this.
He looked me up and down and said, Get in your car. At that point, you don't say thank you or God bless you; you just get in your car and thank the deities of sarcasm that you somehow managed to get out of a fifty dollar ticket. And on my way home, I realized that even though most would say that I'm personable and intelligent, the majority of my life I've ridden on having strikingly blue eyes, an infectious smile, and the ability to tell people things that they want to hear. I have navigated through life on one slippery slope of bullshit, and for that, I will be forever thankful.
That's not to say that I'm not sincere; I'm usually always sincere to some extent... like, I fully intend to pay every meter that I park at, not to appease the parking gods, but rather because that's a nice civic thing to do. However, when the cards are all out on the table, and I need to put on my poker face, it's kind of a no holds barred situation, which is what happened to me at the end of my sophomore year when I inadvertently came out to a dorm party in college. I had been away at my fraternity initiation the weekend I came back and was informed about how one of my fellow RAs had gotten wasted at a campus party and apparently announced that I was a homosexual. Sweet.
So when I came back to campus, I naturally confronted her about the issue because that's not something you go an announce at a party. In comparison to some of my other adverse reactions, specifically the ones paired with some bottle shelf tequila, I like to imagine that my distaste for her announcement was quite mild. However, the story about my addressing of the issue quickly escalated from me being angry, to me being angry and threatening her, to the eventual resting place of "Justin got over me in my bed, threatened my life, and yelled at me." Most people would akin my normal demeanor to that of a bear, or possibly a labrador retriever. Never had I been referred to as an "attacker" or "defendant," so it was all pretty new territory to have an order of protection placed upon me.
As I met the officer in the parking lot of the Chapman Highway Wal-Mart to get my "papers," he told that if I wanted to, I should definitely try and fight it. I could feel his hopeful vibes coming my way; if accurately executed, I could bullshit my way back into the light of justice. It would have to take some finesse, but if I could pull it off it would easily go down as my best performance in history. After considering the several angles I could use, I decided one completely stereotypical, but beneficial ideology: you can be gay, or you can be Chris Brown, but you can't be both. My plan for the morning of the trial was to do the opposite of everything I had been prepped to do my entire life. It was time to channel every gay bone in my body, and when I was called in front of the judge, I needed to work that courtroom like a runway, and it better be fabulous.
That morning, I wore my dark rimmed glasses and my subtle, yet plaid, pants. I put as much product in my hair as the follicles would allow and found the tie with the most feminine pattern I could on it. Everything had to match, but it all had to say, Hey guys, the reason this matches so well is because I'm a stereotypical gay man, which is ironic. I had spent years perfecting the kind of mannerisms and clothing that would convince someone that I was not gay. I hadn't made any clear cut decision about who or what I wanted to be, but I was sure that up until that day, if there was one thing I never wanted anyone to think I was (joking or not) it was gay. And that's a travesty, the idea that anyone would spend their life hiding from something because they've been convinced that the world hated them.

The day I walked into the courtroom, I was obviously nervous, but I had spent hours upon hours rehearsing what I wanted to say. I mean, for God's sake, I wanted to run for office one day... I already had Rebecca's ousting to deal with as well as all the deer heads back on the walls at home, the last thing I needed on my political platform was a one-time order of protection. It wasn't worth explaining at the Democratic National Convention, so it had to be extinguished now. I walked up to give my testimony, which is apparently not very conventional in an order of protection hearing as one or both parties usually lacks the ability to speak coherent English, and answered every question asked with grace and poise. For all intensive purposes, I was essentially a contestant in the Miss American competition. I decided to defend myself, partly because that's what an A class actor would do in a big budget Hollywood movie... but mostly because my family had absolutely no money. My closing argument was I don't think we should worry about whether I'm going to hurt this girl; I think we should be worried about this girl hurting herself. Beautiful finish, and the judge and what people were randomly strewn across the courtroom had nothing to do but sympathize with this eloquently-spoken, outstandingly-matched homosexual boy who just ended up getting outed at a vulnerable time in his life. The charge was eventually dropped, and my reputation slowly returned to the sparkling clean image it had always been.
But if I learned anything from the situation, it's that bullshit, if properly utilized, is the strongest drug of all. We're talking Schedule 1 kind of addicting.
And essentially, I owe a great deal of my life to bullshit because as I've learned in recent months, hard work and dedication... even intelligence... just puts you in a category or somewhat upstanding people. I've sent out 15 resumes and only heard back from one job, and that was to tell me that my experience wasn't relevant enough for the position. I was only able to score one PR job, and that's for 10 hours a week. The whole thing is a little devastating because you want to believe that determination will send you shooting to the top, but sadly, that's not always the case. However, the one characteristic that has never let me down is the ability to bullshit, and when you pair that with all the other qualities, you really can't go wrong.