Nepotism

He sat on a couch in the waiting room. On the walls, looking down at him from all sides, were his great grandfather and his great granduncles. They seemed to look only at him, their eyes steady and unamused. He wanted to change seats, but he knew their eyes would follow. He was told by his mother he used to sit on their lap as a baby, but sitting here now, that seemed hard to believe.


Jason Morrow III secretly believed he had no chance of getting a job at the investment firm of Morrow and Morrow. He had barely graduated high school. The only reason he was even allowed this interview was his last name.

It would be a hell of a surprise, but if he got the job, fine. He was sure he wanted it,

His first interview was going to be with the San Francisco office manager, Rudy Hightower. Mr. Hightower was said to be in his mid-fifties. A hail-fellow-well-met kind of guy who wore four-thousand-dollar suites, black shoes with tassels, and red argyle socks. Apparently, he liked to smoke Cuban cigars on Friday afternoons with the boys at the Union Club. He was a man quick to smile, quick to laugh. They say he was a hell of a card player, both poker and bridge.

“Come on in, Jason,” Mr. Hightower said from his office doorway. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” He waved at a chair, and Jason sat in it. Mr. Hightower sat himself down behind an oak desk and silently looked at Jason for what seemed a long time. Then he said, “Nepotism’s a fine thing, Jason, long as you keep it in the family.” He smiled and waited, and Jason knew he should laugh, so he did, maybe too hard, maybe not nearly hard enough. He wouldn’t know until he had time later to look up the word, nepotism.

“Hard work” Mr. Hightower said. “That’s the key to this business. Think you can handle that?”

“I know I can, sir.”

“Call me Rudy,”

“Rudy,” Jason said.

“You get on the phones, and you stay on the phones. Your goal is to open new accounts. The money will come. And with the money, a promotion or two. Then more money, Jason! More and more and more. This is your chance to raise yourself up the food chain. Do you like that idea?”

“Yes, sir!” Jason Morrow III said. He sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. Then he uncrossed them and sat forward again. He wanted to say something, to ask a question, but nothing came to mind. His hands were getting sweaty, and he ran them down his brand-new pants to prepare for the handshake that he hoped was coming soon. His tie was cinched too tightly. His new shoes hurt. He could not wait to just go home and blaze up a fatty.

“Do you believe in God, son?” Rudy asked.

Jason was expecting some hard questions, but he wasn’t expecting that one. After a moment of hesitation, he said he most surely did, for that was the truth, but more importantly, also the safest answer.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Rudy said. “This is a tough job. You’ll be tested. You’ll be calling up complete strangers and asking for copious amounts of investment capital. You’re going to need God, or at least a kindly angel to see you through.” Rudy laughed and nodded his head at Jason, and Jason laughed and nodded along with him. Again, he felt like a perfectly good joke was being wasted on him.

“Like I said,” Rudy went on, “you’re going to be tested. You must be strong, even vicious. There are two kinds of people out there, Jason: there are hammers and there are nails! If you are going to make it here, you got to do some pounding!”

Jason was silent while Mr. Hightower looked at him closely, his eyes searching Jason’s eyes, back and forth, looking for an answer, looking for the truth deep down inside Jason Morrow, the third’s soul.

Jason let him look. There was a part of him that wanted Mr. Hightower to see the truth. See that Jason Morrow, the third was no hammer. This didn’t make him a nail! As he sat there being looked at by good old boy Rudy Hightower, Jason knew there was a third category. There were people who wanted to be home, sitting on the couch smoking herb. There were people that didn’t want to set the world on fire. Success in life didn’t have to be measured by your position on the food chain. Harmony with yourself, that was the goal, was it not?

“So, what’s it going to be, son, you a hammer?”

“I’m a goddamned sledgehammer, sir.”

“That ‘a boy, Jason!”

“I’m a pit bull, Rudy! Nobody says no to me. I’m gonna grab ‘em by the throat, rip off their head, and shit down their throat!”

“Now you’re talking!” Rudy Hightower said, leaping to his feet. He looked like a proud father whose 12-year-old-son just hit a home run. His hand was now stretched over the desk, “You’re hired, son, damn glad to have you aboard!”

Jason was now on his feet too and shaking Rudy’s hand like a mad man, like he was trying to pull Rudy’s hand from his wrist.

“Ok, ok, easy their big fellow!” Rudy said, taking his hand back. “Now come with me and let me introduce you to 22 of your fellow stockbrokers.

“Well, hold on. I have another job offer I’m interested in, Rudy. It sounds good too. Euthanizing puppies!”

And with that, Jason Morrow III left Rudy’s office to catch the bus home to sit on his couch with his shoes off and be one with the world.

--995 Words--