It has been about a month now since my last Whatchamacallit sighting. I believe when he first moved in was right around my birthday, so it has been a solid 3 months since his transplantation from east to west coast. He had been calling Butterfinger and I for months prior to his planned arrival to make sure we had space for him, still wanted him to come, and to get a better idea of what things he should pack/sell. These calls were often spaced between his drunken phone calls at all hours of the day during which he would rant and rave about this worthless girl he was involved with. Despite these distasteful and frustrating drunk dials, we were excited, he was excited, and everything seemed to be in place for a really successful move for both Whatchamacallit and us.

One of the main reasons Whatchamacallit wanted to move in with us was to become involved with the startup, and use his background in sales to assist us with getting the service out there and obtaining advertisers for the product and site. It became apparent during the first week of his arrival that he was not going to be an asset to the project. At first he used his newbie status as a reason to get drunk and party; after all, the best way to discover a new place and get involved with a new business is to bust open a cold one at about noon. Butterfinger did his best to nip this behavior in the bud, but to no avail, Whatchamacallit would get buzzed in the early afternoon, head downtown or to the beach, get wasted with strangers, and arrive home on the last trolley smelling of cigarettes and vomit.

Eventually he decided that he should probably start making some money to support his alcoholism and he began to seek out work, instead of committing himself to the startup, which was most of the reason why we opened our home to him. He began to bounce around from week to week between different dead end sales positions - one place actually laid off about half of their workforce while he was in the process of completing a “rigorous” training program.

It was at this point we began to notice that Whatchamacallit is the type of person that feels the need to celebrate each and every trivial accomplishment during the day. If he sold one pen over the phone to a draftsman, he deserved a beer when he got home from work. If he took the dogs for a mile-long walk, he should probably go downtown and treat himself to dinner. If one of the twenty under aged and unknowing girls he threw lines at while he was cruising the beach actually gave him the time of day, he felt the need to utilize the drunk dial and brag to a friend 3000 miles away. If he worked an entire eight hour shift, he had the right to get wasted and be a little late for work the following day.

After the sales jobs were unsuccessful, he went back to his previous experience as a pizza shop drone. Instead of finding a pizza job close to our home, he chose to work at a hip and happening place by the beach, where the ladies are plentiful and the booze flows free as Niagra Falls. Only problem with this saucy master plan was that it is a hell of a commute to this place for someone using their legs as their primary mode of transportation. So Butterfinger, the uberniceguy, let Whatchamacallit borrow his car to get to his 7pm to 2am shift.

Things were all peaches and cream for Whatchamacallit, until the evening that he decided to not come home after his shift. I woke up for work at about 6:15 am and immediately noticed that Butterfinger’s car was not in the driveway. At first I was worried that something may have happened because Butterfinger was not in the room, but a few minutes after my alarm had gone off he came upstairs and told me that he had called Whatchamacallit but he was not responding. Now I was thinking that Whatchamacallit had better actually be dead or in the hospital before he tries to roll back to the house in a few hours like everything is cool.

I called Butterfinger at lunch to check in, still nothing. It was not until late in the day that I found out that Whatchamacallit had finally turned his phone back on and attempted to make contact with Butterfinger. He proceeded to give him some lame excuse about him going to a “rager” at his boss’s house, getting too drunk (how surprising), and not being ok to drive, so he just stayed there. I honestly think he wanted Butterfinger to praise him for his wittiness in deciding not to drive home after he had sucked on brew, and done god knows what for a few hours.

Ok, Whatchamacallit, if you are fortunate enough to have a genuinely caring friend that is willing to let you use their car to drive to and from your waste of time job, instead of helping him out on the startup as you had promised you would do when discussing you possibly moving in, you should really try to abstain from destroying your liver for one night of your life and focus on returning the car in a timely manner, preferably in one piece. It is also a considerate thing to do, when borrowing someone else’s car, to pull the automobile into a gas station on your way back and refueling the car with the amount of carbon you used for your travels. Removing your garbage and stench from the automobile after you have completed your usage are also essential steps to take before pulling back into the driveway.

Needless to say, that major faux pas was the beginning of the end of Whatchamacallit’s existence in our homestead. He began to not come home from work more and more, and within a few weeks, he rolled up to the house in a hunk of junk of his very own. It was pretty bad on nights when Butterfinger and I would be eating tuna and rice and Whatchamacallit would walk in with a case of imported beer instead of throwing us some cash for rent or utilities, but the car was really the straw that broke the camel’s back.

I know he is still working at the same pizza shop and I have heard that he lives with his girlfriend somewhere by the beach. I am sure the two of them a very happy together, treating themselves to a case of beer when one of them has a good poop, or going out for a fancy dinner when Whatchamacallit goes for a five mile run. I guess I am mostly just disappointed because I think he could have been a great asset and colleague with regards to the startup.  I just hate to see people unwilling and unable to harness their potential and waste away at a brainless, monotonous job.

August 30th, 2007 | Startup Relationships, The Startup, Roommates, The House