A resume speed page from the work history of... The Legendary Jim Parks, wordsmith

Complaints? Take a number; be right wit' you
It was Hewlett-Packard's flack on the line. He was kind of churlish, testy – out of sorts. 

It was something about a micro-miniaturized 32-bit ump-de-ump, diddy-wack nanosecond disk drive in gold lamé – you know, ceramics in the dialect of high glaze. 

Finally, I broke it down simple, since no one had ever really seen one of these PC gadgets – at least, not any time that week, or that year, for that matter. 

Never, in fact. “Okay, then, what you are talking about is going to be – like – a television screen hooked to a kind of electric typewriter, all of that jazz linked to a satellite uplink antenna by telephone lines, electronic switching system – fiberoptics – and a kind of Xerox machine if you want to print a copy? 

He was in high dudgeon, to the say the least. Definitely had a pocket protector in his coat of arms, this dude. 

We finally agreed. It would all fit on a desktop. He still wasn't satisfied. 

“Sounds like a new glass tit, to me,” I said. I chuckled. Really, I chuckled. 

“Glass tit?” Oh, I read that in the L.A. “Free Press.” Some screenwriter named Harlan Ellison. 

So, they pink-slipped me. That's what you call the golden rule. He who has the gold – makes the rules. 

Written. Unwritten. Whatever.