“Nayman.”
“Whoman?”
“Nayman.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nayman.”
“No, I heard you, I was apologizing for getting your name wrong.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Why don’t we start again?”
“Sure.”
“Ari?”
“Ira, actually.”
“Oh. Your handwriting is atrocious.”
“I have been told.”
“So, you are…”
“Ira Nayman.”
“Okay. So, Mister Ira Nayman, why do you want to be a correspondent for the Naked News?”
“Well, I’ve always sort of wanted to be a journalist. It’s been a quasi-pseudo-dream of mine. And, I saw your advertisement and thought that this would be the perfect opportunity for me to follow that ersatz kind of dream.”
“It’s a touching story.”
“Thank you.”
“You left out the part where you don’t actually need any journalistic experience to qualify for the position.”
“I’m saving it for my memoirs.”
“Fair enough. Now you, uhh, do know that the job entails you taking off your clothes, don’t you?”
“Absolutely, yes.”
“All of them?”
“Your point being?”
“How old are you, Mister Nayman?”
“Forty-six”
“I don’t mean to be ageist –”
“I appreciate that.”
“But have you considered the possibility that you might be a little old to be a reader for the Naked News?”
“I don’t think so. Samuel Beckett didn’t become famous until the first performance of Waiting for Godot when he was almost 50.”
“That may be, but Samuel Beckett didn’t have to strip down to his birthday suit to audition for us. Or, if he did, he never finished the paperwork. I certainly never saw him.”
“I’m a very young 46.”
“So, you’re saying you’re…immature?”
“Will it help me get the job?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, then, of course not. No, no, no, no, goodness me, no. I’m not saying I’m immature. I’m saying I…I have a playful nature that will make me naturally attractive to your viewers.”
“Ah, yes, about that…”
“Yes?”
“How tall are you ?”
“Interesting that you should ask that question. I used to be five six, but I was recently standing next to somebody else who claimed to be five six, and we didn’t see eye to eye. I think I may be one of those people who shrinks as he gets older, so –”
“Right. And, how much do you weigh?”
“A hundred and seventy pounds. I used to weigh closer to two hundred, but –”
“So, you’re…how can I put this?”
“Fat?”
“Wouldn’t you prefer the term overweight?”
“Sure. I’d prefer to look like Brad Pitt, too, but nature wasn’t kind to me.”
“Well, you see the problem, then.”
“No.”
“To do this job, you need six-pack abs.”
“I prefer to think of myself as a Joe Sixpack kind of guy. Women don’t want perfection, they want ordinary guys with sparkling wit.”
“Uhh, no, actually, they want perfection. We have viewer surveys. If they wanted ordinary guys, they would spend more time with their husbands.”
“What about the sparkling wit?”
“You don’t give up, do you?”
“Will it help me get the job?”
“No.”
“I can’t help it. It’s my nature.”
“Okay, look, I didn’t want to bring this up, but…you have a scar running down your chest.”
“That’s right. It’s from my heart operation.”
“Don’t you see the problem with that?”
“I prefer to think of problems as opportunities you haven’t recognized yet.”
“Of course. And, what is the opportunity in having a scar run down your chest?”
“I can tell your female viewers that it’s a dueling scar.”
“A dueling scar?”
“Very romantic, don’t you think?”
… “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you get past our screener?”
“I sweet talked her.”
“In other words, you bribed her.”
“Hey! Money talks – why can’t it be sweet?
“I see. Well, thank you for coming in. We’ll –”
“Did I mention my sparkling wit?
“Yes. Thank you for coming in. We’ll contact you if we decide to hire you.”
“About how long will that take?”
“As long as it needs to take.”
“Could you give me a ballpark figure?”
“Sure. Don’t quit your day job.”
“That’s why I’m here – my day job quit me.”
“Thanks for coming.”
“But –”
“Bye, now.”
“Yeah, okay –”
“Bye.”
“Bye.
… “Okay, please send in the next applicant.”
“Hello.”
“Mister Arnett?”
“That’s right. Peter Arnett.”
“Okay. Tell me, why do you want to be a correspondent for the Naked News?”