As an admitted sufferer of Peter Pan Syndrome, working for Grandex is a dream job. Sure, I’m done with college, I pay taxes, and I suffer through the pain known as online dating. I grew up. Except that I didn’t really grow up.
While everyone else I know is schlepping away at some dead end job at some dead end company in some dead end city, I get to parade around as if I am still in college — and it’s fucking awesome. Like I said, working for Grandex is a dream job. As I type this, I’m wearing a rush t-shirt and running shorts. There’s a half-empty bottle of wine on my desk. A compilation of Yeezus, Billy Joel, and Queen is playing over the loudspeakers. Roger Dorn is playing Golden Tee. Bacon is hungover. The Champs Tour and Stuff Frat People Like are well into their second bourbon of the day and Hot Piece is reading Cosmo while TFM Intern paints her nails. Aside from those fuckers at Google and Hotel Zuckerberg, we have the best job ever. We’re professional college students. Grownup children. Paid degenerates. And added to all of this, we have some small, miniscule, teeny tiny bit of celebrity — even if it is just on Twitter — and only impressive to 7th graders and drunk sorority girls. Working for Grandex has its perks, and it seems as though some gentlemen from the University of Southern Indiana wanted in on them.
While on Spring Break, a few unidentified boys decided to impress the ladies (i.e. attempt to get laid) with insanely awful, homemade TFM press passes. The badges appear to be the result of a cocky attitude, sexual frustration, a plastic pouch, a piece of cut up computer paper, and black (not blue) ink. Also, they used the old logo, not even the current one. Regardless, they appeared to get the job done. Honestly, props to whoever thought of this. This is fucking awesome. Ladies, you got taken for a ride — in, let’s hope, more ways than one.