A Wrench in the Gears [Damien Haas]

1. And now onto sports, which I also do.

"Die-hard fan? Me, not really."

"Same," she answers. "I'm the reporter."

Her occupation literally described why her hair was so neatly fixed, because she needed to have it perfectly placed in the way it was. From a near glance, the Poop was gorgeous. She was like Robin Scherbatsky, but I was no Ted. I'm not a romantic, first of all, because I spend too much time with my cats instead of girls. I wasn't Barney either, because again, I spend too much time with my cats instead of girls. And this wasn't How I Met Your Mother, but this woman was a literal Robin Scherbatsky, until of course, I heard her laugh. A monstrous laugh. But that's for later.

For now, let's turn back and look at why we even got to the event. You know about Day Jobs, of course, but the reason why we actually thought of boxing is because it seemed kinda interesting to become a professional athlete. Surprisingly enough, not all of us were athletic, so most of the time we just throw random punches with a bit of good aim.

The bigger reason why we even got to the Staples Center is because Shayne wanted to go honor Kobe Bryant, who had sadly passed away a few months ago. Shouting "Kobe!" before throwing something was always a great tradition everywhere around the world, and Shayne, dear Shayne, was extremely psyched to get the chance to honor one of the greats. When it came to the match, however, Ian was pretty picky because of everyone's schedules, likes and dislikes, and comfort. This match was the only one timed to everyone's convenience, and so we got here.

Now I keep thinking, what if we chose a different sport like base(s)ball? What if Shayne wanted to go to MSG instead? What if Ian chose a random match instead of following everyone's schedules? If all of these happened, then there would be no lengthy discussion of the BPD. No mere coincidences, no elements of Poop, Wind, and Position. Just usual work, fun, and I would have probably been wifeless for the rest of my life.

But there we were, in the split second of the universe's plan for each of the seven billion people on the planet, and it may sound like I'm getting too philosophical...

Well, I guess I kinda am. Let's get back to the story.

"How do you exactly report for boxing matches, though?" I ask out of the blue, and the Poop looks at me quizzically. "Like, isn't it dangerous to be beside that ring?"

"Well, I'm more of the, uhm, during-the-match reporter, so I really go around the area to interview all sorts of people but not the contestants themselves," she answers. "I do believe, though, that we should be focusing on a different problem right now."

The Poop looks frustrated by the stopping of the elevator. Who wouldn't be? Of course, in the next few years, that would be us. But in the meantime, we were there, pissed at the fact that we were stuck in an elevator, busy with our own agenda, and starting to get a bit sweaty.

I didn't know what I was thinking, but the words just pop out of my mouth, "I'm Damien."

"Jade," she says, extending her hand and shaking mine. "I'm a reporter and sometimes I do work for the control team. You?"

She looked definitely smart, but I was proud of what I did, so I say with full confidence, "I'm an actor." I then butcher the rest of the words. "Um, I mean, I do some sketches especially on YouTube, then I also work for a show in Disney, and then, I, uh, stream games. Yeah. A lot."

The Poop, whose name we now know as Jade, seems to be unfazed even though she seems to be a college graduate with perfect credentials and a tone that would embarrass all of us working at Smosh. "That's nice," she says, smiling. "I've always wanted to know what it's like to work in a place where you can just be creative."

"Doesn't journalism do that work for you?" I ask.

She shakes her head sadly. "It's not the perfect dream, but it's a good one anyway. And besides, you guys are like our polar opposites. We're confined to rigidity, you guys are open to innovation."