Gil Humplestead is a 23-year-old, recent college graduate who just got his first real job as a Junior Marketing Assistant Coordinator with Incorporated Partners & Co. Today, he chronicles his first vacation as a postgrad.
You sandbagging son of a bitch! I’ve been living the big life lately. That 5% raise I got from corporate is definitely making me about that life. I don’t know what “that life” is and why people say it, but I’m really excited to use that term in what I assume to be the correct context. I am about that life. I am that life. Gil Humplestead is about that life. I can’t stop saying it.
Being rewarded with a hot raise just means I’m one step closer to achieving my goal of being a millionaire before I turn 25. I’m no mathematician, but if I get a 5% raise every six months, I’m going to be in the top earning bracket by 2016. I’m well on my way, Diary. Well on my way.
I figured now was as good of a time to celebrate my “mandatory raise.” Yeah right it was mandatory. There’s no one else on the planet who could’ve done what I’ve done at IPC in the last six months or however long I’ve been there. Every day in the office seems like a year. Hell, that raise could’ve been for my five-year anniversary and I literally would not have known. I’m in such an entrepreneurial zone right now that I’ll probably die before I even realize how filthy rich I am. I’ll wake up one day and just be like, “Whoa. When did I buy the MGM Grand as my fifth house? Because I’m the man. That’s why.” I’m on that kind of supernova career path at this point.
I was really bored at home one night last week and was browsing through some Facebook albums, leaving stuff like “Ha! Classic” and “Remember this one, guys?” on old spring break pics. That’s when I got the itch, Diary. I got the itch to travel. I traveled the world in college. Panama City (the Florida one, not the Mexican one), Acapulco and Paris. I went to Paris only to visit my ex-girlfriend while she was traveling abroad. France is the dumbest country. We ate at McDonald’s for every meal because that was the only place people understood English. Idiots.
In order to become a highly successful entrepreneur like Joe Francis, I need to be well-traveled. I need to see the world, Diary. I had only used two of my 10 vacation days, both of them were when I showed up at work at 2pm after a couple of 12-round heavyweight bouts with Humplemakers at happy hour. Apparently, IPC doesn’t go by the hour with our vacay time. I had it out with Terry over the bullshit that was our PTO policy, but Terry just grunted and mumbled about “company policy” and “time management” in between bites of his Double Whopper. Terry doesn’t respect me. I was conducting business at those happy hours. As the face of the company, I need to be in the trenches. The old saying “nothing good ever happens after midnight” is total BS. I’ve almost closed so many deals (biz and personal) after midnight it’s like I should become some sort of nocturnal businessman. Lions are nocturnal in some parts of Africa. I saw that on Planet Earth.
So I have eight days to do what I please. I have my cousin Jeff’s wedding in April, but it isn’t an open bar. No way in hell I’m sacrificing precious vacation days to go see Jeff go get married to his six of a fiancée in Rochester.
So I started piecing together which vacation would be best suited for an up-and-coming 21st century jetsetter like Gil Humplestead. Eight days is a lot of time. Including weekends, I don’t see why I can’t take a 12-day tour of the finest cities the planet has to offer. So what’ll it be, Diary? Two weeks in Vegas? A week in Ibiza? Carnival in Brazil? Nah. Gil Humplestead is a man of finer tastes. Gil craves fun in the sun. The winter has been unkind to The Hump. I need Caribbean sunshine and steel drums. The finest piña coladas and hamburgers that the Atlantic has to offer. I’m talking about a little place called Sandals Jamaica, mon! Five days, four nights in paradise. They say it’s for couples, but I’d be willing to bet that there are plenty of little fillies down in Jamaica (MON! lol) that want to make the sensual acquaintance of Gil Humplestead. Once I get that tan rocking and my breath smelling like daiquiris and crab meat, I’ll have the chicas snapping at the neck trying to catch a glimpse of your boy in his 7-inch inseam trunks. Show just enough bulge to be classy. That’s my credo.
I should probably start looking into vacay packages now, Diary. I can’t waste anymore time. The urge has struck and it’s time for me to get the hell out of here.
Gil Force One is first in line for departure. Time to kick the tires and light the fires.
–Buying Work Clothes
–First Sales Call
–The Office Party
–Hazing The Interns
–Company Chili Cookoff
–The Holiday Party
–Crushing It In 2014
–Getting a Raise