Connor, a young Irish lad with more confidence than common sense, strutted into the local welfare office like he owned the place. His jeans sagged halfway down his rear, proudly displaying cartoon-printed boxers. Around his neck dangled a gold chain so thick it could’ve towed a small boat, and his front teeth sparkled in gold like they were sponsored by a leprechaun-themed hip-hop group.
As he swaggered up to the desk, chewing gum like it owed him rent, the lady behind the counter raised an eyebrow so high it nearly merged with her hairline.
“Good morning,” she said dryly. “What can we help you with today?”
Connor slapped a form on the counter with the enthusiasm of a man who had just finished his only chore for the day. “I’m here to pick up me welfare check, love.”
The clerk looked him up and down. “I see. And do you have any income, Mr…?”
“Connor. Just Connor. Like Beyoncé. And nah, no income. That’s why I’m here.”
She glanced at his gold chain. “That’s… quite the necklace for someone unemployed.”
Connor grinned. “Oh this? Family heirloom. Passed down from my cousin Mikey. He got it off a guy in Ibiza.”
“And the teeth?”
“Also family. My uncle Seamus had a two-for-one voucher at the dental bling shop. Said I had a ‘smile too humble.’”
She blinked slowly, then sighed. “Alright, Connor. Before we proceed, I have to ask: Are you actively seeking employment?”
Connor leaned on the counter, looking around to make sure everyone could hear. “Absolutely. I’m just very, very selective. Can’t let these looks go to waste flipping burgers. I’m thinkin’ more… brand ambassador. Maybe international DJ. I’ve got charisma, you know?”
At that moment, a man in a sharp suit stepped out from the waiting area. He’d overheard the conversation and couldn’t resist. “Excuse me,” he said, stepping forward. “Are you really looking for work?”
Connor puffed out his chest. “Depends. You hiring? I charge extra if I have to wear a shirt.”
The man grinned. “Actually, I run a marketing firm. We’ve been searching for someone with your… flair for public attention.”
Connor’s eyes lit up. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” the man said. “Our new campaign is for an anti-cringe awareness charity. You’d be the perfect ‘Before’ photo.”
The welfare clerk snorted so hard her glasses fogged up.
Connor paused, unsure if he’d just been complimented or insulted. “Do I get paid?”
“Oh yes,” the man said. “But first we’ll need to take your photo… as-is.”
“Deal!” Connor shouted, throwing a peace sign and striking a pose like he was about to drop the world’s worst rap album.
And that’s how Connor, the lad with the golden grin and gravity-defying pants, became a poster boy—for exactly the kind of decisions you should avoid.
