One day, I got an email asking for a phone interview about a comedy writing position I'd applied to on a whim. I'll call the interviewer "Gary." I was slightly suspicious to begin with, since Googling the nonsense words in Gary's email signature pulled up an inordinate number of furry event calendars. I spent most of the following conversation hoping that was a coincidence and trying to avoid imagining Gary in a fox costume.
Me: What kind of comedy writers are you looking for?
Gary: Funny ones.
Me: Right. What kind, though? Stage? Screen? Sketch?
Gary: Screen. We're working on a sitcom.
Me: What's the premise?
Gary: I can't tell you a lot, since it hasn't come out yet, and there are intellectual property laws. I can tell you it's about an oddly matched set of roommates.
My head: Like Friends or Gilligan's Island or Laverne and Shirley or the Odd Couple or Three's Company or Will and Grace or ... or ... or ...
Me: What level of content are you looking for?
Gary: Dense. Juicy. More Simpsons than Family Guy.
Me: How will it be rated?
Gary: Highly, I hope. We're shooting for a big audience.
Me: I guess I'm trying to find out what your target audience is. What kind of comedy is this?
My head: Please let this not be furry porn. Or porn of any kind. Please.
Gary: Why do you care? Is there any kind of comedy you won't write?
Me: Well, I'm a Christian, so there are a few boundaries* I'll want to respect.
Me: Would next week work? I'm graduating from college this weekend.
Gary: Congratulations! What college?
Me: Wheaton College.
Gary: Oh. So the Christian thing ... that wasn't a joke?
Gary: You're serious?
Gary: Christians make me want to gouge out my own eyes.
Gary: Also, you might as well know, this sitcom is going to be mostly NC17/X. A Wheaton graduate wouldn't be a good fit for us.
Me: Probably not. Thanks for your time.