Hired (and Fired): My Week in PR for the WWE

First of all I'd like to thank all of the B/R for helping me to get the opportunity to work for the WWE. Secondly I'd like to apologize for blowing the opportunity of a lifetime.

Back story. As you know I've been doing my thing here for a while. Most of my writing has gotten a pretty good response, and I'm proud of my work.

And like a few others, my hard work has led me to be contacted by a few people in the biz outside of the B/R, one of which was the WWE about two weeks ago.

I got the shock of a lifetime when I got a call from Geoff Rochester two Tuesdays ago. He said he read my piece on how Shane was going to steal the WWE from Vince and everyone loved it. "Yes!" I quietly did a back flip in my living room.

And I was even more surprised that he was sending me a ticket (coach, but who cares) to come out and see them about a job. What? Me on the creative team? Get the frick out of here.

I get to the monster of a building three days later and I'm completely amazed. I almost got arrested like three times for trying to steal the memorbillia off the wall. Just playin', but I wanted to.

So I get there, and after a 45 minute wait, I'm brought in. Where's Vinnie-Mac, Steph, or even Shane? Instead, my interview was with the man who called me, Mr. Rochester, the head of marketing.

To sum it up, they liked my work and thought I'd be perfect for their PR team. PR?! There's no glitz or glamor there. Plus, they could've at least put me on the creative department since my background is in copywriting. Nope, PR.

But a job in the WWE is a job in the WWE, right? So I shook his hand and smiled like I never smiled before. I'd be starting Monday and they'd be putting me up in a Comfort Inn 'till I found a place.

Comfort Inn? Where the heck is the Ritz-Carlton? Shoot, the Ramada Inn would be a step up even. But a job with the WWE is a job with the WWE, right?

My first day on the job is uneventful as I'm shadowing an INTERN. The next day is a little better as by the end of the day I was writing press releases to various media outlets hyping No Way Out. This is cool.

So I'm wandering around the building, as I tend to do any chance I got, and I hear a voice. It's vaguely familiar, but not sure. My dumb self tries to get a bit closer and hear it's Arn Anderson. Ohh, what's he talking 'bout?

I pretend to stare at a promo poster, which has all of 10 words on it, as people pass by. All the while I listen in to their convo.

Arn says, "The kid has potential. Now he's not going to be the next Triple H or John Cena, but the kid is good." Who's good? I wondered. This would be the inside info I need for a great b/r article.

So right when I leaned in to hear more, bam, I leaned right into AA, knocking all his papers out of his hand as I was almost knocked to the ground.

I immediately appologized as I helped him pick up the papers. I told him I was sorry again as I was deep in thought, but he walked away shaking and cursing under his breath before I could finish.

I'm so fired, I thought. But I wasn't. But I also didn't leave my desk for the remainder of the day. So I completed the day and the next without incident.

I did manage to get some swag though. A No Way Out t-shirt and a Royal Rumble DVD, albeit from 2003.

So I head into our debut radio show hyped and ready to go. Still haven't told Shane yet, because I didn't know about any opportunities he's received and didn't want to sound like an arrogant prick, so I planned to tell him before we went live.

I didn't. Don't know why, Shane, take this as my apology letter, you'll see why later. So we went on the air and put on a decent show. We got some great feedback and even had a caller, M.

I was stoked and Shane I spoke for a couple minutes after the show. Still couldn't tell him about the WWE. No worries, I'll tell him later.

So I get to work early, as I always do, and I'm hyped for another great day. There's talk of a group outing on Friday and I've been in contact with several radio shows requesting them to bring on a couple guests.

All of sudden my phone rings, for the first time since I got there, and I'm needed immediately down the hall.

So I get there and two guys, who I've never seen before are in mid-conversation which slowly comes to a stop when I get in.

"Uh, Darius. I just have to let you know that it was brought to our attention that you put on some kinda wrestling show last night."

It's Daris not Darius loser, I thought to myself. I said, "Yeah, It's just little thing a few of my friends, from a site called Bleacher Report, and I put together."

"Yeah, we heard the little comment about rolling on the floor laughing after Shane attacked Randy." The fatter of the two said.

I thought it was hilarious and true. And I guess they agree I've missed my calling, but those two were n't smiling...so neither was I.

"And it was unacceptable." He continued. My jaw dropped. "We can't having you bashing the product. Especially since you are supposed to be promoting us. Yet you're tearing us down? I'm sorry, this is no longer working. We're gonna have to let you go."

What? It was just one show. Just one comment. Just one week. But any excuse I gave was just an excuse. I packed my box and was escorted out the building.

Less than a week in and I'm already on the future endeavours list.

So I boarded the plane and headed back to Myrtle Beach. Back to reality. Would my wife see me as less of a man? Would my daughter look up in disappointment? No, the only one who'd judge me is the reflection in the mirror.

Maybe all I need is a good night's sleep. I go directly to bed, no sheep and no worries. When I wake it's Saturday morning, and all is well. I greet my wife and baby girl, eat some grub and check out the b/r.

No report of my name on the future endeavours list. No nothing. I ask my wife how she really feels about my getting fired from the WWE so quickly.

She replies with a blank stare. "Hello? What do you think?" I asked. She replied, "When you make it to the WWE, I'm going shopping. So hurry it up, momma needs a new pair of shoes, hey."

I look at her confused. I run to my still packed suitcase, only it's not packed. There's no No Way Out t-shirt, no old Royal Rumble DVD, no nothing. I'm so confused. What happened to my stuff? What happened to my dream? What happened to my chance at being No. 1 on B/R?

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!