I rarely put the summer I spent working for an eccentric knife dealer in his stall in Azerbaijan on my resume. Mostly because it's a long story and starts to sound like a Buddy Cole monologue before it's done. Only, you know, with a raven haired heterosexual.
Also, the only bit of bullshit in there is the Azerbaijan part. I don't want to tell you where it was, but let's just say a certain government thinks I died in '98.
It's also hard to keep what happened in Denmark out when they ask about resolving conflicts, but I'm pretty sure "We took all them sons of bitches out, not a hair on a hostage harmed." isn't what they're looking for.
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