| Автор |
Тема: Edifice recruitment |
168 одговори
|
|
|
while we wait for part II of Max's Wild Wild West tale, send your app to Ahmet.
right now, I'm on vacation and too drunk to write something useful - so that's all for tonight.
|
|
|
|
All right, one thing that needs to be mentioned as we are getting closer to the end of season. A thing, a point I thought that was pretty clear but apparently not quite enough;
Most of the apps we receive have too much about people's GPRO careers & too less about themselves. One of the apps even have this stats in it;
GPRO Trophies: 0
Number of GPs: 16 (814)
Points scored: 37 (1746)
Wins: 1 (74)
Podiums: 3 (151)
Pole positions: 2 (81)
Fastest laps: 0 (52)
Avg pts/race: 2.31 (2.14)
Certification: The manager has passed the GPRO certification test successfully! (Dec 5th, 2015)
Achievements:
58% unlocked
(208/356)
Like why? Why would anyone copy-paste these stats into their apps? We'll see it in your profile anyway. And one of the apps have a little paragraph about himself, then he says "enough about me" & writes 4-5 paragraphs about his GPRO stuff. This is not what we want. Not even close.
It's not like we don't value your GPRO history & capabilities but we'll get there if we think you might be a good fit for the team. Otherwise we're not interested anyway even if you're champion. We already have cups in the team.
Personality is what matters the most. Please keep that in mind. Show us who you are. Show that you have a sense of humor. Though, don't try hard too much to do jokes as those are just sad, not funny.
[/rant]
|
|
|
|
another bumpity bump... not much time left, send your app to Ahmet or anyone else within the team.
Reset is coming, and decision time is coming fast.
ps: if you want part II of Max's WWW story, drop him a PM.
He is too lazy, and your PM may speed things up.
Love,
Team Edifice
|
|
|
|
Look.
If your application mentions tools, I'm not reading it.
If you mention your Discord. I don't know what that is or what it does.
If you say "one day I will be Elite champion", I have news for you. You won't.
Feel free to apply. If you have 12 races to your name and you're in Rookie. Great! We could do with a project. Consider Ahmet to be Klopp and you're Trent. We could be great together.
We're not bothered about how many teams we can grow. We don't care if you have ambitions and a spreadsheet (we've got all that). Show us sone personality.
There's a World out there. If you've lived in it, tell us. If you've lived on a beach, surviving only on cockles, tell us. If you've contacted a horrible STD when on holiday, that's seen awesome tale. If you've been imprisoned in a foreign police station, well perhaps that's a step too far, but you get three idea. We're down to Earth, real people who live life to the max, drink beer (9/10 anyway) love women (again 9/10) and take GPRO seriously (probably 50/50 on that one).
If your post is riddled with typos because you are typing on a phone when you're drunk? You'll gift right in.
I'd love a great app from sometime. We've had done strong ones already.
Toygun, I'm waiting for yours...
|
|
|
|
And now, the continuation...
‘I’m looking for the one called Roland.’
‘The gunslinger?’ the bartender asked, raising an eyebrow.
Joe ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. ‘You see a Dark Tower round here? No. The other one.’
The bartender shook his head. ‘Ain’t seen him in months.’
Joe reached beneath his cloak and produced a cheroot. ‘I ain’t got time for games,’ he said quietly, striking a match on the edge of the bar and lighting up. ‘Friend o’ mine told me he’d passed Roland over by Big Cat Point not five days ago. Said he was headin’ this direction.’
The bartender shrugged, picking up another glass. ‘You could ask ol’ Rodu,’ he said, inclining his head towards the wooden stairs to the left of the bar. ‘If anyone be notified about anythin’ in these parts, it’s him.’
Joe glanced over to a table by the base of the staircase, at which sat a man in a faded blue jacket, holding a small bell. ‘Thanks,’ he grunted, flicking the match away to his right and causing the man with the snake pendant to yelp excitedly.
A dozen pairs of eyes followed Joe as he returned the hat to his head and walked over to Rodu’s table, his face a mask as he looked the man over. Rodu rocked slightly in his chair, one hand clasped to the side of his head, the other gripping the handbell so tightly that his knuckles showed white. As Joe approached he flinched slightly, causing the bell to chime and an anguished expression to come over his face.
‘You Rodu?’ Joe asked, using his teeth to roll the cheroot to the other corner of his mouth.
‘Can’t stop,’ the man said, to no one in particular.
‘What?’
‘The voices!’ he cried, screwing his eyes shut and rocking vigorously back and forth in his seat. ‘Can’t stop the voices!’
Joe leant closer, resting his palms on the damp wood of the tabletop. ‘Listen, mister, I ain’t got time for crazy. I’m looking for Roland, and you’re gonna tell me what you know.’
Rodu continued to rock back and forth, the bell chinking occasionally in time with his movements, every word Joe spoke appearing to cause him physical pain. After a few long moments Joe reached back to the Colt at his waist, and used his thumb to push the hammer back. The weapon’s click was audible to everyone in the silent bar.
‘No!’ Rodu shrieked, his eyes snapping open. ‘No no no!’
‘One last time,’ Joe said, the hard syllables accompanied by small puffs of cheroot smoke. ‘Where is Roland?’
With what seemed an immense effort, Rodu pulled his hand away from his temple and pointed at the stairs behind him. ‘The Marshal,’ he croaked through gritted teeth. ‘You must speak with the Marshal. He knows. He knows!’
The low burble of conversation returned to the bar as Joe slowly climbed the stairs, each fall of his heavy boots echoing from the bare wooden walls. The cold air up here was redolent of cooked meat and cheap perfume, and Joe felt his empty stomach growl as he stepped into a long corridor. In the dim light of a single overhead lamp Joe could make out several doorways, each of different proportions to its neighbours.
Joe struck a match from one of the walls and relit his cheroot before moving to the first door, which bore a crudely-painted gold star. A delicate depression of the handle told him that the door was locked. Joe stepped back and drew the Colt from its holster in one practiced movement, then gave the door a hard kick. The thin wood gave easily, the door flying open and sagging forlornly on its hinges as Joe stepped into the room. As he did so a startled cat ran past his legs, hissing and spitting.
‘Howdy,’ said the room’s smartly-dressed occupant, remaining seated at his desk as though Joe had just been admitted by his secretary. He had a nearly-trimmed red beard, and lamplight glinted from the golden, star-shaped badge on his lapel. ‘Don’t mind Lucy, she don’t often take to strangers. You ain’t a priest are you?’
Joe stepped forward warily, keeping his gun raised. ‘You the Marshal?’
‘That I am,’ the man replied, still studying the circular item on the desk before him. ‘Can I interest you in some pizza? Best outside of New York!’
‘No. I’m looking for Roland.’
‘Ah,’ the Marshal said, looking up at last, ‘well, you ain’t the first! Ever since the Rush we’ve had folks venture out this way looking for ol’ Green Hair.’
‘I’m told you’ve spoken with him,’ Joe said, eyeing the food with distaste. ‘Is what they say about him true? Does he… know?’
The Marshal leant back in his chair and peered at Joe over his thin spectacles, fingers steepled in his lap. ‘What he knows depends on what you wanna hear, kid. It’s different for all folks, so I’m led to believe. Some don’t like the answers they get.’
‘I ain’t talkin’ in riddles,’ Joe said testily. ‘You have his ear. You know where he is. Tell me, and I’ll do the rest.’
The Marshal seemed to consider this, producing a cheroot from somewhere Joe did not see and striking a match on a passing tumbleweed. He exhaled deeply, then slowly pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. Joe tensed, his finger applying half-pressure to the well-worn trigger of his Colt as the Marshal edged around his desk and walked towards him.
‘Don’t make me do anythin’ I might regret,’ Joe said, taking a step back towards the wall.
The Marshal grinned toothily at that, halting in the middle of the small room with hands on hips. ‘Well mister, I think I can agree to that. I’m the law round these parts, so I spend most o’ my time makin’ sure people don’t have regrets. I control the Press, keep everythin’ tidy, and keep our little town below the radar.’
Joe’s brow furrowed. ‘What’s radar?’
‘Never you mind,’ the Marshal said sternly. ‘Point is, I know what you want from ol’ Green Hair, and I’m not sure it’s in our interests for you to get it.’
‘The secret he keeps is too big for one man, and you know it,’ said Joe, surreptitiously studying the man’s waistline for evidence of a gun. ‘Too many people know the missing piece of the puzzle. Too many people wanna know the truth about The Energy.’
Almost before Joe had finished speaking the Marshal was moving, springing forward like a striking serpent. In a split second Joe had aimed his gun at the man’s heart and pulled the trigger, but the Marshal was faster, knocking his arm to one side and making the bullet thump into the thick wood of the desk. Joe felt a blow land in his gut, knocking the breath from him and driving him back against the wall. He ducked as another blow came at his face, the Marshal crying out as his knuckles struck the wall. Black spots clouded his vision but Joe kicked out, sweeping the legs out from under his opponent and sending him sprawling. The echoes of the gunshot were still dying away as Joe staggered back, breathing ragged, the gun trained once again on the fallen Marshal.
‘Enough,’ Joe gasped, straightening his hat with a free hand. ‘I ain’t askin’ again.’
The Marshal smiled as he let his head fall back against the floor, his spectacles askew. ‘Alright mister, you win. He’s here, enjoyin’ the, uh, facilities on this floor. But I warn you - you won’t find him if he don’t wanna be found. And if he don’t, well, you might just end up with somethin’ you didn’t expect.’
‘I’ll take my chances,’ Joe replied, one hand clasped to his midriff as he edged back towards the ruined doorway.
Outside on the landing once more, Joe walked towards the irregular rooms he had seen upon his arrival, periodically glancing over his shoulder lest the Marshal should try to pursue him. There were nine in total, each of the small doors marked only with a number. On closer inspection the rooms looked more like hastily constructed stalls, and Joe tried his best not to imagine what squalid use the spaces might have been put to, and what sights the partitions might have seen.
‘Roland!’ he called. ‘I know you’re here. Show yourself!’
Only silence answered him as he drew level with the first pair of doors, heart hammering inside his chest. The doors stood ajar, and Joe licked his dry lips as he reached out a hand to push the first one open, gun gripped tightly in his other trembling hand. The hinges let out a piercing screech as the rough wood swung inward, and Joe caught his breath at the sight that greeted him.
The stall was furnished with a well-used chair and a low bed, upon the latter of which sat Roland. His green hair fell to the shoulders of his pristine white shirt, and in his hands he held a piece of yellowed paper. Even from the stall’s entrance Joe could see that the paper bore an elaborate formula.
‘Hello Joe,’ Roland said calmly, making no effort to rise or flee.
Joe was about to answer when another voice from behind him said, ‘Hello Joe’. Joe span around, his Colt swaying left and right. The words had come from the second stall, and Joe angrily kicked the door open, ready to mete out vengeance for making his heart jump up to his throat. Then he paused, his expression changing to one of disbelief.
The second stall was equipped in the same manner as the first, and upon the low bed, sat Roland. He wore an identical white shirt, and in his hand was another scrap of faded paper. Joe turned back and forth in confusion, feeling like the victim of an elaborate joke. Then, to his horror, a third voice sounded from the adjoining stall. ‘Hello Joe!’ Then another, and another.
Joe stalked from stall to stall, opening every door, and inside every one was Roland. Each was identical, and each clutched a scrap of paper bearing a different formula.
‘What is this?’ Joe demanded of them, unsure at whom to point his gun. ‘I ain’t got time for pranks! Which of you is the real Roland?’
‘You seek to advance yourself,’ the Rolands chorused, ‘but you must choose your way forward wisely.’
Joe’s patience snapped, and he marched into each cubicle in turn, seizing the papers and trying desperately to make sense of the figures and symbols thereon.
‘You!’ he said eventually, pointing his Colt at the occupant of stall four. ‘You’re the real Roland. The Energy is more complex than anythin’ man’s ever known, and your paper has the most complex equation on it!’
The Roland nodded sagely. ‘Your reasoning is faultless. Come into my stall, and I’ll share what I know.’
Joe took a halting step forward, then another, a triumphant grin on his face as he thought of all he could achieve when the secret was known to him. He edged into the cubicle, keeping his gun trained on the Roland’s heart.
‘Be seated,’ the Roland said, indicating the chair.
As Joe moved cautiously towards it the door behind him slammed shut with a noise like thunder, metal bolts that had not existed a moment before drawing themselves into place like a succession of gunshots. Joe ran back over to it as the Roland began to laugh, trying desperately to heave it open.
‘No!’ Joe shouted as he heard a grotesque tearing noise from behind him. He glanced back and saw the man on the bed tugging at the suddenly loose skin of his face, another set of features already partially visible beneath. He looked down at the paper, still clutched in his hand, and saw with sudden and terrifying clarity that the formula upon it led to nothing, its solutions spiralling uselessly in on themselves in an infinite regression.
‘I have one question for you,’ said the Roland behind him, in a voice now hideously different to what it had been.
Joe did not want to look, but a macabre fascination compelled him. ‘What?’ he said in a small voice, peering through his eyelashes at the figure on the bed.
‘Would you like a used car?!’
Joe screamed.
|
|
|
|
Good evening to all miserable lives out there, scrolling through the GPRO forums while crying at home all alone, thinking what's wrong with themselves.
Team Edifice would like to give you an update on the recruitment process. As of now, the application phase is over. We won't be accepting any applications from now on. We thank everyone who took their time & sent an application. We urge you to take a moment and think about what's wrong with you seriously?
Anyway.
We have started to go through the applications a few days ago & I can safely say that we are about to finalize creating our shortlist of candidates. After that, it shouldn't take us too long to make up our minds and have the final decision. We are hoping the recruitment will be done before R2 starts.
That's about it & have a face-smashing weekend :)
Best,
Team Edifice
|
|
|
|
Good evening, fellow GPROers,
Once again, thanks for taking the time & sending in applications. We're pleased to announce the recruitment process is over & the new member has just joined our team. If it's not you, we're sorry it turned out the other way around.
It has been a long & hard process for us but we're glad it's done & we welcome our new member who has just won the Worst Forum Topic award in S78 Oscars :)
Good luck in your races tonight.
Love,
Team Edifice
|
|
|
|
Good evening dorklings of the internet,
all great things come to an end whether it’s Turkey, Erik speaking like a cowboy, Ahmet in Edifice or my phenomenal humour. Luckily none of those are ending. Some bloke called Max got the boot so we could officially say Ahmet had been in 69 with us all.
so anyway if anyone wants to join a team with a minimalist approach to the game, great humour, diverse individuals and a questionable human rights record, then look no further than other teams, because we don’t have great humour, it’s actually appalling, borderline upsetting. We actually had to ask Max to leave after he threatened an anonymous member of the team with a number of actions which i’d imagine Amnesty international would take a dim view to, the vegan layer of his wedding cake was undeniably the low point that soured relations.
So anyway, apply by messaging a member of the team (Maybe not Peter if you’re looking to join prior to 2023) with a bit of background, your best sexual encounter and which member you think is your favourite and why (if you say Erik you’re disqualified). Any questions, don’t ask them, we’ll deal with them once you’re in the team.
|
|
|
|
Greetings fellow Gee Proers.
Are you looking to be part of a high-caliber multi-championship winning team? A vibrant, bustling environment filled with creatures and characters alike? Race-winning tools, mountains of data, a forum lit up with friendly chatter and debate about the inner workings of this game? Exclusive access to a whatsapp chat featuring steamy pics of Ahmet’s mustache and Phil’s rants and raves about self flushing toilets?
Well you’ve come to the right place-
If you’re capable of time travel.
See we’ve all got lives now.
Ahmet is taking dance classes. James is cheating his way through the British Lorry Racing Championship. Rafa is Canadian. Gary is on his 9th pint of Guinness. Ioannis is saving baby turtles, and Fred is writing a manifesto about why charisma is the most important stat in the game.
Worst of all they’ve even started letting Americans into this team.
So no, you may not be joining the Edifice of the past, but you’re joining a team of highly experienced managers with a proven track record, a variety of fun personalities and when you get down to it, a group of real friends.
Send us an app, tell us who you are, your drink of choice, and anything that makes you, you- be it a collection of contemporary British poetry, a video of you holding a banana while wearing nothing but underwear, or a secret instagram account filled with images of succulents.
Take it from me, dig through the few dozen or so seasons of information in our team forum and you'll become a better manager; but on this team you'll also have a proper good time doing it.
|
|
|
|
Bon matin!
you can see we're not bothered to bump this thread, so if you want to apply... dont wait any longer!
we may take a week or two to read your app, but it will be considered - unless its too long and Peter says "TLDR".
Oh, I just saw a squirrel climbing up a tree!
Time to open a Molson can (thats not beer if you ask me).
back to business... send your app to anyone within this team!
Least, but important: Edifice wants personality over game knowledge, so if you are a Roland wannabe dont waste your time. We have Ahmet. And James. And Erik.
Au revoir!
|
|
|
|
|
Quote ( Rafael Mantovani @ October 15th 2022,16:29:40 ) if you are a Roland wannabe dont waste your time. We have Ahmet. And James. And Erik.
It's worth mentioning that Rafa does not mean this to compare James, Ahmet or myself to the great Roland Postle(bot)((allegedly)) but rather to emphasize that Edifice's most recent trio of recruits have clearly steered towards the "personality" side of the spectrum and much less the "game knowledge" side.
So give it your best shot and send us a message with your best one-liner :)
P.S. I have no idea if "Edifice's" is proper grammar, that was Max Watson's thing
|
|
|
|
Hi all,
It's been over six years since I last posted here, mainly because we've usually recruited somebody by the time I can think of something to write.
Max has retired after 10 long years and a 1,000 races with Edifice, leaving a spot open to anybody who has a keen interest in the game, but also doesn't take it, or themselves, too seriously while playing it.
Ideally we'd like an app that isn't limited to your GPRO career, so include a few things about yourself, hobbies etc,. and try to keep it light-hearted.
You can send apps to any member of the team, but I'll be lurking today to keep an eye on the market madness, although I'm not involved! Good luck.
Thanks,
Gary
|
|
|
|
A recent survey of retired Edifice managers shows that 94% would recommend the team to a friend or significant other.
A further 55% said that being in Edifice had had a positive influence on their mental health
A further 25% said 'who are you and why are you in my house'
Join Edifice. It's the team of the future - today!
Send an application to the Edifice member you like the most and why. Your app should include something about yourself so that afterwards you can remember the person that you once were
Good luck!
|
|
|
|
You may have seen some teams with all 10 members in elite, well the truth is the idea was inspired by Edifice, specifically when we had all 10 members in a severely drunken state.
On a more serious note, we have two champions in the team, have had numerous champions in our history and the team has a number of team titles. There’s clearly some ability in the team, or was, it might still be here lurking in the shadows but you’ll have to join to find out. There’s still time to apply, Petes not looked at the team forum yet and since we’re democratic, we can’t accept someone until he does.
|
|
|
|
Unfortunately I took my eyes off the kids the other night while having a drink and we've now lost one somewhere in Portugal. Sounds familiar huh? Unlike Jerry and Kate we won't write a book, instead we'll just replace them. If you see said missing person don't bother returning them, their quality of life is probably much better now, same applies to Fred.
So read the above ramblings and if you think its not too painful, maybe even enjoyable, you might fit in. Send your applications to the member you like most (not Pete, he won't read it) and we'll consider you, hopefully in time for the start of the new season.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Bonjour!
are you looking for a new team? willing to work with people from all over the world and brits?
looking for a team with history - the equivalent of ancient Greece in GPRO - and proven records?
this is the place for you! well... kinda of. Maybe. idk. Are you a Spartan?
one of our friends is sadly retiring from the game (one of those with a cup next to his name) and we need someone to fill in his shoes - if you are a charisma specialist like him, it's a plus :)
So if you feel lucky today, drop your app to anyone within this team - except Peter, he will say 'TLDR' and delete it straight away.
À la prochaine!
hint: a joke about Max Watson's grammar skills gives you a bonus point.
|
|
|
|
Hello everyone,
We have received good apps but there's still time to send yours! send it to anyone in this team.
Edifice has a proven record of retiring dozens of people due to boredom (or due to real life, same thing), this shows that we are a team where you can stay and relax.
We are not in a hurry, but dont take too long or you might miss the chance to join our gang!
|
|
|
|
Bonjour a tous,
We would like to inform that our search for a new member is over - the new Edificer will be joining us soon.
Thanks to everyone who has applied; we received really nice applications in the last few weeks!
I will take this opportunity to thank Fred Neves for being part of this family.
Your charisma will be missed. Obrigado, amigo! 🙂
Bonne week-end!
|
|
|
|
Many thanks for the acceptance boys!
I'll try to eradicate my noob errors as quickly as possible and work hard to score some good points for the team. But more importantly, will most likely provide some cheeky, alcohol-laden rants just like old times - especially once I'm a bottle of wine deep during the races ;)
It's going to be fun.
|
|
|
English
Deutsch
Español
Română
Italiano
Português
Português
Français
Polski
Русский
Български
Српски
Nederlands
Vlaams
Suomi
Lietuvių
Čeština
Magyar
Eesti keel
Slovenčina
Türkçe
Shqip
Ελληνικά
Hrvatski
Bahasa Melayu
Dansk
Pirate
