5 Things About Unemployment Pt4

One man’s meat is anothers poison and with it the choice that comes from choosing whichever end of the cow you chow-down on first.

'...'Sup?'
‘…’Sup?’

But much like the horse-meat scandal cantering down the final furlong of Europe‘s taste sensibilities and all the way to the mouth breather moanings of the tattler rag newspapers over-opinionated opinion pages via a photo-finish over blame claiming between supplier and supermarket, the compensation form of sufficient reward for injuries suffered during these inclement times will carry as much weight and use as those self same sayers of truth and injustice.

Metaphor
*Metaphor*

Much like the tramp beneath which he makes his nightly bed, these voices will soon disappear into the shadows of our consciousness as the summer brings with it a nightly B-B-Q and celebration of gluttonous repast, the family favourite ‘Chug-A-Bucket-Of-Burgers’ challenge played out across the dorms and patios of our nations good folk, the end-game usually involving a brief stint in the bowel unblocking bit of an outpatient ward.

And it was whilst silently presenting my rear end in a salute to an overly bright hospital light, the look of shock on its face caused by the stirrups preparing my inner most sanctum of stools for the insertion of what they laughably referred to as a ‘…small tube, barely a finger-tip wide’, that I considered how the world currently viewed my prostate prostrate, how it saw me as a value of humanity in comparison to themselves.

'Precision medical tool' my arse! Oh...wait...
‘Precision medical tool’ my arse! Oh…wait…

In other words, what’s my…

4: Worth, Or Lack Of

So another interview sets your inbox crashing into an error report with the announcement of a time and date and the rigmarole of spit shining the tips of shoes and brushing lapels free from lint is set in motion once more; before the interviewer you sit, cleanly shaven and Febreeze’d  all over. You duly acknowledge you past life in employment and trot out the skills you learned that may be exploited within the position you’re interviewing for (‘…so if you think of the fries as lots of little, thin people I guess you could say my eight years in management handling thousands of pounds on a daily basis and being responsible for daily tasks of a twenty strong workforce of staff each shift would ensure I was able to properly organize them in the cardboard tray..?’), and all looks promising for the first time since you started ass-stanking the office interview chair. And then they get to the part of your employment history that marks you down as being wiped from the face of the planet for a while.

Traveling, raising a family, offering help to lost iguana in rural Mexico are all fine and noble ways to account for such gaps in employment history; but in the mind of one taking a gamble on throwing a weeks wage at the idiot before them in favour of the girl with the big tits they interviewed yesterday chances are they’re calling bullshit on your story and instead thinking what possible mutated genes you possess that prevented you from being in the employ of someone throughout that entire time.

'What was I doing during that period? Um...stuff..?'
‘What was I doing during that period? Um…stuff..?’

The doubt of why no-one seemingly felt you good enough to fill the gap in canteen queue permeates the atmosphere as soon as you begin answering, and short of subtlety passing an envelope containing official documents detailing the exact punishment that will befall any who learn of your past adventures behind enemy lines whilst robotically speaking about ‘…time with family’ as your eyes make quick darting movements to some unseen listening device and/or sniper scope glinting out the uncurtained window, nothing will bring your name back into consideration for filling the position a certain well-endowed interviewee will more than likely be filling a sexual harassment suit about six months down the line.

Go on; dare you to cross it..!
Go on; dare you to cross it..!

Which should leave you feeling about as low as an otters testicle but in the right frame of mind for tackling the last step in what has become the slow devaluation of your soul…

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