As I sat imprisoned in a bleak holding room of interrogation by a potential new employer, I couldn’t help but think of how futile the whole employment process is. I know that a good ten months from now I’ll be whining and complaining as obnoxiously as before. Gripping the arm rest with shaking hands (not of nervousness but of a freak physiological unknown defect) and raking claw marks with fingernails I’ve been too lazy to trim despite my constant state of inactiveness (I am unemployed), I probably looked like a petrified Bambi about to be shot.
The employer probably was mentally scratching his head at the ridiculous demeanor I was showing. Why would anyone look like she was about to drop on the floor and convulse when the question was simple enough --- How long have you been working?
There are certain questions bound to induce a montage of terrifying flashbacks. For Gandalf, it was Frodo’s “What happened Gandalf? Why didn’t you meet us?” To which Gandalf replied, “I’m sorry Frodo. I was delayed.”
*cue flashback of Gandalf being whooped by Saruman*
Mr. Employer, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I’m going through this again. And odds are, I would have to do this the rest of my life. This is life. And I’m sick of it.
*cue flash-forward of me looking morose and chewing on a pen cap in a cubicle at age 40*
I’m taking this moment to chuckle to myself. I’ve spent the last year with forced reformation. Sweep away the negative and suck in the positive. I’ve delayed writing ostensibly until I have only good things to say. Flowers and fairies for everyone. But no. Sometimes you have to realize that changing your disposition is like excreting your spleen from one end (yes, that other end) and swallowing a brand spanking new one. A spleen is a spleen. Spitefulness, bad temper, and melancholy. So get ruddy well used to it.
Now back to my litany of woes. Is it really tragic when you see the road ahead and recognize your so-called life for what it truly is: suffocating routines disguised as a variant of choices; a series of hard hitting blows of disappointment? No, the tragedy is that you don’t…and that’s why you have drama. Funny, I don’t feel comical at all.
Optimistic friends will tell me that what makes life interesting and worthwhile are human interactions blah blah blah. We humans exist to provide each other the necessary amusement to pass away the mundane times. High times. Indeed.
Looking at Mr. Employer with his mickey-mouse ears and his pretentious look-at-me-I’m-important necktie, I start to doubt my ability to be amused. Or for that matter, for anyone to have the ability to amuse me anymore.
Finally, after an hour of feigned enthusiasm on my part, we start to get up and shake hands.
He goes (in his less than perfect English), “Here at ____________, you’ll be sure that we’ll train you for something higher. You can do to supersede your superiors if you want. You can even do me.”
Excuse me.
He mutters, “My position, I mean. We embed you with enough qualities to achieve that.”
Right.
Maybe I’m wrong. I’m giving humanity a chance.
Disclaimer:
Let it be noted that putting your faith on humanity can produce less than desirable results. Look at Samson.
