There’s guys on the line who would eat you alive

Got no one to talk to, so I’m venting online.

So, I really tried to hustle this week. Applied to five places. Even with the xanax it was hard, but I did it. So far, not one place has called back, except the kalesnikoff lumber yard. So, battling the nastiest flu I've had in years, popping reactin and drixoral after a sleepless night, I drove forty minutes to the lumber mill. I was excited... they were desperate for workers, surely I could get hired there. It was a physical job, but I was gung-ho about that, I wouldn't mind the exercise. I was willing to work hard, even through the illness. Manual labour is what I wanted. Something mindless. But it turns out I’m not a human resource. Or even scrap material.

Upon arrival I was subjected to a degrading and demoralizing interview that quickly assured me coming there was a complete waste of time. The HR guy didn’t outright say he wouldn’t hire me, but he was discouraging and skeptical from beginning to end. The vibe was perpetually: "what the fuck are you doing here?" He kept talking about “our world”. He said he thought I probably wouldn't last a day, there'd be no point putting me to work if the foreman was gonna take me off the line after an hour (so now it's an hour I won't last?), that I'd get "eaten alive". I asked him what he meant by that, and he responded indirectly with statements about how many pounds of timber were loaded off the trucks daily, like I was supposed to do the arithmetic on the spot with divisors I hadn’t access to.

At that point, I was ready to give up, but I tried to make a case for myself, said I was willing to work hard, obviously I wasn’t a burly guy but I’d like to try, maybe I could at least do the part-time light-weight jobs they’d advertised. Still I got the same vibe, and accusations of being lethargic. I told him I was on no sleep (but declined to mention my flu, god forbid he’d think I wasn’t in perfect health). Didn’t seem to help much. I guess I should have shot up with methamphetamine before driving to the mill. Finally I told him that I guess I’d wasted my time. He agreed, and I left. I probably wouldn’t last a day in a nazi concentration camp either.

This is me in the "good" economy. I'm the most unemployable person on the planet. Clean record and proven responsibility count for shit, I'll always be a dodgy dirtbag. Even when I get through the gate, when someone actually considers me, they’ll take one look at me and their prejudice churns to the surface.

Maybe I'll get some of that EI money. I don't feel so bad taking money from the government anymore. And music. That's the only thing I can see myself doing professionally anymore, however ephemeral the rock-star ideal is. If I can practice to my satisfaction every day (something I've never been able to drive myself to do), then I can feel good about myself and fuck everyone else who has an idea what I ought to be doing.

Why do work issues cause me so much anxiety? Because my perception is always focused on the big picture – my place in society - the feeling that I ought to be doing something of value, society’s narrow definition of “value”, and the conflict between my abilities and anyone’s needs. I can’t be an arrogant artist type either, though I tried in my last paragraph. I have this crazy idea that I would find purpose in helping solve the peak oil crises, by working in research on alternative fuels, but then I’ll have to go to school and get an engineering degree or something, and I suck at math.

I know, I’m being whiny. But it’s fucking discouraging, when you overcome your fears and negativity and try for something and it comes to nothing. And it feels good to write about this stuff, it relieves pressure. Maybe I’m trying to reverse jinx this whole situation by talking about it, so I end up looking like an asshole when I actually DO get a job shortly after typing this self-pitying screed, according to the rules of life’s irony. But since I talked about THAT I have to jinx THAT. Gotta triple jinx, or quadruple jinx? I can’t remember. Ah, fuck it.