You have to laugh. You really do. Either that or you become highly antisocial.
Because I am too old to outrun cops, I try to laugh once the shock has worn off.
Nu, so what happened?
I got an email rejection in my Inbox this morning.
Big deal. Happens a lot.
Target, a.k.a. Tar-DZAY, an department store that is really the spiritual child of S. Klein, but unlike Klein’s, which was only in New York and Newark, it has branches everywhere. I don’t even remember why I spent the time filling out an online application, but I do remember–with some surprise–that the one to which I applied is the only one in the Monmouth County, NJ area. It’s in the widely-defined “Middletown” area. the box store epicenter of Central New Jersey.
Yet I wanted to work there a few days a week. No, that’s a lie. I need the money from a few days to add to what I’ll be earning from a far more spiritually rewarding occupation whose pay rates are at best mediocre.
So I applied to everything. Food markets because I have experience. Other box stores because I have experience in “customer service” (translate that for yourself). Lots and lots of markets and box stores. Oh, also lots of tech jobs since 1983 because I spent over 20 years as a technical writer, editor, and finally technical cast-off. My “career” (tee-hee!) had turned into Gilligan’s Island.
I suppose I should be slightly surprised and very resentful. Surprised, maybe. Resentful, not. Well, for about five minutes. Then that infamous Big Picture comes into it.
- They figure I won’t stay there because I’ve been working as a college instructor and have had high-priced tech jobs. They’re right. Except.
- There aren’t any tech jobs to be had.
- I’m a month short of 65. I know–there’s no such thing as age discrimination, yatata-yatata. The same way Tom Cruise insists there’s no such thing as a chemically-based mental illness. Except there are in both cases and I can prove it because I have one and I saw saw proof of the other in writing, a lovingly preserved PDF that I like to roll out now and again in case anyone thinks I’m more paranoid than I am.
Maybe God moves in mysterious ways and I’m being saved for something I can’t foresee, like playing Emile de Becque in a revival of Soused Pacific.
Who can know?
It’s just amazing how things work anymore.
Did you expect a big flourish at the end? There ain’t gonna be one today.
If you’re out of work, read this, but don’t consider it too deeply.