A letter I sent yesterday afternoon:
I just got back from applying for a job with the county. ($8.30/hr, clerical, tuition assistance, banker’s hours) Or, I should say, attempting to do so. They only hire from the pool of applicants at the State Job Opportunity Commission (or whatever it’s called, it doesn’t really matter). I shaved my goatee off and dressed up (as in, not for comfort), just to go to a place with signs saying “Thank you for leaving your children at home” and “Disruptive behavior will not be tolerated” posted on every wall.
So anyway, I go, fill out one application electronically and one on paper that’s especially for the county and asks the exact same information I just put into the computer. I breeze right in and finish all of this in about 30 minutes. Whoo-hoo, I think. Then I wait 2 hours to give all of this to a counselor, who will then staple this to my printout and fax it to the HR department on the second floor of the county courthouse, where I, coincidentally, just came from. At least, that’s what I assume they will do when I go back on Friday. They close at 2:30 in the afternoon on Wednesdays. And they are closed tomorrow for “Confederate Memorial Day,” whatever the fuck that is.
Not to bore you with the petty frustrations of the jobless or anything, but you can extrapolate from this and arrive at a description of the last three weeks of my life. And you can then lean down and kiss the shackles that tie you to your desk, as they guarantee a paycheck eventually coming your way.
So, how’s things? :)
Your loving –if destitute– brother,
Jason