A NORMAL HUMAN WAITING FOR A SOFTWARE UPDATE

The only thing worse than having a job is looking for one

Photo by Jonny Gios on Unsplash

Once upon a time, when I was a boy—

“You were a boy?”

—I participated in a summer work program. It was designed for younger students looking for work over the summer. How it worked was, you’d call the employment office and ask if there were any jobs available. They would say, yes, and then explain the job, which normally only lasted a day or two. Or no, check back soon. It was a way for young people to make some money over the summer while giving people cheap labor.

So, one day my buddy called the employment office to check for work and the person on the phone said, “Oh, yes we have a job painting a house if you’re interested, but it requires two people.” This is where I came in. The voice on the phone proceeded to explain how difficult it was going to be, but if we were willing to work hard then the job was ours. Painting sounded great so we agreed to show up on the date provided. Of course, when the day came we didn’t have transportation and no one to drive us. I called the people waiting to have their house painted and asked if they could pick us up. They said no, sorry, and really, why would they? So, we walked 5km in the hot sun and arrived two hours late.

It’s reminiscent of my first day working at a clothing store. I slept in, and also didn’t have a ride so I had to hitch hike. Do people still hitch hike? Thinking back I have to wonder why I was so irresponsible and didn’t have transportation arranged. My responsibility chip has since been upgraded. My punctuality settings are maybe, a tad high at the moment.

If you’re not twenty minutes early you’re late.

For two days my buddy and I painted cedar siding and when it was finished we were hi-fiving one another as we counted our hard earned cash, the sweetest kind of cash, directly after lottery winnings and a dirty fiver found in a ditch.

Another call to the employment office. The voice on the phone said, “We have just the job for you. The circus is in town and they need your help. Easy money.” A group of my friends all signed up. Who doesn’t like easy money?

Turns out the employment office, the dirty rotten bastards always described the easy jobs as hard and the hard jobs as easy. A weaponized reverse psychology our under developed brains had no defense against.

We had to dismantle a massive circus tent. Carry steel structural beams, move portable shitters, gather garbage, systematically fold the heavy canvass. Who knew show business could be so glamourous. Men with odd accents would yell at us to hurry up. The whole schmozzle was surely on the brink of breaking multiple child labor laws. After a day of back breaking work we all staggered away with thirty dollars in our pocket. No high-fives. It was a lesson that hard earned cash was nowhere near the sweetest kind of cash, especially when it’s minimum wage cash. The whole affair left a bitter taste in my mouth.

The money was burning a hole in my pocket so I immediately went across the street to the gas station and bought thirty dollars worth of scratch tickets. I don’t recall having a gambling problem back then but one would have to wonder. I scratched each one, and won nothing. Broke within the hour. I spent the weekend with my friends who all had cash and I didn’t even have money for cigarettes. I was a little young to be smoking, but you couldn’t tell me anything back then. Come to think of it I was a little young to be buying scratch tickets.

Later on, in an attempt to make more than thirty dollars a day I applied to be a server in a restaurant. It pretty much fell apart in the interview when I was asked, “What is your greatest accomplishment?” I was eighteen at the time and had no significant accomplishments, none that would impress her anyway. Sitting there with nothing to say I blurt out, “I haven’t been to jail yet.”

Oh, boy.

“Thanks for coming in. We’ll let you know.”

A little down the road I worked at a call centre. Internet technical support. I lost a chunk of my soul over those five years. Piece by piece it was sucked out through the phone line. People would scream at you because their dialup Internet was down. This was back in the beginning when the Internet addiction was just grabbing hold of people.

“I’m losing ten thousand dollars a day with my Internet down!”

“Oh, you’re running your business over a $9.99 a month dialup account, sir?”

It was a never ending barrage of tantrums and idiocy.

These days when I call for support I always try to be extra nice because I know what it’s like. I don’t want to steal a piece of someone’s soul. I quit that job because of the television show, Dawsons Creek. I was sitting in my room, which at the time was my parents basement. My blue underwear chair in the corner, thirteen inch television. I think the garbage bag walls were taken down at that point. I was contemplating life. I never watched the show but for some reason Dawson’s Creek was on in the background. I sat and wondered if I should quit. I had no other job lined up. No money. Then, at that moment, a character on the show said, “Choose life.” It was decided. I quite right away. Maybe not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but no one ever called me the most logical person alive. I was more whimsical back then.

Either way, it was my path, and it lead me here, where I want to be.

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