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Will That Fucking Other Shoe Drop Already?






Let me prepare you for another tirade. As the chicken once said, "I'm in a fowl mood."

For over four years, I searched high and low for a job. I attempted to parlay 30 years' experience on Wall Street as an analyst, professional financial writer and manager as well as my writing background into anything that pays at least minimum wage. To my dismay, at this advanced age of nearly 58, the only jobs for which I'm qualified with all my degrees, the only open arena out there that doesn't require 5 years' current experience is: telemarketing. Something I can't do because I'm neurologically deaf!

Another way the universe whacked me over the head. To repeat offenders of my blog, I apologize for the repetition. During a job interview on Wall Street 2 years 8 days ago, I had a seizure witnessed by three corporate boneheads. Needless to say, I didn't get the job. I did, however, emerge with a rare form of neurological deafness.

My team of specialists sat me down. "What you have is deemed the last medical mystery. It's commonly associated with 4th stage cancer of brain, lungs and organs, heart disease or tertiary stage of syphilis. Although 4,500 people come down with this annually, 4,000 immediately rebound unscathed. Not you. You're .0015% of the US population who has this symptom."

"Lucky me. So, you're telling me I'm dying of cancer, heart disease or syphilis?"

"No, you're perfectly healthy. We don't understand why this happened to you. But, it's quite acute and we have to monitor you. Like, should you feel like you're having a heart attack, any sudden decrease in hearing, any changes in your body, feel free to check in with us. Just in case."

And you wonder why I wait for the other shoe to drop.

Then, I came down with a rarer symptom of this symptom, hyperacusis where all sound's my enemy. Trust me, you really don't want to know what I experience. Google it and you'll see. Ugh.

The specialists said, "Oh, you complained about this from the onset. So, it got worse. Nothing we can do. Like your neurological deafness, it's incurable, permanent and nontreatable. Good luck and don't let the door hit you on your way out."

Fuck man. The Universe yanked me by the neck and ensured that no fucking way could I ever go back to corporate America. Or work. Nice!

As a result, I live in perpetual silence.

Living in perpetual silence is not a cakewalk. Don't get me wrong, I'm very happy outside of going broke and unable to afford things like electricity, medicine and mortgage. This self-imposed exile got me to thinking as I've oodles of time on my hands, outside of writing this blog, revising and editing my tomes. Incidentally, I can't get a job as a writer because the market's saturated with those who have five years' experience.

Thinking's a dangerous thing for someone like me. You don't want me to think. Thinking gets me into trouble, especially when I used to be in the work force. Those same characteristics that made me such a wonderful business analyst, meaning the ability to dissect data and connect the dots, also made me aware of pernicious activities occurring within the institutions where I worked.

Yep, I was one of those!

In this vein, I wonder about the remaining Americans who do have jobs. My friends text me about what goes on in their offices. Highly shocking. These are accomplished folk in different fields who, for some reason, the past four years jump through hoops from incompetent managers, people who don't possess an iota of talent, intelligence or skills. I'm sickened by the stories which don't make sense. Even more so to someone who lives in perpetual silence, isolated and remote.

One of my friends single-handedly turned a company around. He got acclaim and raises and bonuses. Now, a year later, he's in the process of being fired for... incompetency. Another friend's on probation because of possessing expertise in a field that none of his colleagues have. Still, another, for out-performing her colleagues.

WTF is going on in the workplace, let alone in this country? Did American workers drop overnight into a third world nation where incompetency, ignorance, stupidity and entitlement are rewarded? To punish those who work hard, achieve goals in record time, perform with integrity and team spirit?

It's even more blatant to someone who lives in silence. Someone who has to contend with inferior customer service for products and services that chronically have a glitch. It makes me wonder...

I saw the writing on the wall nearly five years ago in my last job where I was surrounded by zombies. I watched a colleague's star rise and knew it was more from his deep throating than his professional acumen. Another one seated next to me decided to go to college at night. While this is an admirable action at 50, it posed several problems as he had to leave work early to arrive on time for his night classes. And guess who had to cover for him?

That wasn't bad as his work was mostly clerical. What riled me was he didn't DO the work all day long which was left in my lap at the end of the day. The little fuck got away with murder. Because he was so incompetent, the powers that be were thrilled of my ability to knock it out in an hour with no miscalculations. Yet, he still has a job!

Anyhow, the jerk believed he was an excellent writer. I don't know where he got that impression, but hey, whatever. He watched me for months printing out my manuscript Friday nights and return with the marked copies Monday mornings to dump into the recycle bins.

One day he asked, "What the hell is THAT?"

"My manuscript. I'm working with a top notch editor."

He sneered, "YOU're writing a book? Ha! You think you can write?"

I learned long ago not to argue with a moron because you become one as well. Instead, I said, "You know better, right? Unlike you, whose accomplishments include crepitating lyrics to Cat People songs."

Because he didn't know what 'crepitating' meant, he ignored my statement. Instead, he pulled out a typed report. "Okay, writer, tell me what you think of this."

"What is it?" I asked.

"My English report. I have to write from a journalist's point of view."

Oh boy. No one deserves punishment like that. It falls under the Eighth Amendment which forbids "Cruel and unusual punishment." With trepidation, I sat down and read this tripe with him hovering over me hopping on one foot.

People are unaware that their writing affords us to peer into their psyche. What I read was frightening beyond belief. I was unable to fathom how that man survived 50 years, drove a car, voted and procreated. Mostly, how he could keep his job for he was essentially brainless.

I handed the pages back to him. He gloated, "Well, what do you think?"

With tact and diplomacy, I said to him, "You didn't fulfill the parameters of your report. This is not journalism. Actually, I've no idea what it is other than the fact that you wrote one sentence without spelling, grammar and thought." The damn thing gave me a headache.

He sneered, "What the hell do you know? You're no writer."

The following day, he sat at his desk, despondent. Since he rarely did any work, sitting at his desk aimlessly was nothing new. The despondency was. He usually spent his time downloading free music to put on his iPod.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked. I couldn't help, but overhear those sighs. It sounded like a wounded buffalo.

"I got an F on the report. Fuck the professor. What does he know about writing?"

That pretty much synthesizes what's going on out there. I call what's occurring in the labor force the American equivalent of "Economic Genocide" or the "Bloodless Killing Fields of American Intellect." Sorry to say, I believe, for the most part, that only the dumb fucks are the ones who get and keep their jobs.

I wholeheartedly believe that anyone today who has a mind and a job must dummy things down to the standard of mediocrity in which this once great country has devolved. To connect the dots, do your work well with integrity, hey, that's called, "Rocking the Boat." When jobs are a scarcity, well, you know how that goes.

Insofar as the 25 million unemployed Americans including myself, we should just die. The majority of us are a bunch of unemployed, over-educated, white, middle-aged whiners. We may've given over 30 years' of our lives to work, but now we're unproductive sacks of intelligence who should just commit suicide and no longer be a burden to those who currently support us. Our time's over and we're not wanted.

That's the impression I get. But then again, I've a rare neurological disease, living in silence in an isolated and remote spot waiting for the shoe to drop.

What do I know?


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