Employment counsellor my ass. It's like they are counselling you to stay unemployed. Makes sense, if there weren't any unemployed people, then they wouldn't have jobs, would they, opposed to shouldn't have jobs. My "employment" counsellor today looked like David Suzuki, but that's about where the similarities ended. Mean little bastard. I thought he was on cocaine at first, so I was a little afraid. It's never a fun day dealing with cokeheads. Hey, imagine David Suzuki on speed. Wouldn't that freak you out a little bit more about the environment? I should write him a letter and tell him.
Okay, I'll agree that my resume is long winded. Fixed. Done. No biggie. Right? Like resume writing is an innate skill, like I should have known this since I was three? I'm always open to resume critiquing, so screw you Mr. Coke-uki, I'm not in dire circumstances yet. Not until I'm PMSing again next month. Second, I was told to come up with an idea of what I wanted to do before coming into the UI office again for employment counselling. Done. I followed every employment lead I could think of last week and managed to score a second interview for a driving job that paid $6g/yr more than what I was making as an "all-important" flight dispatcher. Mr. Coke-uki kept asking me why driving, and what made me think I could do a job like that? Omigod, like driving equipment around and fixing it for 3+ years doesn't make me qualified? What do I have to do to get some respect around here, strap a penis on? Can you even read, Mr. Coke-uki? Because it's all on my resume...oh, that's right, you like your sentences with three words or less. I'll get right on that. Don't want to keep you from your precious 3-hour lunch break, I know your busy trying to figure out what to put on your pizza.
Lastly, apparently I am "wasting" my degree, and that I am better qualified than most of the employment counsellors he works with. F***ing great, get me a job then and stop telling me I'm an underachiever when I'm just trying to get a little more than $300/wk to live on, even if it's just for a year. "Oh no, we've all done our time," making $12/hr, and that I should get in now before it's too late, and start work at the federal EI office or something. Been there, done that. And let me tell you, there is nothing in this world that will make me work a federal EI call center in North York, get laid off every year, get my hours cut, and grow my ass the size of a house, dodge bullets in North York on my way home or in my living room, and talk to angry, angry people all day long. Nor am I going to work in a halfway house or a youth home for $12/hr. Because it's not just about the money. When your a pyscho-male (yes, I'm sure that's the politically correct, scientific term for them), all women start to remind you of the mother that you hate. That just has ice-pick to the neck, acid in the face, or gunshot to the spine written all over it. No thank-you. If I'm going to risk my life like that, I'm going to Afghanistan, work the Tim Horton's for $80g a year, and get free coffee while I burn alive.
Rant Rant Rant. Anyway, I'm just going to do my own thing. Mr. Cok-uki got one thing right, I'm a better employment counsellor than that entire office put together, so I think I can counsel myself. I want to work. I want to make money. I want to save money so one day, I can really do what I want to do, and that's not living to work like most poor schmucks in this world. I'm working to live. And for shoes. Maybe a motorcycle. Who knows. Anything can happen.
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