It's interesting to note that I never ever wanted a job-as “jobs” per se usually denote responsibility, and I thoroughly pride myself on not having responsibility to speak of.
But after 13 years of not contributing in any meaningful way to society except for writing, exercising, and being a brain injured man of leisure, after seeing how much physical money one of my housemates was making, I opted for the coin of the realm, so to speak, and I applied there and went through the intake process. Incidentally, I had no idea that they wanted you to fill out a homeland security thingamajig. I was shocked, as I had never done this before, and I think since the events of 9/11, or so it seems to me, that homeland security does not want any illegals or terrorists applying for jobs and earning a living wage. Not that there is anything wrong with that, though. I think the women and men of Homeland Security often do a thankless job.
Back to the task at hand, writing about how I feel about doing my part to lend a helping hand to people who might be in the same position that I once was, jobless and really needing a job, but only as much as the state in its infinite wisdom would permit me to make within a month.
I arrived for my job when I started February 21, 2012. I was bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready for anything and everyone, or so I thought.
Clearly, I was not ready in any way, for what they had me doing, which was scanning books-a process in which you identify either the I International Standard Book Number, or the barcode, beginning with the digit 9 physically scan it, and either accept it, in which case you'd put it in a certain stack neatly, or reject it, in which case, you'd laboriously toss the book into a large cardboard box.
It was very frustrating at 1st, plus I had awful gas and did not want anybody to notice it, but my case manager did and politely asked me if I needed to use the bathroom.
I shriveled in embarrassment, and humility-and I shrank away from her saying “No, thank you."
END of PART 1