Working Man's Blues

 I’ve been job hunting.
 As I slunk through the long grass of unemployment, my job rifle in hand, the pith helmet of determination on my head, and the khaki shorts of an over-stretched metaphor just about covering my ass, I began to realise why jobs are an endangered species.
 See which of these adverts appeals more to you:





                                            Would YOU Like To Bother People At Home?!
             Due to the constant, unsustainable growth of the “annoy strangers for a pittance” industry,
    you too can be hired for an exciting job ringing people around dinner time and begging for their money.
                        Sure, people are free to give money to charity whenever they so choose,
 but here at Needless Middleman Twat we like to pay clueless student hippy mercenaries to go cap-in-hand to the already stretched working classes and guilt them into donating money to whatever cause we’re being
                                                              sponsored by this month.
If you think you have what it takes to make nuisance phone calls for a living, this could be the job for you!














                                                                         Wanted: 
                                                           Nanobot Polisher (2nd Class)


Candidate will have:

At least 25 years’ experience
Fluent Grasp of Klingon
Valid Yugoslavian Passport
Master’s Degree in Prehistoric Icthyology

Nobel Prize an Advantage.

No over 30’s.

YMCA. TTFN. LMFAO.



 Those are your basic options in a modern job market; either weirdly specific jobs or call centre work.
 This is why there’s a labour crisis. Actual jobs don’t really exist anymore. Karl Marx said that eventually, technology would reach the stage where human beings could retire and live a life of leisure and philosophy. Instead, technology has replaced a chunk of the workforce who are now obsolete and baffled.
 One of the employment agencies I visited was empty. Literally, empty. There were job listings on the windows, and if you wanted to inquire about any of them, you had to walk to a speakerphone on the wall and press the corresponding number for the job you were inquiring about.
 Inside, I could see rows of empty desks.
 There’s not even work finding people work anymore, unless you’re a speakerphone.
 There used to be real jobs, the kind that would give you a last name. Coopers, Drapers, Smiths, Saxe-Coburgs. Alright, maybe not the last one.
 The fact that nobody is really doing anything that could be called a proper job these days makes it extremely hard to find a proper job.
 It’s the nursery rhymes I feel sorry for; Rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub.
 It used to be a butcher, a baker and a candlestick maker.
 Who’s in the barrel now? Two IT consultants and some cunt from Starbucks.



[NB: Didn't mean any offence to the several cunts I know who work in Starbucks.]