This is why I bomb people.

25 May

Haifa’s (Un)Employment Office is a sick joke. First off, that place is for people who need jobs so desperately they’ll sit and wait in line with number tickets. People with options are not usually found there. Meaning neither are people with funds. That latter specimen, would be me.

So how is it acceptable that today I had to invest what little money I had, in going there and be sent home empty-handed, due to the mistakes of others? I know when I contributed to a mistake or mishap, and in this case, I did not, in any way.

6.90 is a lot for me right now. I’m living on fumes and motherly love. I still invested it in a bus ride, and I still spent money on a shower, washing my clothes to have something to wear and make a good impression, and on a bottle of water. There is also electricity costs involved since you can’t really shower in the dark. Not safely anyway. Nevermind the boiler. All in all, today’s appointment cost me at least 20 Shekels.

The previous and first time I was there, was last week, where the woman signed me up, asked basic questions, etc. She gave me one of these embarassing “I’m a social burden” folded paper cards with stamp space. And she wrote on it: this person comes in for employment councelling every Monday between 10:30 and 12:30″. She repeated these instructions to me without asking if this is possible. So today I dutifully went. I went hating myself for having to stoop so low. Except that for once, my father had been right when he said that this place is all about humiliating, and not about helping, the people who go there for… help? Still, duties and promises and shit, y’know? When I promise my mom I go, I go. After all: I’m not like some people lacking both loyalty and integrity, like that legal advisor, Liran Izhar, who will promise you his help, has you get everything ready, gets your hope up, sends you to take care of this and that so he can start, and then let his own lack of control over his unfaithful penis and his insanely jealous and insecure you’re-not-councelling-a-woman-hotter-than-me “girlfriend” (are you a girl at age 40 and when you look like Yoda? I dunno, I’m 10 years removed from knowing) be the baseball bat that breaks such promises.

I went to the same person as previously, and she sent me to the councellor. I tell the friendly-looking councellor I came for employment councelling. She asks for my referral. I tell her the name of the employee who sent me. Her face droops and all cheer is replaced with a frightening degree of indignation – what did I do??? – and she tells me she needs an actual referral. I tell her the previous woman had simply sent me here, and she tells me, “Well, guess she’s confused. I need that referral”. I stammer that I’m gonna get it from that other woman right now.
Who tells me that in order to get a referral, I have to go through an interview first, “obviously”. Oh, an interview. I tell her that she mentioned no such thing during our previous meeting and only told me to come in every Monday for councelling.
“Yeah but not without an interview first!”
-“So why didn’t you mention that that would be the next step last time I was here??”
-“You didn’t ask.”
Excuse me? EX-FUCKING-CUSE ME???? I’m an unemployed blue collar-assed citizen looking for work in the lowest of places, and I am expected to have the psychic ability to predict that there is another step to talk about that she has not brought up between questioning me and telling me to simply come in every Monday? If I was psychic, I’d be hosting a TV show psyching the money out of gullible rich people. I had no way of knowing I needed to ask: do I need to come in for anything else other than what you, the person who gets paid to know how this shit works, stipulated?

Now, once more without asking if this worked for me, she set me an appointment for said interview. I don’t think I’m gonna make it to my crucial and difficult-to-obtain doctor’s appointment…
In other words, because of this woman’s mistake of not mentioning a crucial step in my employment councelling thingy, I invested a minimum of 20 Shekels in sweating my ass there for ZILCH.

Judging by the treatment I received there, a dead-end job is all my polyglot ass with all those writing, graphic, photography, animal, engineering, and other skills is gonna get there.

I mean… Get this: some old pity-employed dude with a face that looks like it has been absorbing too much alcohol and UV rays (=hardly employed or educated much, or else would be too busy for addictions that would thwart any advancement of your mental greatness, and baking in the sun without protection, because people with money actually smear something on their asses before going out for long), determined that I am no academic.
They filter you: academics over here, non-academics over there. I’m sorry? The definition – the official definition – of the term “academic” does not preclude people without a piece of paper to certify their… academicness. A profound love and effort of higher learning suffices to meet the criteria for the word. Do I need a piece of printed asswipe to prove my worth? Seriously? In professions not dependent on diplomas? I’m not applying for neurosurgery. I could write you a sentence containing 7 languages that is actually grammatically correct in each fucking one of them AND in its integrity, and paint a gallery-worthy picture around it and build it an altar with a fucking self-engineered fountain, danced on by dogs I trained special. I simply can’t prove it with a PIECE OF PRINTED ASSWIPE. I have spent a total of 5 years “academically” studying Japan, every aspect of making movies and TV, graphic design, and did I mention I taught myself HTML and current control in aquaristics…
What does a man whose face betrays alcoholism, know about academics shmacademics? He was like, “Are you an academic?” – “Yes, sir.” – “Got a degree?” – “Circumstances forced me to drop out, sir.” – “So nope.” Need me to code a response to that, sir?

I ain’t naming and shaming the specific individuals I dealt with as they’re probably just victims of the same dumb system that has violated my backdoor today. The “Lishkat HaTaasukah” itself is what’s rotten. These women are probably overworked and underpaid, so while today I wanted to rip their spleens out and force-feed them to them, I doubt they are the source of the problem. So no spleen-ectomies today. I simply left, bummed that I hadn’t at least charged my MP3 player so I could listen to an epic soundtrack on my way home to feel like I had just been obstacled in an epic quest ‘n’ shit.

‘n’ shit…


(that’s an emotional echo)


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