Floggings for the Privileged

So I received a phone call earlier today. A call back from a job I applied for sometime in September. Its a retail store, specializing in women's interests. I applied for one of the overnight stock/receiving positions yet I suppose it doesn't matter as all applicants will be interviewed in groups, regardless of positions applied for. They have informed me of a specific set of directions, which I was suggested to write down as if it were a formula. I was to arrive at least 10 to 15 minutes early on this week's Thursday for an 11:00 group interview. I am to dress professionally (because retail is a profession?). I am to bring a copy of my resume and references so that in a small group, I may compete with others for a job that is nothing more than a check and a waste of my personal energy. So from here to Thursday it is my duty to sharpen my personality, blade-like, and indirectly dissect others open so that they're flaws may be as visible as my strengths. I hate this!

They dress the job up and make you go through all this hullabaloo, as if the job you're applying for is as important or even interesting as you're polishing yourself out to be for their benefit. Thats all they're after, they just want to screen out those who do not wish to cooperate and thoroughly inspect the sly ones, like myself, who do not agree but walk in with that sheep's wool and fangs hidden under lips. If you can get past them, they tend to not care that you do not agree, because you understand what it is they do not wish to see, that is, your mind. They probably feel the same way you do and so long as you know it isn't acceptable to express it in your work, they could care less about feelings, yours or theirs.

I predict a very cold, lonely winter. I predict preparation and fatigue, taxing efforts and hatred as fuel, love as negative space, I predict exclusivity of myself from others and the continual exercise of shortening the passage from mind to mouth. If all goes well, I'll smile at you on the other side, on that lovely spring from which I first arose. I'll look upon you and reward you, I'll know exactly what to tell you and everything will be fine. Fine, but I'll be twice as lost, four times as free, and certainly not concerned with the thoughts that are going to bother the hell out of me from now 'til Thursday and even more so if I actually do get the job.

Confessions of a Crap Artist: Monetary Diet

I should get another job. Something that I could use to pay rent with or pay for a plane ticket or some synths and midi controllers. But I can't stand the idea of dressing up a resume or the nerve sucking anxiety of the commute to an interview, the pretense, the forced smile that sticks in place like a stiff neck, I don't know how to convince someone that I want a job when I actually really don't.

"So what would you contribute to

this company to help it grow."

I don't care about any job, I just want the money and I'll gladly pretend or at the very least keep my thoughts to myself and refrain from any difficulty towards allowing my employers to get out of me what they want in exchange for what I want in return. But I can't say that in an interview and its getting really hard to keep my mouth shut, trapped tight within in a smile.

"I won't bring anything to the table, I'll just do whatever job

it is I'm applying for and I'll do it well. I really don't care for

it but it pays decent enough that I could do the things I

want on my off time and forget I work here."