December 23, 2004
As Christmas draws near* and people are drawn into the standard blind panic cycle of spending more money than they in fact possess and attempt to store three months’ worth of food for a one day event, we are reminded that ‘tis the season of goodwill and cheer.
But I am not cheery, Ladies and Gentleman. No. I am pissed, is what I am.
We have been in Wellington for coming up five weeks and still the place is messing us about. How hard can it be to find a job in the capital city of a country? I am a hard worker, feel no way about getting dirty and can handle any amount of stupid hours as long as I get paid.
This place is crazy. It’s a nightmare finding information – and people never know where to direct you when you ask about stuff.
Example: When we were flat hunting, we asked every one we passed, went to the internet and bought the local paper in a desperate attempt to find places to rent. Barely found anything and had to read through the Yellow Pages and then trek round the streets trying to locate a letting agency.
Two days after we have found someplace and moved in, we come out of our building to find that some kind person has left some free magazines at the door … amongst which are copies of a magazine called ‘Wellington Renter’ – which apparently is the best place to look if you are looking for a place to rent. [Deep breath; hold for count of ten; release in lengthy sigh].
And it’s the same when it comes to job hunting. YOU HAVE TO MAKE AN APPOINTMENT IF YOU WANT TO SET FOOT IN THEIR EMPLOYMENT AGENCIES. I kid you not!!!!!
This point was made repeatedly the day we fasted ourselves to enter their buildings – all of which are beautifully presented and have wood and glass and stone décor (Which would explain why they wouldn’t want some ragamuffin wondering in off the street and dirtying up their plush, ash grade carpeting).
It’s an employment agency for God’s sake!!!! How can it make sense that you have to make an appointment to enter the place where they are supposed to find you work????????? Anyway, they were all shite and useless.
And then there are the jobs advertised in the paper. People don’t call you back when you leave messages – although it’s quite refreshing reaching that point alone as a lot of people just don’t answer their phones despite the fact that their ad read “Urgently Required”.
We’ve even considered joining one of the massage parlours – and seeing as prostitution is no longer a crime in New Zealand, there are plenty of those being advertised. But you’d be surprised just how picky these places are.
They regularly ask for “slim and attractive” on their ads.
Now I’m wondering why the guys are so fussy? Because I figure if a woman feels no way about putting your dick in her mouth despite who you are and what you’ve done in your time, then you should stay schtoom, put your money on the side and leave her to worry about her weight problem – you get me?
But the other problem is that although I am a great masseuse, it’s fully obvious that sexual favours are part of the relaxation techniques used in these places. And as it happens, I have certain standards about what I put in my mouth.
So there you have it: two days ‘til Christmas and it’s quite something to realise that people consider that I am:
1. Not good enough to be employed as a cleaner; and
2. Too fat to suck dick for cash.
If it weren’t so funny to think about it, I’d take it personally….
* And as usual I do nothing about it because I can no longer be arsed; and because for too long it has meant a double shift and sleep-in – some patterns are hard to break.
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AUTHOR: I am might war. I have a love of music, the written word, travel, Anime, polar bears, people and “sticking and colouring”.