Every time I apply for a job, be it part-time or full-time, and by a miracle of fate, I actually get to the interview stage (which, once upon a time was the only stage) I am told that I am not suitable for the job because I don’t have the required IT skills, or because I don’t have a post-graduate degree in office management or a diploma in virtual reality relationships.
I am not completely stupid. I know that these lame brained rejection excuses are only rationalisations by secretly directed human relations specialists (who once would have been called staff clerks.) I know, and fully appreciate that they are certainly not rejecting me because of my grey hair, or my wrinkled skin, or because of my unfortunate diminution of lean muscle mass, or even because of my odd but well concealed lapses of memory for names of prime ministers or the interviewer’s company. I know the real reason!
After many pre-sleep hours of detailed consideration, I finally stumbled onto the real reason for my unreasonable rejections. The real reason is that I had been wearing the laces of my brand-name joggers carefully tied into bows with meticulous equality of the lengths of the loops and end strands. I had purchased these brand-name joggers specifically to add a touch of carefree youthfulness to my very best safari suit that I reserved for job interview situations. That was a big mistake.
In order to rectify my mistake, I have been practising walking around, and bounding up stairs, with my laces completely undone and flinging in great arcs around my joggers and ankles. I have cracked the code of conspicuous youthfulness.
Unfortunately, this has exposed yet another covert plot of discrimination against those of senior calendar years: the infantalisation of those of us who are unfortunate enough to have had purely accidental trips over our shoe laces and have ended up in public hospital orthopaedic wards!
Battler
I am not completely stupid. I know that these lame brained rejection excuses are only rationalisations by secretly directed human relations specialists (who once would have been called staff clerks.) I know, and fully appreciate that they are certainly not rejecting me because of my grey hair, or my wrinkled skin, or because of my unfortunate diminution of lean muscle mass, or even because of my odd but well concealed lapses of memory for names of prime ministers or the interviewer’s company. I know the real reason!
After many pre-sleep hours of detailed consideration, I finally stumbled onto the real reason for my unreasonable rejections. The real reason is that I had been wearing the laces of my brand-name joggers carefully tied into bows with meticulous equality of the lengths of the loops and end strands. I had purchased these brand-name joggers specifically to add a touch of carefree youthfulness to my very best safari suit that I reserved for job interview situations. That was a big mistake.
In order to rectify my mistake, I have been practising walking around, and bounding up stairs, with my laces completely undone and flinging in great arcs around my joggers and ankles. I have cracked the code of conspicuous youthfulness.
Unfortunately, this has exposed yet another covert plot of discrimination against those of senior calendar years: the infantalisation of those of us who are unfortunate enough to have had purely accidental trips over our shoe laces and have ended up in public hospital orthopaedic wards!
Battler
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