THE SAME BUT DIFFERENT A DAY LATER AND A TAD LONGER SHORT STORY BUT NOT REALLY ABOUT JOBS & LIFE& COMPARISONS & THINKING OUT LOUD ABOUT JOBS & LIFE

I've been applying for jobs here and there, opportunities I believe myself to be qualified for, even over qualified for, but still no, as they say - bites. Not even a nibble. Or a slight scrape of a tooth over something tasty that falls onto the tongue. Nothing. Did I not get a call back from the temp, or as I like to call them - temporary - agency who was looking for 10/h stamp pressers in a factory because I have experience in a factory running a press? They must have found someone else. Like someone who has experience in a factory running a press. You would think that a city with the highest unemployment rate in the country would have something to offer a guy like me - an over educated/under experienced and over age bald dude with a bad hip. And an ever growing hairier body. Over-educated for shitty jobs but under for good ones. Sure, I'm experienced in things like pulling leaf lard (the-thick fat-like-rubbery-glop-attached-to-the-inside-of-the-ribs) from split open and hanging two hundred pound pigs and then cutting them up and putting them in boxes. Nice little labelled boxes with names. Which then get tossed in a truck and swept away and spread to a home near you. I'm also very adept at driving (too fast and not safe) forklifts around an overly demanding and extremely dangerous, stressful and small for it's purpose packing shed full of immigrants, produce and blind corners - then getting yelled at for going too slow, or shipping rotting peppers, or...I never said that I'm not qualified for that kind of stuff. Though, a touch rusty, I'm sure I could get the hang of, let's say almost cutting my finger off or dropping a skid of clusters five minutes before punching out. I'll get it. That stuff is easy. Almost as easy as cruising aimlessly on a comfortable golf-cart, enjoying a peaceful and sunny summer day in a green, manicured and quiet cemetery. Where you cut the grass. And help dig holes. And drive around on golf carts in a grey shirt and blue pants. And a hat, because it is sunny. Anyways, back to the job-ma-no-have-jiggy-thingy-doo. It will happen. It has to or else I'll have to find a new place. One with free heat, a roof, running water, an Internet connection and a fridge full of food. Maybe some cupboards with some edibles as well. Throw some booze on the counter too. Windsor has a lot to offer a guy like me. I just have to reach out and grab it. Or flush it, or freeze it and take it out later. Like in ten years. It's there for the picking. Like a rotten tomato. That is now in a box. On it's way to a Wal-Mart in Wisconsin.