“Get a fucking job, you lazy sponger!”
I’m pretty sure that’s what everyone is saying under their breath as I bowl out of my house in the middle of the day with a pair of shades on waving my dole money about like an American rapper.
The cat’s out of the bag. I am unemployed and slightly unrepentant I must say but I wasn’t always like that. Up until last year, when my company realised that a projection of income isn’t guaranteed and that my tiny salary would offset their discrepancy, I had worked since I left college at 19. Covered a wide range of industries, from slapping children to sending text messages from behind desks, walking around aimlessly on London Underground and most recently stapling bits of paper to other bits of paper (or removing all but one staple from other people’s staplers).
I was employed and loathing it. Apparently 80% of everyone hates their job and frankly who could blame them. Your jobs are shit! You! Reading this now, your job is shit! And you know it, otherwise you wouldn’t be reading a website of hateful rants. Admit it. You want to quit.
Do it! I didn’t dive back into work and I’ll tell you why. Russell Brand. No he didn’t inspire me with his vaudevillian mockney geezer ‘oh matron’ routines. He said something about voting to old Paxo. I’ll paraphrase: “Ooh blimey, don’t do that voting lark! It’s just the perpetuation of societal routines in which those elected demonise the poor and consolidate power and wealth to their elitist big business friends. Don’t do none of that voting or nuffin’ coz nuffin’ will change and that. Until there’s an alternative Jeremy, I shan’t, can’t and won’t participate in this complicité tacite. I’m proper angry and that now, Jeremy. You little scallywag, you!”
And I thought to myself (because not many people listen when I speak) if it’s not worth voting without a proper choice, does that apply to everything?
And so I am here. Unemployed. Because who wants to cram their face into the stinking underarms of a stranger on the tube in the morning and have his egg and bacon McMuffin breakfast dripping from his pores onto your eyelids like acid. Or spend seven hours pretending to like the boss’s cunt of a PA in case she convinces him to fire you during their pillow talk. Or having six-figure earners ask you how to change the font size.
Fuck that. Enquire as to your benefit allowances and get on that dole if you can afford it. There is something in the world that you are great at and frankly it’s not worth slaving away for five days a week if you could be doing something else you enjoy instead. So if you don’t have the job you want, don’t participate until you get it.
And if you need any more wise words of advice from me, you can find me in Victoria Park sitting on a bench. I’ll be the one with the fake Burberry cap, can of white lightning and a staffy between my legs shouting at passers-by “Get a fucking benefit, you busy do-gooder!”