the job

Today the stuff that's been rumour, been half guesswork and hope, been smoke for the last few days, desmoked itself. I have a job! A job-job type job, to quote Somebody from Some Movie, probably Resevoir Dogs, don't know for sure, why am I thinking about it? I've got a job again.

This one places me in an office, 8:30-4:30 weekdays, window in one wall, laptop buzzing on the desk and me secure in a civil service job. Goodbye private sector, with your drive for competition and storied ethic of much work for low pay, your rigged game for old white guys with tiny attache cases. Good morning government, with your sick days and Earned Days Off, your quiet halls, your job security and your bored bitter people who've traded energy and optimism for a steady paycheque.

As of Monday, I am a junior policy analyst for the provincial Department of Culture, Youth and Recreation. I was hired for my expertise in the cultural side of things, since I'm no longer a youth and am not interested in recreating things. What will I do? I will analyze policy. Juniorly.

Some might describe this job change and apartment change (we're moving at month's end) as part of a journey of personal growth and spiritual fulfillment. Some might say that I am walking a path that only I may traverse, and that I have jumped over a chasm, and that, having landed on the other side, I may look back at where I have come from and see it anew. Others might say that it's just a bunch of stuff that's happened and it doesn't mean anything. I say it's a chance to write in my weblog more often, since these kinds of jobs often provide ample time for that kind of thing.

I'm telling the internet because people have been emailing my wife to ask her if I have a job yet. Why are people doing this? I don't email someone to ask them about my spouse's employment situation, especially when I could just ask the spouse. Ask me. I'll tell you. Except a couple of people have asked me, and I haven't told them. Sorry, Mathew. Sorry, Maarmie.

Some astute folk may have noticed that I wrote about a job earlier this week. After some thought I turned it down, mostly because I wasn't interested in hustling for my money at this stage of my life. On top of which, the project would have required me to spend lots of time interviewing convicted sex offenders. Which may somebody's idea of a good time, but not mine. Sex offenders are usually emotionally stunted adults who have no insight into their own behaviour and no notion of their victims as real people. Who wouldn't want to hang out with people like that for a few months, following them around with a film crew, accidentally instilling in their empty souls a sense of inflated self-importance and a twisted notion of worth by becoming part of the vast airy spectacle of celebrity?