Life in the Unemployed Lane

It’s not all about money – there’s your head too

I became unemployed a month ago. I got the dreaded pink slip the day after I received my paycheck and repaid my Payday Loan. My slip was yellow, but it carried the same black message. The department is being closed down. I had nothing to do with it. I had been the company writer, hammering out technical specs, proposals for work, marketing material, whatever needed writing. My unofficial title was “Official Writer.”

Everyone’s losing their jobs

It wasn’t a surprise. The work scene had been steadily declining with the hi-tech drift over the past months and I watched in silence as more and more of the staff was fired. I was kept on until the end, in case a new request for a proposal came in – the big one that would stave off the end. It never arrived.

Life in the old-age lane

So I find myself two months short of 69 with nothing to do. I have a pension, true, but it is calculated in some esoteric way and the result is “thin.” Interest rates on our savings range between zero and low and what comes in is about enough to see us through the first two weeks of each month, if we live quietly and breathe shallow.

Restless nights

My nights are restless and sleep is frequently interrupted as the problems surface. Then I manage to turn my thoughts to some pleasant incident and I drop off again, only to wake an hour later. In front of the TV in the early evening hours I am the champion sleeper, unable to keep my eyes open.

I sat on a bench in town yesterday. I had taken the car down to the industrial area of the town for a service and decided to walk back and collect it. I saw the unoccupied bench about half way in the two mile walk and stopped for a while – not to rest, but to gather my thoughts, put some order into my mind, think things out, run through my list of contacts one more time.

I’m not like the others

I immediately dropped into a deep reverie. I never noticed when the other two occupants arrived. But when a passing cabbie hit his horn in frustration and broke through the fog, I found myself one of three gray-haired men sitting on the bench. I moved away quickly. I’m not like them.

The unemployment scene

Yesterday I took a deep breath and walked across town to the Unemployment Office. The reception area was like a tourist’s view into…well, let’s just say it’s not heaven. Hordes of people look as though they’ve been milling around for decades. Voices are raised. The clerks have little patience and elbows are used indiscriminately. I stated my request to the man at the help desk and he punched keys on a machine and handed me a slip of paper, already yelling at the guy behind me. I looked at it and read “3rd floor, Room 302 and you are number 44 in line.”

From there it was easy. The clerk was pleasant and actually smiled at me during the brief interview. I left with a list of papers and forms – filling them in will provide employment for a few days! At home I am glued to my computer and the list of job advertisers and employment agencies on the Internet. I have faith. I will find something.