Waiting On My Start Date.

Waiting On My Start Date.

By

Randy J. Medeiros

It took a whole two years for me to resume working, due to an unforeseeable weak link in today’s middle management (when added to the lack of employment opportunities, and lack of fiscal generosity… of course). The unprepared men, and woman, of generation-x had zero clues on how to handle the over abundance of extra applicants, (begging at boot level) regardless of historical warnings pointing toward a second depression.

My Father would be a great teacher for any one of them (or even his youngest brother, who is well within the range of Gen-X). Not because the lesson is so simple, but because he has an open mind, and always seems to grasp the big picture. If he had one hundred applicants, and only two job openings, he would interview the most qualified, fill the positions, and tell the others the truth. An educated man, such as he, would never lead people on with an, “I’ll be calling you,” when he already had people for the job. He’s the kind of man that knows the other ninety-eight people are most likely starving for work, and would never give them false hope. Not for any reason… at all.

In short, they are accustomed to selecting their favorite flavor from the Neapolitan, and had a full blown panic attack when society presented them the Baskin’s 32. And the sprinkles on top, is their inability to say, “no thanks.” Even when they have their desert in hand.

* * *

I lost my truck driving job in May of 2008 due to the unjustifiable reasoning of the, “Big I, little you,” variety, while American lips were mouthing, “Recession,” and our minds whispered, “Depression.” This meant that I had two choices. The first, of course, was to sign up for unemployment. The other, was to hit every available trucking outfit to let them know a top notch gun for hire was ready, and available. So I elected to skip number one, and shot for number two with great hope, and a great big set swinging.

As soon as I was on this modern day auction block, I was hunted, picked up, interviewed, tested, inspected, and promised to a new trucking outfit by a soon-to-retire war vet that could out-work Gen-X blindfolded, and sipping a cold one. Unfortunately, the Monday I was to go in and fill out my official paperwork and settle in, the big wigs sat him down, and told him to put a freeze on all new hires. So, I went to unemployment, and he retired before the thaw.

In the following two years, I collected, (To Obama, my fondest gratitude for time given, and support shown) and did my best to sift through the ill-equipped personnel in charge of new hires, while ignoring the want adds for, “Erotic Dancers.” (Although I was forced to apply for careers outside of trucking, I never applied to be a shaker-and-a-mover.)

The course of my unemployment stretched to an amazing 103 weeks (for those keeping count, that‘s short of two years by a meager week). According to my logs, I averaged two inquiries per week, including repeat submissions. Resumes, standard employment applications, letters of inquiry, cover letters, etc; all included. That’s (roughly) 206 prospects for rejection, and more than enough to drive a man to think in ways he does not want to, while his hope stagers, ebbs, and sways without control.

I was granted less than a dozen face-to-face interviews during this time, and rarely called back. The lack of call backs is not because I am unfit, but because the present personnel has a problem saying, “Sorry kid… but someone else got here first,” or anything else to that effect. Instead of displaying some common courtesy, the majority of them strung me along, and promised me I was perfect, and only, “Waiting on my start date.”

This is a waste of time, a rude gesture, and it turns strong men and woman into weak willed, paranoid beings without reason, or justification. And the solution is a simple as acting on the responsibilities contained within the jobs they have been given, and growing up.

So… to this confused generation, I beg of you… learn from your elders, and quit poking the bears. Cowards.

* * *

Life has been hard, but I have returned to work. I’m no longer in the trucking industry, but I earn money now, instead of receiving it. And, I’m still looking for a gig in driving, but for the now I sweat buckets at the end of a production line.

Do you know how I can do that with a clear conscience? Work, and look at the same time without remorse for my present employer? Because my new employers are a staffing company that say I’m only a temp… waiting on (the gamble? The chance? The doubtful possibility of) my hire date.

END

This essay was originally posted in the New Bedford Massachusetts, Standard Times, under the title “Strung Along“ on 6-12-2010 (page A-8).

If your not from the area, or you missed it, and would like to read that one, go to (http://www.southcoasttoday.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100612/OPINION/6120349).

Thank You For Reading.

Bottled Water

Subject: X

Average Reading Time: 00:05:00

Origin: System of A Down, Dreaming.

Word Count: 550

Warning: The following text contains vulgar use of the American first amendment law.

Bottled Water

By

Randy J Medeiros

“Do you want dirty water from a dirty lake, or dirty water from a dirty pipe? Both are filtered.”

A quote from Ricky Roger. He was asking me to select a beverage from his home on a hot Florida afternoon. His philosophy will never leave my memory.

We’re all assholes in one respect or another, but when we partake in the nearly global approval of bottled water as a profitable product, we become stupid fucking assholes.

“But I need them for -- the gym -- when I go for a jog -- long drives -- my dogs water dish -- trips to the beach. I need them because -- I don’t drink soda -- I hate washing cups -- I hate how the reusable bottles make the water taste -- their so easy -- I need them.”

No you don’t.

And you never will.

It was our addiction to consumerism (a word that should be stricken from the English language) that the monsters picked up on. They knew we would fall for it. Convenience is a motherfucker.

And now, we have proof we are the prophetic generation of bottled water, causing poor populations to die.

Want proof?

You got it sister!

Several years ago, (and before that, and before that) some cock smoker came to our land, called us infidels, then committed a mass murder. He said we were vain, gluttonous monsters of ignorance, and that we deserved it. I don’t think he was sane, or justified in his actions, but his reason for being pissed off is easily understandable.

I’m pissed too, but I don’t think killing innocent people is the solution. But, I do think the ones responsible should be tried, and hung.

It all started when we went to the cock smokers land, killed his innocent friends and family, called them terrorists, and robbed them of one of their most valuable natural resources for our own selfish, unjustifiable, wasteful use. After that, (just like the last time, and the time before that) we lied about why we were there.

(I just heard a bunch of people scream, “Go Fuck Yourself,” at their screens. Tee hee.)

But that’s how it went down, and we cant turn the clock back. But maybe we can fix the problem it created.

He saw us, invade his home, take their oil, refine it into a plastic bottle, fill it with dirty water from a dirty source, then claim it was all his fault. That left him, on his land, poor, missing his source of income, mourning dead neighbors and relatives, and thirsty as hell.

(Still think I should go fuck myself?)

That’s one way I can think of to put an end to the problem. Educate the ignorant. Some of you already knew this. Some of you cared but never spoke, others knew, but didn’t care. That’s over now.

System of A down put it in poetic words for me to understand, and now I put it in plain English (American) for those who are not fans. And now, even the deniers have to face the facts.

Both parties were wrong, but we the people are not as innocent as we thought.

Tell your friends.

Randy (IRanTheMan) Medeiros.

GONZO

Tobacco Tax

Subject: Politics

Average Reading Time: 00:06:00

Origin: A 68 year old virgin told me.

Word Count: 625

Warning: The following article is a compilation of words used by a man in a state of free thought, and therefore contains dirty language.

Tobacco Tax

By

Randy J Medeiros

“Gunna go give your boss some more money huh? That’s OK, I’ll wait here.”

That quote comes from a man who’s name I cant remember. We were in the same driving school together, and the only things I can remember about him do not bring his name to mind. His philosophy, will never be forgotten. I was on my way out of the bus to smoke a cigarette.

It may not be the best job, but you’ll never get fired, and you have a better chance of seeing a butterfly raping a water buffalo then being laid off and having the opportunity to claim unemployment.

Sorry. Did I go to quick for ya?

Here is what I mean.

We pay tax’s, (whether we like it or not) and that money goes to pay a bunch of suits to provide us with services. Cops, Firemen, Teachers, (lucky fucking Canadian’s get healthcare) Governor’s, Mayor’s, and so on are all paid by us. This (obviously) makes us the employer, them the employees. This also makes it a travesty (obviously) because it’s the other way around.

Of course,… we still have the option of voting, but the subject surrounding that injustice will have to wait for another day.

Some states will not tax clothing because its considered a life necessity, and the taxation of it would be unfair. Other states refuse to tax food and water for the same reason… but some states still tax one or the other.

All of them tax tobacco, even (live free, or fucking die) New Hampshire.

So it’s a job. Our boss’s founded a way to get us to pay them. We’ll never get fired. The only way to get out is to quit. Easier said then done.

“The only thing harder to quit then heroin is cigarettes.” Chuck Berry.

Five ears ago, I moved back to my home town in Massachusetts. When I got here, people were celebrating the smoking ban of state number 9. No more smoking in restaurants, bars, or any other place that isn’t a goddamn casino. Since then, 35 (give or take a handful) have banned smoking in public places statewide, partially or throughout the commonwealth.

(Commonwealth? Just say state you God damned pretentious fruits.)

A year ago, I could buy a carton of cheap dick cigarettes for 30 bucks, now I cant get’em for less then 50 unless I roll them myself. Rolling is an option most have chosen rather then quit, so the price on that will soon be raised as well.

So…

They say the increase in price, be it by tax or distributor, will help us all to put an end to our slow suicide, and end this sick habit. Next, they (Connecticut, back in 08) say the new increase will go to help sick kids get better.

Wait…

What?…

They want to increase the cost so we’ll quit, and let the sick kids die?

Or, are they saying we should continue to kill ourselves so that a sick kid can survive, grow up, and buy a pack of smokes?

I cant find one excuse for this attempted subjugation, but since it worked so well, I have to give them kudos.

Good job dick weeds. You continue to torture us, call us names, turn us into hypocrites and heroes at the same time, and we take it good-naturedly so long as someone has a light.

Keep up the good work.

You have proved to us all, that no matter how hard you fuck our butts (rim-shot), Phillip always seems to get a raise in salary.

Sincerely

Randy (no longer an addict, just a-dick) Medeiros.

Get to know your writer.

Legal Marijuana

Subject: Political

Average Reading Time: 00:05:00

Origin: System of A Down, Prison Song. Super High Me.

Word Count: 475

Warning: What you are about to read contains text that condones the use of semi-illegal substances, and was written by a man with a freedom of speech smile on his face.

Legal Marijuana

By

Randy J Medeiros

“Medical marijuana doesn’t exist. Basically, you drank the kool-aid.”

Some California quack said that to a comedian making a documentary.

Don’t take this the wrong way, but that dumb shit doctor had a point. The use of pot as a medicinal substance has few positive applications. Just about anyone can get a prescription in Arnold land, but it’s still not really legal.

Opiates have a long track record for being fantastic pain killers, so that part is true. Anyone who says otherwise needs to explain why the government condoned the manufacturing of synthetic heroin that has turned a large percentage of people into pharmaceutical junkies. But opiates can kill pain quickly and effectively, so they’re cool in my book. Still not legal though.

(They can take a fucked up chemical like cocaine, and turn it into a logically retarded prescription for children, but they cant find an easy way to make pot into the new beer. What a bunch of ball washing douche’s.)

The Doc said medical marijuana doesn’t exist, but I don’t think that’s what he meant. Medical does exist, legal does not.

The rest was true. A great majority of us are all in the kool-aid. We just don’t know the flavor. 　

As many of you already know, I live Massachusetts. Recently, my fine state decided to decriminalize marijuana. Many other states have already done this.

For some, decriminalization only means they can study the plant for medicinal purposes. For others, like my own, it means I can walk around with an ounce of grass in my pocket, and if I get caught, I only pay a 100 dollar fine.

Sounds great right?

Wrong.

Most states have applied similar laws, but have raised the mandatory minimum sentences for distribution, and attempted distribution. So you and me are fine… so long as we don’t plan on separating any of our stash into separate baggies, or rolling more then one bone at a time.

So now, the source of the once is at greater risk. Before the new decriminalization phase, we were all in the same boat (well… maybe not the same boat,… but close enough for a horse shoe or a hand grenade). Now, the scales have tipped.

So now I’m not so afraid of having an once of herb in my dresser drawer, but finding a guy willing to risk 5 to 10 and a baton up the bum to produce said herb, is getting harder and harder to come by.

Well… what do you expect from a country that sends an army to arrest Tommy Fucking Chong over a few pieces of glass?

Tell a Friend.

Why I Need You to Read

Subject: Personal

Average Reading Time: 00:06:00

Origin: The Idiots Guide To Getting Published

Word Count: 600

Warning: The following text contains foul language from a foul person about to ask you to do things that may degrade you in the eyes of others, and lower your IQ.

Why I Need You to Read

By

Randy J Medeiros

“Don’t create anything. It will be misinterpreted, it will not change, it will follow you the rest of your life.”

Bob Dylan.

This July makes three years. I’m twenty-six, and only started pursuing my dream three years ago. One day I’ll tell you all of my lame excuses for taking so long, but for now, I’ll wait.

My dream? Published writer. Entertainer, and annoyer of the masses. What else?

That’s why I need you to read my blogs.

I’m a balding man with little classical education, and I need subscriptions to use as publishing credit.

I’ll keep them short. 500 to 1,000 words should be OK. And I’m only going to post on the first and third Friday of every month, so we’re only talking two or three hours of your time, per year. That’s not to much to ask for I hope.

You can do that… right?

I knew you could you sexy fucker‘s.

A few years back I took some money from my Fantasy & Science Fiction Magazine budget to buy some books on publishing. Deep down inside of one of them, I found an insert on bloging. I was opposed to the idea of online anything around then, but now have a different opinion (obviously).

Further into the book I came across a nifty trick called the cover letter. It’s a great way to look professional, kiss the ass of the editor or agent your writing, and brag a little about your publishing credits. For most, the cover letter, is not a necessity, but if written properly it can jamb a steal toed boot in the door of the publishing world. But, the book said I should include something I didn’t have. Something I had yet to earn.

All I could write under publication credits was, Not yet published. (It sounds better then unpublished because the word is to close to un-publishable for my taste.)

The more credits you have, the better your chances.

That’s why I’m here.

At first, I thought publishing my fiction online was lame, and still do just to a lesser extent. Even without a fan base, it’s to easy for any asshole to post themselves on MySpace and call it publication brilliance. To me, that’s like spreading cream cheese on a cow turd and calling it breakfast.

And all for nothing.

I didn’t know you could consider it a publication credit if you had enough subscribers.

Now, I do.

On top of that, I realized I don’t have to post fiction in my blogs. That gave me a whole new place to vent my creative steam.

I never thought nonfiction writing would be for me, but I’m having a hell’uva time.

Of course, you know… I can’t just post this garbage and call it brilliant writing worth reading (or breakfast). I need you, kind reader (see how I kissed your ass there?) to deem my work worth subscribing to.

All I can offer is what you see, and the fact that it‘s free.

If you like it, and are willing to take another step further on this wondrous journey with me, copy and paste some of my blogs into your bulletins. Send them in messages to your pals talking about some of the things we have discovered together (and make it sound sexy… because sex sells so well. Then tell them we have punch and pie. More people will come if they think we have punch and pie).

I ask this of you because I have learned the most important thing about bloging. It’s simple, and easily justified.

It’s free exposure for twats like me.

Tell your friends.