My unemployment is like the 100 years war, it just goes on and on and on. People work for money. You're told to "get a job," strangely as if you didn't want to. It's the power of suggestion. With all the bad stories about work you hear it starts to become your truth. You don't want a job. Why? You don't like the working conditions. You don't like the work that you do, maybe it's immoral. You don't make enough money in the job. People have thousands of reasons for hating their job but they still want work. Why? Because work is how you make money and money is what you need for the things in your life that keep you alive and keep you happy.
My father was a boss. After his retirement he used to brag about having 5,000 people (men, he said) under him. You have to wonder what he was, some kind of service personnel? No, he was a master mechanic in a railroad yard. No, he never had 5,000 people under him. Maybe he told some inconsequential, meaningless employees sometimes to do things but in general he just sat at his desk and then took long walks around the yard to familiar places he knew. I wasn't there so I don't know, but I visited with my mom now and then and there was nothing to his job. He never finished the 8th grade, another boast of his, and the job he had reflected that. A boss? He had been there for 40 years and he was a white man. What else could he be?
So, I was blessed with being his son. He had 3. One by another woman and another with my mom. When I grew up and became a man he disowned me, a descriptive honor that expresses our relationship. He ceased helping me to get any kind of work which he did through his extensive family (he was a child of seven, six who were surviving in the 70's). Truly, this was some kind of ploy to get me to join the service. My older brother had joined the service. He joined right out of high school. I guess he could have gone to college but he chose the U.S. Air Force instead. When I had graduated community college and being on academic probation and later temporary suspension at the 4 year school that neighbored it, in a fix, the Carter administration loosened up the rules for military service. One needed only serve one year. It was a prime opportunity for me to join, get some money and some work experience but I hated exercise and I remembered basic, the grueling 2 month exercising program that begins one's military service. I smoked 2 and 1/2 packs a day and liked my pot as well. Ironically, it was skipping a day of physical education at the 4 year school that put me on academic probation. Then, of course, sex. Living in a barracks would certainly curtail sexual activity. Though mine was purely autonomous, I still appreciated the experience.
No service, no job. I had hopes for utopian experiments like communes. A girl I fell in love with took me on a trip around the country that included Stephan's Farm, a utopian experiment in cooperative living. We were there a couple of days with some people who drove a yellow school bus. They were originally from New Jersey but were down in Florida doing videotape of natural living. The father and husband of this small family that included 2 daughter, one still in the crying and feeding stages, was proud of a videotape of a cow giving birth to a calf. I had a hard time faking my delight in that video and Dean saw through that. I ended up in Boulder, Colorado at the end of that trip and had work as a dishwasher for a few days until it came to pass that I just couldn't keep the little paper hat that represented the franchise, Tico's, on my head. I was fired.
I used to pass by a breakfast and lunch place where an older fellow worked on a grill. I was 22 and thought that was something I might have a talent for. If the boss man there had some patience and time, maybe that was something. But I gave that up as a kind of dream. Working men have no patience with student types.
So, I was 22 then. Now, I'm 60. I don't have enough work time to get social security when I am 65. I have 5 years to go to get that 6 months but the more important thing is I'm homeless and I would like to support myself. Nothing political in this, is there? Daddy was a Wallace man. I loved John Kennedy. Could it be politics is behind my unemployment?