The unemployable

Keith Lumsden had recently graduated and didn’t know what to do with himself. He was half-heartedly looking for a job, but wasn’t sure what he was after.

And there being so little on offer, he decided to take a speculative glance at the web pages of the local university, where he now lived, to see if he might stumble across any jobs going. He was a student of languages, reasonably clever but lazy, and he didn’t really have a passion for his subject. He was not the sort of person who smiled much or gave the impression of being content. Whenever he did something, for example his work, he always did it in half measures, so that he was never fully satisfied. Idleness didn’t suit him and brought out the worst in him; there again, he was never man enough to roll up is sleeves and real apply himself. So he was in a perpetual state of dissatisfaction, unable to pull himself out of the mud, but not the sort who enjoyed basking lazily in it. Like someone who needed to get up out of bed to go to the toilet, but out of laziness remained in bed having troubled sleep.

All the same he was sensitive and intelligent. He wasn’t really cut out to work in the workplace. The most obvious option for him was to become a teacher, yet he feared the children and was too lacking in inertia to get stuck into all the clart that went with schooling. He was half-enthused about teaching at a university though; for he believed it would be an easy life, he could teach in half measures and get away with it and he would hold onto his freedom.

Browsing over the university’s website proved fruitless though. Seemingly, no jobs were available. Frustrated, he visited the web page of the modern languages department itself. And as he scrawled down the list of staff members, he made visits to the homepages of some of these, curious to know who worked in the department.

And to all the people here presented, he inwardly scoffed at them. He looked at their photos and read their details, and saw what they had to say vis-à-vis languages and learning and simply life in general. He sneered at their photos and thought them gormless, nerdy, stuffy and boring and when he read their words he mocked their serious thoughts and musings, their jokes, as well any expression of happiness. He thought them all a bunch of academic fools who knew nothing of the real world, and was put out by the fact that they said things like ‘language is exciting, I have a passion for it’ or ‘my interest lies in French philosophy of the 18th century’. He despised these people.

And the head of the department, a Dr Codling, really aroused his hatred:

‘Look at that cabbage eating, crusty old bore’ he thought to himself. ‘What a freak he looks like in that photo. For God’s sake! What an ugly mug! He’s such a pompous fool. And what a stuffy lump he is: ‘my special interests include Germanic poetry from the early 17th century and also drinking beer!’ Ha! What a fucking fool. Ha! Ha! Ha!’ he said scornfully. ‘Drinking beer! Yeah you’re so cool you fucking freak!’

And Codling had photos of his wife and children at hand, and Keith looked at these and an expression of teenage disgust spread across his face and he tutted. He wasn’t impressed by his dowdy looking wife and his excited, nerdy little children.

‘What a total bunch of sad fucking arse holes’ he said, shaking his head with contempt.

****************************

Nine months passed. Still Keith was unemployed. Then one day a new job advert appeared. It was to work as an English language teacher at the local university, teaching foreign students. To Keith it seemed like the perfect job. At the local university, it would be easy to get there, it was well paid, the students would be no problem, teaching English would be a doddle. Consequently, he was very enthused over the job: in the nine months he’d been unemployed nothing anywhere as near as cushy as this had arisen.

Eagerly he applied, and as it turned out, applications had to be made to the head of department, Dr Codling. When Keith realised who this was he at first felt guilty. Then he had a reversal of attitude.

‘No, no, I’m sure he’s a fine enough man. He seems alright, a really nice guy in fact’ he thought to himself. He imagined shaking his hand and smiling to him pleasantly at the interview, and imagined sitting with him in the interview room and Codling asking questions. And Keith would be sitting there smiling and being amenable, saying ‘I love languages, I find them really, really rewarding. I’ve always had a passion for French literature of the revolution era. History is just so interesting isn’t it? German I’ve always struggled with, but I guess, just like you, I love beer too! And if you eat cabbage soup that’s fine by me.’

He was in a good mood and thought about his new job, how simple it would be, how he’d get along with them all, the head of department and what not. He sent off the application.

Ten weeks went by and he heard nothing. The truth was that he was not qualified for the job: he had no qualification allowing him to teach English to foreigners, and he had rather stupidly overlooked this obvious weakness in his application. Eventually, the new post holder was announced on the website. Dr Codling himself said:

‘I am pleased to welcome Mrs Heather Simonson to the department. Heather will join us as a teacher in the new EDS scheme for learners of the English language…….’

When Keith read this he was livid. Who did this Codling think he was, not only to give the job to somebody else, but to not even bother sending him a rejection note? He was beside himself, and hastily wrote an email to him.


Dr Codling,

I’m afraid to say I’m really angered by your behaviour. I applied to you for the vacancy of teacher of English in the new foreign language centre, and not only do you not care to invite me for interview, but you also have the cheek to simply ignore me, to let me find out the results of my application on the internet, to treat me with utter contempt!

Let me tell you, I won’t just be fucked over like this! Motherfucker! I’m sick of time serving, apple polishers like you standing in the way of my earning a living. You’re such a fucking freak you know, with your stupid hair cut and your professor’s beard. You crusty, pompous, wanker, with your stupid German literature, and your love of beer and your hilarious fucking jokes about beer. You are always trying to pretend that you’re cool or something, with all your talk of beer. Christ you’re such a dick head. You’re nothing but a boring, sterile, cabbage-chomping shit head. You’re boring (you look like a total freak in your photo), your wife’s boring and your children, unsurprisingly, are also boring. Fuck off and die you motherfucker!