We Lowly Millennials.

First let me tell you, my computer broke, so I wrote this hastily on a computer in a library (they have computers now!) and I only had 30 mins to do so. Then I copied it to my phone and from my phone am pasting it here. No proof reading was done, it’s not very good and it was more venting on my part than anything else.

Also, I still don’t know what millennial really means, or quite why it requires 2 Ns.

 

In the space of a month or so, I’ve gone from being a copy editor to working in a pub. I had to work hard to obtain this job in said pub. Who’d have thought that we’d one day live in a world where even bar work was a competitive industry. I saw a line outside the Job Centre the other day, there were eight people fighting over an application form for Clarks. Some one pulled a knife – he had a degree in astrophysics.

I have been applying for many jobs. It is a soul destroying exercise in futility for anyone in their 20s. No matter how you approach it, you’ll always get the lazy responses ‘thanks, but no.’ Or, worse than that, you’ll get ‘you have not got enough experience.’ If you ask how you go about getting the necessary experience when every company turns you down for your lack of experience they mutter something unintelligible before pointing behind you and saying ‘what the fuck is that?’ Like a fool you turn, and when you turn back they are gone.

If you ask what happens when all the people with experience eventually die, their faces adopt a far away quality, as though they are staring into some murky abyss, before whispered words escape their puckered lips ‘…then God help us.’

The problem is, most of us were conned into going to university, and for most of us it was a con. A massive fat CON. We were lured into it by talk of walking out the other end being more employable than those who didn’t go. We were told not to worry about the massive debt, because our degrees would propel us into roles so well paid that it’ll be gone within the week. All of this turned out to be a lie. Everyone has a degree, and when everyone has a degree than we may as well not have bothered, especially if your degree is in performing arts.

I suppose it doesn’t help that I went to the University of Hertfordshire, which is less a university and more a community centre catering for unemployed millennials. Which brings me on to the crux of my point.

What the fuck is a millennial? I think I am one, but I don’t know what it means. Everywhere I read or hear it, it sounds patronising, dismissive and dripping in ridicule. Often when we lament the lack of jobs, those in positions of authority say “there’s plenty out there, you just have to look hard for it.” or the problem with millennials is we “have a huge sense of entitlement,” and “want success handed to us on a plate” (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-4232696/Millenials-generation-huge-sense-entitlement.html)

Others say the problem lies within our work ethic and maybe we should all work in bars and restaurants and do so happily without complaint. Stefanie Williams writing for the Huffington Post writes about her success in The Problem With Millennials and Work Ethic: All of this was afforded to me not in the first month I was working at a restaurant, but after I put in the hours, made the sacrifices and sucked up my pride in order to make ends meet and figure out what I wanted to do and how to do it.” (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/stefanie-williams/the-problem-millennials-work-ethic-talia-yelp_b_9282244.html)

Well done Stefanie, though as well as hours and hard work you missed out huge dollops of luck. However, with astronomical rent prices climbing ever hire and even those restaurant jobs being harder to come by as well as the cost of living forever climbing, we millennials will be aged and haggard by the time we start earning enough to make a proper go at life. We’re the first generation that on the whole, will be worse off when compared to our parents. Most of us will never own our own home and as to having a career progression to boast about, the vast majority can forget about that, what with our chaotic Cvs. Worked in one bar, worked in another bar, had a brief stint in IT support, was made redundant as it was outsourced, worked in another bar.

As for being self-entitled, we have lived and are currently living in one of the worst economic crisis in recent history. An economic crisis that was not our doing. In fact, we had nothing to do with it. Yet we must be the ones to fix it, we have to be the ones to suffer the low wages, the lack of jobs, the crushing financial burdens. I say again, most of us will never be able to afford our own home. Either because they’re too expensive, or because we’ll just end up having that nuclear war we’ve been talking about for so many decades.

Of course we expect a good job, we were promised a good job, coaxed into spending a lot of money on higher education due to the that promise. Of course we want more than bar work, as we approach our mid-twenties. These are the years we should be starting on our path to a career we can be proud of. Soon we’ll be in our thirties, maybe wanting to squeeze some of our own children into an already over-populated world, how can we afford to do that when we’re barely getting by on our shifts at The Wobbly Cow or The Fat Crustacean or The Whorish Whore or Wetherspoons?

Just give me a fucking job!

Throw Enough S***.

EPSON MFP image

 

This is a famous moose, it is Famoose. A variation of this drawing is on an old entry of this blog somewhere, so if you were looking at it and thinking – that is entirely plagiarised, it is. I plagiarised myself… and anyone else that’s said Famoose before, which I’m assuming is quite a lot of people.

 

Throw enough shit and you’ll eventually hit someone you dislike.

That’s a family motto of ours, my kin and I have always been angry, bitter and hate filled. However, the general point of the motto is, perseverance is key. Keep working away at something and eventually you’ll get somewhere. This is a common theme. Perseverance is the key to success. If at first you do not succeed, try and try again.

And yet, it is said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. So, logically speaking, the key to success is insanity.

Insanity is all well and good in and of itself, but it’s not really sustainable, it’ll get you killed in the end. So, in that case, what is the key to success? More to the point, if success is what we all crave, why do we keep it locked away with only one key cut and then lose the key? We humans are ambitious by nature, back in the day when most mammals looked at large and dangerous predators they thought ‘fuck that, let’s run away.’ Whereas humans thought ‘One day, I’m going to punch that so hard in the face that it dies, and then I’ll wear its skin as a symbol of my power!’

We succeeded in that, or at least some of us did otherwise we wouldn’t be here – or at the very least there’d be more predators running about – like sabretooth tigers and that, not those weird aliens from the Arnie film and a string of other shit films.

That was a time when success meant survival. These days survival is sort of expected, in fact with the emergence of takeaways it’s really easy – you don’t even have to leave the house. If you find yourself dead at the end of any given day, then you’ve obviously done something very wrong, or stupid.

So, what do we mean by success these days?

It’s either lots of sex or lots of money.

With free to use online dating services becoming readily available, it’s now fairly easy to get sex (depending on your standards of course) and you only have to leave your house once. So money, money is the mark of success now and very few of us have any.

There seem to be many ways of making money, I was speaking to someone the other day who was earning enough money to pay his rent and bills with his own jam making company. So he was making and selling jam. JAM!

So, why aren’t we all making Jam? It can’t be that hard.

Where I work, those at the top are on a tremendous sum of money. I sometimes see them about the place, with self-satisfied grins on their faces and taking long, elegant and expensively trousered strides. One would suspect, given their high salaries that they have difficult and stressful jobs. They do not. From what I can tell, their jobs are to tell others to do some work and to walk around looking important.

So how come they are successful? Have they spent years and years flinging shit in the general direction of people they don’t like? Who knows? I’ll ask them one day.

I’m just bored and had nothing to do, my Xbox broke.

The FuzzyRambler

 

 

 

 

People With Money are Terrible and ‘We’ Are Better Than Them.

I had the misfortune of being stuck in a conversation at lunch time this week. I say conversation, it was a conversation in the modern sense where – on the whole – it is made up of shouted non-sequiturs, a few references I didn’t understand and a few exclamations of a sexual nature. On a side note, why does the modern man feel the need to blurt out who can and can’t sit on their face? And since when have rape ‘jokes’ been funny?  You can try and sound as ironic as you like, but you can’t hide that intense flame of sexual frustration in your eyes, or the shame come to think of it.

As in all large, multinational corporations, where I work there are some people on very good wages, and some on not so good (me damn it!). And as in all life, there are people that are naturally attractive, and also those that have wealthy parents (by our lowly definitions). This is rather inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, however, it does tend to get us riled up.

In this unfortunate conversation we seemed to dance around a few particular topics, one of which was a young lady, whose parents has some amount of financial wealth should we say. She happily takes advantage of this, much to the rancour of my lunch time companions. She has multiple horses, which is just unfair as I don’t even have 1 horse, fucking one percent – taking all the horses. On top of all this, she had the audacity to allow her parents to pay off her new car. Can you imagine the spluttered outrage pouring from the lips of the unfortunate few? No you can’t, it was much worse than that.

“Oh Daddy will buy her a new car.”

“We have to make our own way in life!”

“Spoilt brat, lets key her car!”

“No let’s get some paint stripper and write slut on her doors.”

I would like to say the last one is an exaggeration… I would really like to say that.

There’s a lot of anger and insecurity about these days, and apparently the way to get through this is to hurl abuse at those ‘better off’ than us – preferably when they’re not there and can’t hear us. Sexism and passive aggression aside, the reason this annoys me so, is I find it very hard to imagine anyone not taking advantage of opportunities offered to them.

“What’s that dad? You want to pay of my car? No thank you, I wish to make my own way in life. In fact if you could kick me out with nothing but the clothes on my back, and then demand I pay you for them, that will be much better. Teach me some responsibility.”

More to the point, without going into too much detail, one of the speakers I know is in a good wage and once said he didn’t spend any less than £50 on a pair of jeans (Oh the extravagance!). The other, I know has had financial help from his parents too – but we can forget about that when it comes to our “Two Minutes Hate.” We can forget that the majority of us are actually in pretty enviable positions in regards to the rest of the planet (if you have an iPhone or access to the internet and the right to vote you’re probably alright). We are all in the positions we are because of circumstance and because of those around us.

Because, those wealthier than us are dicks, especially if they’re women apparently (I would go into this, but that’s a debate to be had by more eloquent people than I).

They have no right to complain… ever. Even if their aforementioned rich parents are killed in a tragic car accident, they have no right to weep, to even feel one ounce of sorrow, they can just buy new parents.

I don’t begrudge people their wealth, or mock the absent of such (because I am better than all of you) – it’s hypocrisy that infuriates me.

Why, when we all seem to hate these people – do we strive for wealth ourselves? Why do we play the lottery, or hope for our big break and a room we can comfortably call our treasury, filled with sacks of gold and jewels, and a crown? Surely, the very idea should sicken us and we should aspire to get rid of all our money, and our clothes,

Perhaps my problem is I don’t particularly understand money. I don’t get it and the very concept of it makes me mad, why do I have to spend 8 and a half hours a day earning it, only for a man from the council to take it away? I have a very limited interest in cars, so find it difficult to get jealous when someone’s parents buy them a new snazzy vehicle. What grinds my gears are the people that get to work from home. I want to work from home! The only reason I pursue some sort of financial well-being is so I can have more sleep, and avoid annoying conversations like the one I have mentioned. That, and I’d quite like to live inside a volcano, like some supervillain.

Over all – it’s a shame that we’re all so angry.

But I wouldn’t want it to change, as then I’d have nothing to write about on a Saturday morning as I desperately try and say something interesting in the vain hope that someone will hire me to write articles.

The FuzzyRambler

There Ain’t Nothin’ Human about Humanity Anymore

According to Bing there are 8766 hours in a given year. I will have to verify with Google later, as Bing can’t be trusted, it means well, but it’s just not as bright as its older brother. On average, we work 8 hours a day five days a week, which equates to say 40 hours a week. Times this by the 52 weeks we have in the year and we get 2080. Let’s say on average we get 7 hours sleep in a twenty-four hour period. 7×7 = 49, multiply 49 by 52 and we have 2,548 hours. 8766 – 2548 = 6218. This number represents our waking hours when we can do things. So as it stands, we spend roughly a third of our waking lives at work.

You might be saying ‘that’s not a particularly accurate template. I mean all jobs are different. The number of hours vary, it depends on how much we get paid and how many holiday days, and when we retire. There are far too many variables to consider to make a statement with an air of mathematical certainty.’   To which I would reply… SHUT UP!

There ain’t nothing human to humanity anymore. I often say in a gruff, Hollywood style voice to anyone willing to listen, which isn’t a large number. Those that do tend to say, ‘Get on with your work.’ Or ‘that’s all well and good but you still need to pay your council tax.’ Every day, when my alarm goes off, all I want to do is go back to sleep, just for another hour or two… sometimes I wish to sleep until the seas rise and send us all to our watery graves, paving the way to the fishman civilisation of the future. Is that so much to ask? Just a little bit more sleep? Apparently, for a human, that is a ridiculous request.

Every other creature on the planet, upon waking, if they want more sleep, would simply put their head down and continue. I had a dog once, and it was all she’d do. How I envied that fat spaniel. So, we’re not allowed to sleep if we’re tired. But at least we have a roof above our heads. The habitat of the human, the buildings that symbolise our advancement.

But do we?

That costs money… a lot of money. These days so much money that soon no one will be able to afford to rent and we’ll all be living in the woods as all the buildings stand empty. (On a side note, I was recently unable to afford my council tax. The council was very understanding, they sent me a letter saying ‘you haven’t paid your monthly instalment of £144. If you don’t pay within six days you will lose your right to pay in instalments and we will demand the full payment of £1,280.’ I can’t help but feel they are somewhat removed from reality, they exist in a world where the higher the number, the easier it is to pay. Give it long enough and I’m sure I’ll be getting a letter saying ‘can’t afford £144? Not to worry, we’ll just take it in blood.’)

In trying to earn money, to keep a roof above my head so I can have a bed that I’m not allowed to sleep in when I want, I have a job – which I’ve already established takes up a third of my waking life. In this job, we’re told we’re not allowed to text from our phones, no communication to the outside world. Whenever we leave our desks we must state where we are going, and then also state when we have arrived back… because though people might be able to see us, there’s every chance that our minds have melted into oblivion and are no more.

I sarcastically email my manager every time I go for a poo, and then email him when I am back from my poo, giving him details of the pooping experience. He is not amused, but it gets me through the day. The words ‘standardised’ and ‘processes’ are thrown about so frequently that they have lost all meaning. If anyone has the misfortune of being a minute late they are reprimanded and publically humiliated. We must produce weekly reports of the work we have done in order to prove we are doing it. Any display of humanity is swiftly dealt with. We become reduced to numbers, all clad in grey jumpsuits. Every so often a face will appear on our computer screens demanding we submit to the will of middle management (on another side note, what is the point of middle management? They’re like an appendix; they’re useless and serve no purpose, but everyone’s got one, and every so often they burst ruining someone’s day). All for a measly 19k a year.

You may be saying ‘this is little more than an exercise in catharsis! What happened to the posts where you’d just put a number of ‘funny’ drawings that you did?’ to which I say to you SHUT UP! One more outburst from the likes of you and I’ll have you evicted from the internet!

So, at least we have the social aspect right? The very thing that defines humanity, separates us from the animals… those lucky lazy animals that just sleep and eat, occasionally having a break from both to have sex. Bastards.

Do we?

Adult life drastically reduces the number of friends you have. Those from your childhood have moved on and are busy working. The people you meet as adults are those you work with, and we hate them. By the time you eventually get home, having waited hours for a bus or sat in the never ending streams of traffic, you are tired and hungry. You eat some dehydrated noodles and go to bed.

If you don’t you may sit and stare at your computer screen, or the screen of your phone, or at a mirror in a daze, thinking it’s a screen. You try and poke and swipe at it, try and get some porn on it, but the only naked person it will show you is you, and you disgust yourself. You’re haggard, your skin taught about your skull, eyes shadowed with fatigue and glassy with dejectedness. Your shoulders are stooped from being hunched over a computer all day. Your mind has been reduced to mulch from boredom, your chest hurts with loneliness.

The thing that looks back at you is not human, but some sort of skeletal husk. It may have been human once. It may have had the potential for humanity, but modern life has squeezed it out of you. The constant pecking from automated systems demanding money which you don’t have, the constant bleating of managers, the squealing of alarms demanding you wake up; the constant rejection from people denying you the right to hold another individual and weep for the loss of humanity, it’s all taken its toll.

Google says it’s 8760, nice try Bing.

TheFuzzyRambler.