The Healing Profession
(I can’t believe it. This woman hates me and I hate her -- on sight. And I need this job.)
(Why does personnel keep sending me these losers... If I ever get a six-three 220 pound orderly I’ll fall over dead. I want linebackers not place kickers -- or cheerleaders.)
(She’s got pig farmer written all over her -- from the cold blue eyes and fat face to the disappearing features.)
(Something’s not right about him. He’s dressed nicely... but why is he wearing sneakers to a job interview?)
(She just looked at my Chuck’s -- the shoes of the animal rights movement. I wonder if she noticed the canvas belt...)
(A canvas belt? There’s no way he was ever in the service. How many more of these apps will I have to go through?)
(She’s definitely wrung the necks of chickens. She reeks of murder. Somewhere, she’s slaughtered the innocent.)
(I wonder if he’s got some Jew in him? He looks like he reads a lot.)
(In karate they teach us so many different ways to kill people. I bet I’ll think of every one of them before this interview is over.)
(He’s polite but... he’s enraging me. Am I transferring something from Jimmy... or from someone else?)
(People murder their bosses but does anyone kill them before they get hired? “Hey, my first job lasted a lifetime -- too bad I spent it in Lucasville...”)
(I know where I’ve seen those big brown eyes. He looks like that deer that Jimmy shot last winter. It’s almost lunchtime. Lord, I want some pork.)
(Her son, “Jimmy,” works here too... Christ on a stick, how bad does this git...)
(Wouldn’t it be awful, every time I went to Jimmy’s and saw his deer head, to be reminded of this guy?)
(No blonde bombshell is ever going to fuck me and no one like this is ever going to hire me. Two different worlds. The only thing that’s come out of all this job-hunting is that I’ve memorized my social security number. When will this end... I’ve got to get out of here and find a job I really want.)
(He’s skinny. He doesn’t look like he could protect himself, much less the patients and nurses. He’d have his work cut out for him with the group on the unit now. Probably wouldn’t make it past the drug test, anyway.)
(What’s she droning on about... piss test... Jesus, who cares... you’re talkin’ to someone who won’t take an aspirin...)
(Where have I hated him before?)
(If I got hired, I wonder if I could get her fired for something? That might be worth it. Could anybody possibly like her?)
(I think I’d like to torture him.)
(No, there’s no way that I have to work at a place where I’m hated right from the start. There’s no future in that. I’m not that desperate. I swear to God, this is what I’ve been in training for, I’m tired of doing katas with a dojo full of nine-year-olds -- I’m going to leap over that desk and do # 3 Eye Gouge right here right now -- )
“We would like to offer you a job.”
“Great -- I’ll take it.”
“Welcome aboard.”
published 5/18/2012 at counterpunch.org