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Little one-eyed reta
Good morning, /r9k/. Daily reminder:
2016-06-20 11:56:44 Post No. 29412404
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Good morning, /r9k/. Daily reminder:
Little one-eyed reta
2016-06-20 11:56:44
Post No. 29412404
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There is absolutely no hope for those of us too defective to even disguise ourselves as human.
Having been a client of California Department of Rehabilitation's Blind Field Services of three years, the fact that my caseworker didn't lift a finger to help me get a job beyond e-mailing me links to indeed.com and monster.com and other job search sites, while many of his other clients successfully received employment placement and job retention services, only goes to show that I do not belong here on this Earth.
It's not as if I'm sitting idly by. I have a nice resume for which I've paid a service to polish for me, after filling out an extensive questionnaire. I've followed up on every one of my stupid useless Armo caseworker's shitty-assed fucking e-mails and applied for each and every one of his idiotic job suggestions, whether I had the skills and education for the position or not. Even though I had e-mailed him copies of my resume which clearly outlined my stats and skills and work history, it seemed as if I were merely part of some unpersonalized mass mail. I've been to every job fair and did a meet and greet with everyone to whom I've handed my resume. Applied and took the tests and uploaded my resume online. No feedback on my interviews skills and presenation, nothing to help me secure a steady stream of income. He just sat there with one thumb in his mouth and the other stuck up his ass, not giving two fucks about a short white one-eyed retarded with hearing aids.
The equation is quite simple. If I can't work, I can't afford a place to live. If I can't afford a place to live, that means I don't deserve to live. While others can take their bed, stove, microwave, hot water, clean shower, gaming computers, access to steady Wi-Fi, etc. for granted, I struggle to find a fine line between domestic health and feral survival.
I have 11 days left for my luck to change before I inconvenience the morning commute on the subway with my head-first swan dive.