They say there’s a silver lining to every bad situation.

Who says?

The Gloomer sez.

Okay. Let us test the Silver Lining Theory:

Say, for instance, you’re on Death Row. Time is running short. You are definitely in a bad situation. Facing Death in the Gas Chamber may just top the list of Bad Situations.

What aphorism of positivity could possibly brighten the bleak realm you occupy?

Well, I suppose you could say to yourself, “at least I have financial security.”

I’m Out Of Work!

That’s right, man…I’m Out Of Work

They say there’s lots of jobs out there.

Who says that?

Not the Gloomer.

Once you reach a certain age it really doesn’t matter how abundant the Job Market happens to be. I’m 69 years old. I’m sorry, man. I’m not flipping burgers at In-And-Out. I won’t take that job…even though they’re paying twenty bucks an hour to flip burgers.

Here’s a nasty Irony: I’m qualified to teach High School on a substitute basis. The local Unified School District is offering jobs starting at seventeen dollars an hour. That means the kid I am teaching might be making three dollars more an hour than my own sad ass is making.

I could flip burgers, I guess…

My Terrific Job

I’m faced with rejoining the Rat Race because at 69 years old I lack Financial Security.

I thought I had financial security. I never did. I only had the same job for twenty four years.

That’s right. I had a great job selling windows and doors. I made more money working twenty hours a week than most federal employees make punching a keyboard ten hours a day. I had plenty of spare time to hang out in fancy restaurants, sail my boat, work on my great american novel. Not The Log Of The Yardbird. The big novel I could never get right. I didn’t worry about financial security. I had a great job.

What happened to this great job of mine?

The kid turns forty. He’s been installing windows since he turned seventeen. He’s the owner of my company. AND he’s the best in the business. I can always depend on him to do beautiful work…to fulfill the contracts I bring in. Big Contracts. Some of them fifty, sixty grand. Great commissions for me, great profits for him. This kid. LIke I’m telling you, he’s the best in the business. So what happens?

He decides he wants to be an artist.

Dick Sculptures

He really got quite good at it. Of course it took him a while to learn the art of it. Meanwhile the Window Business goes slowly down the drain. Customers demand windows that take forever to get installed. Then they want refunds for window jobs that never get ordered. Finally, the Kid’s partner, his brother, splits for South Carolina and a free gig with his in-laws.

The kid’s an artist. Maybe he figured he’d make a killing selling his sculptures in the Gay Community. I don’t know. All I know, I’m out of work. Thanks to a man’s artistic yearnings. And who am I to judge? I have artistic leanings of my own. It’s kind of like having a mental disorder.

What is Financial Security?

Financial Security is not just having a Job. Even a terrific job.

Financial Security is a diversified portfolio. Financial Security means you can not have a job.

How come I never knew this? I mean, I don’t think I’m stupid. I suppose there’s are parts of my brain that are permanently vacant.

I’m Thinking A or B

I’m down to a few grand in a coffee can and a tarped boat. I could float for a while but it’s like waiting for the end.

The end goes slowly for a while. Then all at once…

Not the end like the end in the Gas Chamber.

More like the end where I’m hanging out in a fancy restaurant…as the bus boy. Or here at Starbucks, where my buddy Buddy works. Buddy’s a sixty seven year old barista. He has a second job doing product displays at Safeway. He could have a third job. I need to ask him. He’s in good shape for his age. What kind of shape am I in?

I don’t know. Ask me when I’m seventy….

What is it, A or B?

I gotta mull my options. It’s like those seats in the Gas Chamber. The seats are Labeled A and B. Did you notice that? Maybe you did. It doesn’t mean you’re especially clever if you did. Or especially stupid if you didn’t.

I sat in one of those chairs. Forty five years ago. I was in college at good old Chico State. My criminal justice class did a field trip to San Quentin. We got the full tour, conducted by a wise black dude doing life without parole. We got a tour of the death house and me and this other ghoulish student I can’t remember his name, he suggested we sit in the seat. So I did. What did it feel like? It felt like a hard metal seat. What seat did I sit in? Was it A or B? Frankly, I don’t remember.

Why are the seats labeled A and B? The chamber has two seats because they actually did dual executions. That’s right. Two at once. But why did they label them? I don’t know. I don’t remember if I asked our guide or not.

Maybe the Warden liked to assign letters to the condemned prisoners.

I’m not too clever with this thinking shit.

I’m a pretty good Muller. I’m mulling my own A or B.

A means I go out and get a full time job. A job type job. A sales job based on my experience. B means I hustle up some gig deals, like walking dogs, door dashing, uber driving, freelance writer, etcetera…kind of like my buddy BUDDY does.

Well, I gotta figure out something.

Any Ideas?

Maybe if I read over this post something will come to me.