- The COVIDSafe app: Just another expensive fail?
- New technology can ascertain your political views by the look on your face
- Black America isn’t sold on Biden, but Kamala Harris may change that
- Child-free women are tired of being told they’ll regret it
- Yet more allegations against our military in Afghanistan set to emerge
Don’t get Mike Welsh started on what his 2014 was like, because if you do you are going to discover it was an Annus Horribilis, albeit one by another name…
I’m uncomfortable labelling a crap year as an “Annus Horribilis.” It has a pompous and slightly dramatic ring to it and seems more at home in the house of Windsor.
My 2014 was more annoying than horrible. But as mother was wont to say, “mustn’t complain,” so I am reflecting on the past 52 weeks as a “Hairy Arse-Hat Year.”
My HAHY began late (January 26) when my subtle and repeatedly dropped hints for a 60th birthday gift of a pet monkey, which I could train to rip the faces off people who insisted “60 is the new 50,” failed to materialise.
Did I mention the broken watch band, which required more money than I’d paid for the watch to replace, and the paucity of watchband retailers in my village?
Don’t get me started on broken watchbands.
But as we used to say in the Apple Isle, “It doesn’t rain it just pisses down,” and failure was seemingly piled upon failure for the first half of my HAHY due to my freshly-minted status as a traveller on an “employment pathway.”
Don’t get me started on employment pathways.
As I rake over the coals of 2014 I recall a vague, warm sensation of buoyancy, at least in the early months. Somebody had suggested we should postpone retirement and work through to our ’70s, due to a desperate short supply of our “unique life skills.”
Don’t get me started on unique life skills.
It would be ironic if the anticipated shortage included the God-given gifts of the highly sought after wordsmith whose job it is to knock out the “Unfortunately your application was not successful at this particular juncture. Your time and interest in the role, however, is greatly appreciated and we would like to assure you that full consideration was given to all applications received” type letters. But I’m too old to be ironic. Thankfully sarcasm has no such demographic.
It’d be refreshing to receive a brutal but balanced rejection letter…
Dear Aged Person/Old Man/Senior Person/Has-Been
What in God’s name were you thinking by making an application for the above position? We would love to say we were impressed with your vast years of experience in this field but it doesn’t count for a stack of goat droppings here in the real world where 12 year olds are coming out of university at a rate of knots, all with nice shiny degrees but with nothing to do. It’s much safer for you to be pointlessly roaming the streets than the future leaders of our great nation.
So you see, digger, you’re wasting your time and ours by thoughtlessly putting yourself forward for jobs for which you’ve a green frog’s hope in hell of even getting an interview.
Not wishing to put too fine a point on it…you’re washed up, finished, ain’t gonna happen, Pop. Why don’t you retreat to the bottom of your garden where tales abound of people working into their ’70s and a world needing your rare and valuable gifts? But we wish you every success in the future you don’t have. You’re gonna need luck by the bucket full..(sorry ‘bout the bucket reference) but while we’re being candid…even your application letter smells of urine.
The above mentioned pet monkey would have been handy later in my HAHY when, bitter and beaten down, I had a strong urge to rip the face off Facebook.
Don’t get me started on Facebook.
“I EAT DICK” was the ingenious zinger posted on my account by a hacker who, when caught will have 750 mils of snot slapped out of them. Because the hacker changed my password and I could no longer access the original email address, I was forced into a frustrating and one-sided battle of wits with FB for the return of the account which I’d had since 2007 when it wasn’t cool to be on FB.
Anyone remember MySpace?
As I head full steam into another year, with renewed anticipation and a brand spanking new watch band, I have one problem already.
Annus Mirabilis (a wonderful year) is the opposite of Annus Horribilis (a horrible year) – but what is the contradictory phrase for “Hairy Arse Hat”?
Feel free to offer your suggestions below…