Word of the day: "sematic" (not semantic, dis donc)

My recent congressus cum diaboli has had an interesting coda (mayhaps an antistrophe?) - I received a phone call from Merril Lynch HR people proffering me more job details. Now, the conversation that followed was the most fucked up career-search dialogue I've ever had, managing to edge out even the hypocritical GIC interview in 2002 for top spot.

Was interviewed by two people (as evinced by the jagged bursts of white noise every few seconds) - a nasal-voiced woman who just *sounds* like she has Vicks Vaporub all over her nostrils (some kinaesthesia effect of the speakerphone?) and a snooty, but tired-sounding man.

Towards the end of the conversation, I could not resist and made a sudden lunge across the table (tearing some pelvic muscle in the process) to get a notepad and pencil to capture for posterity some of the corncucopia of Human Resource gems flowing from these two people.

Highlights

Female: "Currently there's no set career path progression for client support officers within merrilll lynch although we hope to have one soon."

Female: "You will be rotated among a pool of front line financial consultants - some of them may be willing to mentor you and help you progress but most prefer a more hands off approach where you stick to the administrative and operational work."

Female: "Usually it takes up to 4-6 years before we can consider transferring you to other divisions."

Male: "There will be times when you have to sit in on behalf of the financial consultants at sales talks and market briefings to take notes while they're overseas talking to their clients. Don't worry, you're not expected to understand it."

Male: "You can probably pick up everything about this job within 1 year."

Female: "Not a lot of analytical thought is required; it's mostly processing and administrative support."

Female: "We're not trying to dissuade you from taking up a position with us."

Male: "Your current job sounds far more interesting than what we're offering."

And finally, the crème de la crème. The pièce de résistance:

Female: "You may have to run personal errands on behalf of the manager you're assigned to."

Me: "Like helping them photocopy documents or send mail?"

Female: "More like collecting laundry."

Long pause followed, as I struggled to maintain the principles of inner balance and the Ni To Ichi Way of Strategy which held me back from screaming over the phone, "YOU NEARLY CAUSED ME TO CRASH INTO FIERY AUTOMOTIVE DEATH DUE TO DRIVING AT BREAKNECK SPEED (again) BY TO GET HOME EARLY AND PREPARE FOR THIS BECAUSE YOU SCHEDULED A PHONE INTERVIEW AT THIS FUCKED UP HOUR AND YOU COME HERE AND SPEW THIS SHIT TO ME????"

Male (interjecting helpfully): "Not all the managers will expect you to do things like this, of course."

*fatalistically* At the end I ramped up my "expected pay" quotation to SGD$3800 and asked for a relocation allowance. They politely responded that they had some other candidates to consider and they would get back to me on that.

At least I can tell people that I told m. lynch to go fuck itself.

In light of my recent attempt at an unholy pact with the Adversary in exchange for a job, I've come up with several possible theological implications, all unpleasant.

a) Satan/Lucifer/Belial/Asmodeus/Shaitan/Old Nick/Sammael ("The Bad Guy") isn't as powerful as YHWH, the He who is called I Am, the Alpha and the Omega, the Lord of Hosts ("The Man"), who has righteously struck down my job search with His mighty hand. Fuck. This might be a prelude to more smiting ahead.

b) The Bad Guy has withdrawn his offer because I haven't stumped up enough on my end; maybe I have to explicitly sign some kind of legal documentation promising my eternal soul - but despite all the DIY instructions from Saint Cyprian's book or the Key of Solomon and wasting lot of paint and (other people's) bodily fluids, I haven't been able to contact Him directly or any of His authorised agents to finalise the details.

Alternately He might require a few more goats, souls, or old Transformers figurines; but I can't afford goats, no one will lend me souls, and I'm NOT parting with my Optimus Prime. Immortal soul, yes. First-edition Red Optimus Prime, no.

c) The Bad Guy is as unwilling as The Man when it comes to providing any form of earthly gratification; probably because the former knows that what passes for my immortal soul is already a done deal, so why pay for what's already yours?

And as for the latter, what can you expect from Someone who created a whole species of flawed beings, regularly ships them to an eternity of suffering in fire for falling prey to the myriad natural flaws He built into them, and, to top it off, allowed them to literally nail His only begotten Son's ass to the wall?

(Angst intermezzo: My only actual conversation with God (whether literal, hallucinated, paraphrased, or otherwise, you decide for yourself.

As the Lord said to me once: "In you the seed of Adam is doubly shamed. And all the laws
of life defiled. Yet even such a soul as yours may yet be saved by true repentance. Foreswear your sins and return to My fold. And all will be as new again, all sins forgiven, all wrongs undone. This is your final path to forgiveness."

To Him I said, "I am what You have made me. So be it."

And I refused to kneel.)

d) The Bad Guy is as impotent as The Man when it comes to providing any form of earthly gratification - either by virtue of non-existence (Dammit! The atheists were right! So much for "friendly agnosticism"...) or some unfathomable restraints on their miracle-dispensing ("rules of the game") - and that my fate is totally in my own dysfunctional, incompetent hands - ie. I'm screwed.

e) It's all part of some subtle, morally inscrutable, ineffable (that lovely word which Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett use to great effect in Good Omens, one of the greatest pieces of eschatological writing extant) plan by either The Man or The Bad Guy (at this tessellated level of causation it doesn't really matter Who's responsible) and anything I do or say is simply a manifestation of being a pawn slid across a giant gameboard - and the whole pact concept is moot; pawns aren't in a position to negotiate.

AAAGGHH.

And, yes, Gabriel, if you could get me a new job we could work out a reasonable veneration-for-employment-assistance deal of sorts. However, an acceptable job would have to be *way* superior to the pretty low benchmark (mondo understatement) the above has set.