Dandie Dinmots
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My appoinment time was Monday between the hours of one and two. A ritual had been concocted by my advisors at the “Bru.” Peruse the board marked “Sits Vac” for you never know your luck. Spend the day there, browsing, watch the claimants run amok.

  The counter clerks are nervous, they are the front line troops you see, continually facing skirmishes with the unemployed, like me. “Book ‘em into Job Club” advised the Generals in the rear. “There’s still nay chance o’ getting work, but it will get them out of here.”  
  And so I met my new ‘advisor’ he asked for my C.V. I looked the young fellow in the eye, “Nay lad, not from me!” “But everybody has one,” this smart young lad did state. “It’s a history of your working life, I’ll write whilst you dictate.”  
  He sat there poised, with pen in hand I shook my head and stated, “I’ve had but one job in my life, my ambitions are now sated. From ‘49 to ‘93 is the period of which we speak and with over forty years in industry I retired at my peak.”  
  “My pension’s safe from predators, all my credits are up to date, we won’t bother with a C.V. son, you are several decades late! I am now approaching sixty with no need to go to “Bru” the only thing I’m going to miss, is that appoinment ‘tween one and two!” Feet up
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