The world is crazier than most people know. But I know. I was a clinical social worker for forty years. I am a witness. I retired from social work to write about the sad, the mad, and the savage; with whom I have spent most of my life. I have decided to translate these stories into fiction, because, as a co-worker once said, "You couldn't make this sh*t up. No one would believe you."

Friday, July 23, 2010


…in the sense that she is flattened. That’s what living in this cockeyed world does to you, man; more days than not.

I don’t know if the world is harsher or I’m just wiser. Crap! Getting older is a pain in the a**. I know there’s a recession (hah!~--it’s Depression II, the Sequel) but when it comes home and is standing right on my big toe, I feel the pinch. I mean, most baby boomers have lived long enough to have seen a few downturns; but this one seems to bring out the STUPID gene in people, especially my public servant bosses.

My genius boss just decided to shut down open jobs. This means that the revenue producing openings, which could bring more money over the transom, are kaput. He did this when he heard the state was going to cut back a portion of our funding that accounts for a little over a sliver of our revenues and can easily be sidestepped with another source. I want to slap the moron, but I need a job.

Ah, there’s the rub. Breathing down my neck with NASTY smelling breath are two other agencies doing the same work I do, competing for the same clients, and hiring all the clever folks I was about to hire. Now I know what Jonah felt like when he was sliding down the whale’s tongue and there was nothing to hold onto but slime.

This is how management morons think:  There are two candy shops across the street from each other, and both are in the red. One says ‘holy crap, shorten the hours, we’ll save a few bucks on electricity’ and the other one says, ‘holy crap we gotta sell more candy.’ Numero Uno shop goes under, slowly. Numero Dos shop takes all their business and….you get the picture.

But this lowly social worker, the infantry, the grunt on the front lines, happens to be owned by Numero Uno shop. The bosses don’t have to be smart because they’re state employees. And all I can say is, that park bench retirement spot of mine seems to be looming a lot closer.

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