"Look, Max, unfortunately, they decided to go with someone else. I can not do anything for you."
"This is BULLSHIT!"
I exclaimed in a heightened rage I hadn't felt in quite a while. To communicate my anger explosively, I slammed my closed fist on the rickety table at the height of my exclamation.
"I did everything you fucking asked me to do! I have been interviewing for this job for the last 2 months!Two damn months! You even told me last week I had the job in the bag - now, where is that confidence, huh? Trent? Huh? Where, Trent!"
I had already acknowledged that I did not get the job; however, at this point, I just wanted to show him my annoyance. I knew he had nothing to do with this decision - and I know not to shoot the messenger - but it's easy to show my displeasure to the closest person beside me.
I could tell Trent, the hiring manager across from me, had already expected such outrage, as he, too, seemed a little in disbelief at the decision. Still, he had to be there to tell me the decision either way.
He kinda stepped back a little, looked down in apparent annoyance at the situation, and gave a very audible sigh.
"Look, Max, I understand your anger at this; I do, I genuinely do, but I had no hand in this. You have been doing great these last two weeks, so I thought you would get the job, but I was surprised when this decision was dropped."
As he finished his words, he looked back up at me and scrutinized me again. Suddenly, I saw a glint come back into his eyes, and he started to give a bittersweet smile.
I could tell he was about to say something that should cheer me up.
News flash: It did NOT cheer me up.
"Hey, but think about this, Max, you can't unlearn how to weld, and you already paid the money for those lessons, so when you apply somewhere else, it will be much cheaper and faster to get the job."
Just as my anger was blowing away from his last statement, his newest attempt at cheering me up or calming me down ignited a second wind in my anger.
However, before the anger could take over me yet again, causing me to hurt my fists by slamming the table again - I shouldn't have done that; it's really starting to burn - I seemingly lost all wind in my sails.
I took a large gulp of air, about to start yelling more. But instead, as if realizing how pathetic this situation is, I went straight-faced and ended the conversation.
I gave one last look at Trent's face, really giving that mean face, and just said the thing I felt best encapsulated my anger currently.
"Fuck you, Trent."
I turned away and started to walk out of his office before he gave any answer back, not even giving him the time of day anymore.
As I approached the closed office door, I fully extended my arms. I put all my force and anger into pushing open the door, inwardly hoping it would break off its hinges. Yet, I guess the world had other plans.
As I expected the door to fly open with my full weight behind the slam, I crashed into the door. However, instead of a satisfying crash of the door flying open, I was met with my face and body awkwardly slamming into the door that did not budge.
"It's a pull door." he exclaimed behind me.
"FUCKING Hell! I know that now, Sherlock, thanks..."
I pulled open the door with an exaggerated twist of my body; however, not even that was satisfying as the door was, for some reason, really weighty and took a lot of muscles to open it up enough to use. So, again, instead of pulling open rapidly, I pulled my shoulder, hurting it a bit.
As I finally got the door opened, which had exacerbated my anger further, I felt I needed to get the last say on something, even if it wasn't necessarily true.
I looked back at Trent for the last time, probably for a long time, and said:
"Oh yeah, for your information, I didn't even actually like War Thunder! I only said that to get a better chance at getting the job!"
I exited the room, looking at Trent's face, which seemed to be in disbelief at the situation. Then I pulled hard on the door handle, trying to slam the door.
Yet again, it slowly started to close, even with the full force pulling with my back. So, finally, I just gave up. And began to walk away angrily. Exclaiming while the door was still closing behind me:
"Fuck, fuck, FUCK THIS SHIT!"
{---[==={}===]---}
A few minutes later, as I walked down the street, I still grumbled to myself in self-loathing to show my anger at the circumstances.
« I mean, for real! Sign these papers, take these classes, pass these exams, take this quick interview process, and try doing this job - It'll improve your chances of getting the job. Do another interview! Thanks for the unpaid work! It will improve your chances of getting a job somewhere else! Fuck you, Trent; there is nowhere else within walking distance; I can't even take the trolley. »
I spent thousands of bucks on those lessons and lost income for almost 3 months trying to secure that job. I was banking that I could start making money on these skills I have learned, as now I can't even pay for transportation from the bus out in this god-forsaken city.
As it was early February in East Hamilton, Ontario, this made walking to and from potential work much harder.
As I walk down the icy sidewalk, I mutter angrily.
"Damn city crews, never salting the goddamn side streets..."
I glanced up towards the cloudy, grey, no-sun-in-months sky for a moment, thinking it might help. However, instead, I sighed and looked back down at my feet, kicking the snow next to me. Of course, it was half ice, so I almost tripped forward.
« Probably the last time I was this angry was when Momie kicked me out of the house when I was 16. »
«... Guess it's been 3 years since then. Damn, thinking about this got me even more depressed.»
Well, where do I even start here? Reckon, I'll give you a sneak peek into my extraordinary life.
Hello, my name is Max Verren, and I am a good-for-nothing 19-year-old who doesn't contribute to society.
Not due to a lack of trying, of course; regardless, I have just been reduced to a rag for society to throw away after they had their fun.
Born and raised in Ontario, not that I am proud of the fact or anything. If I'm honest, I wanted to leave this place for Eastern Canada, or maybe even the United States, when I was kicked out by my birth giver.
Nonetheless, I don't have the time, money, or privilege to move anywhere further than a few miles. I had to crash friends' places, use my minuscule bit of connections to get jobs in the area and fight to survive the best I could be so young.
I loathe living by my own effort. However, I would rather have my current circumstances any day than live with my mom and give her the time of day in my life.
She lived off child support, drank more than she spoke, and forgot I existed half of the time. We constantly jump houses in subsidized households, with heated water being rarer than her showing love to me.
It is a miracle that I have lived up to this point because she seldom had food in the house. I had to scavenge for food provided at my government-required school education, the Student Nutrition Program, and food banks, which only sometimes appeared.
Due to this neglect, I often found myself hanging out at friends houses, and even after days of being away from home, I don't think my mom even noticed, or if she did, she probably gave as much fucks as the amount of love she had for me.
Unfortunately, at some point, even that option was forced out of my hands because, once, when I was hanging out at one of my friend's dad's place, we were doing some dumb shit and broke some expensive items. I honestly forgot what it was since I wasn't even the one who touched it, but my friend blamed me.
His dad already saw me as a leach anyway, so he snapped at me when it happened. You know the drill: "Stop being his friend!" "I don't want to see you here anymore," and all that stuff.
He tried calling my 'mom' with the phone number I gave him to come pick me up. Of course, color him surprised when he got a dialed tone; I didn't give my mom's phone number. I don't even know if she had a phone, and if she did, she wouldn't ever give it to me.
He got even more angry, and instead of trying to find her, he forced me into his car and drove me to the closest Children's Aid Society location. As a 12 or 13-year-old, I was scared shitless.
Now, while my mom very rarely, if ever, talked to me about anything, there was one thing she tended to actually talk about and warn me about: the Children's Aid Society (CAS).
「If CAS finds you, they'll split our little family... Do not under any circumstances 'snitch' to the workers there... They will take you away and put you in a prison.」
Due to these constant reminders and pronounced conditioning that I only now recognize, I feared telling teachers, trusted adults, or even friends about my circumstances at home.
This explains the shell-shocked fear I was feeling when I recognized where he was taking me, leading to me freaking out and stopping talking to anyone.
Long story short, after I arrived, I started to get questioned, and I didn't say anything; they started asking the ex-friend's dad some questions. Due to some of his answers, they could identify me and thus determine who my mom was and get into contact with her.
When my mom finally showed up at the location, I barely even recognized her; this was not the mom I was familiar with.
She was kind, showed affection and comfort in front of the social workers, and looked clean.
She made some small excuses, saying I was mouthy, liked moving around, and was lazy. After some explanation, the facility left it as is.
However, like a sweet dream that passed as fast as it came, the second we started to drive away from CAS, I was met with the mom I was familiar with, but even worse yet because she was mad.
And I mean PISSED.
It was a traumatic experience once we got back into the house for my 13-year-old self. As before now, she was a neglectful bitch, but she never really hit me.
Of course, after this situation that changed, she beat the ever-living shit out of me, or however much she could with her partitioned self could muster.
All I could remember from that day was some new rules in place.
1: Don't leave the house unless you need to.
2: Never be at another home with parents there.
3: And never do anything illegal.
From there, our relationship soured even further, and she seemed to want to treat it as if it never happened. I just continued with the new rules, trying my best to live at least an everyday normal life or the best I could get as a kid in these circumstances.
Turns out that even when you follow all the rules, you can still be punished.
On my 16th birthday, before I could even get a full 6-8 hours of sleep, she kicked me out of the house in the middle of the night, probably when she came back from some bar and noticed the date.
From there, I started to crash at as many friends' houses as possible to stay off the streets, doing as many oddball jobs as available and doing my best for the past 3 years.
3 months ago, I tried to get a better living by getting into the welding trade and used all my savings to get lessons, but even that failed me.
«Look at that; believe me or not, I'm at my apartment complex.»
As I turned into the fenced area, with a gate that didn't even have a door anymore, I looked up at my crumbling brown brick block with a pulse as muted as a person in a coma.
sigh
"Home sweet hell..."
{---[==={}===]---}