I realized at a young age that I would need lots of money to compensate for my utter lack of masculinity and extreme social awkwardness. There is an obvious hierarchy, even at preschool, and that I was at its bottom was never in doubt. I was always the shortest boy, and I have a congenitally gigantic forehead. Think "manlet Herman Munster."
My parents sent me to social workers and even a psychiatrist (an actual fucking Hungarian woman), all of whom I simply told I was ugly and my classmates despised me and not much else. They gave me various pills to take, some of them pretty crazy.
I even took Chantix for a while, the pill that gives you weird dreams that somehow make you stop smoking. My parents found some garbage half-burnt cigarette on the kitchen floor. They probably tracked it in themselves after a drunken downtown date night. FML. Chantix is utter garbage and should be banned.
Anyway, not to blow my own horn or whatever, but I really was a pretty blackpilled little dude. I just consoled myself by thinking of the cool computers and cars I would buy when I was grown up, and promised myself I would go to whores and get a top-notch sex doll.
So, money was always the ticket, and I started working pretty young. This was not just working at Arby's or whatever to shut my parents up. I was fixing computers and monitors and shit for this Korean dude. He was really the only reliable source for that kind of work in the area, and he was making ridiculous money. Dude was also blackpilled as fuck, and kept his fine-ass wife and kids 100% in line at all times. I didn't even spend the money I was making, and I even started selling some of my psych pills during my senior year (the only thing that ever got me any hint of positive attention from my peers, FWIW).
Everyone in my area wants to go to a school that competes in the Big Ten, like Purdue or Indiana, but I was only accepted into MAC schools. I did get a 690 on the math part of the SAT, though, so I figured I could become some kind of programmer or engineer and bank a lot of cash.
College started out pretty brutal. I remember trying to take Vector Statics and Computer Architecture one semester, and having a literal panic attack in my dorm room and dropping both. I ended up with a degree in biology with a minor in statistics, though, so shit turned out OK.
I had worked in a hydroponics lab to earn cash during my last year of college. It was just low-level stuff- writing down temperature and moisture readings, raking dirt, etc.- but between that experience and my coursework I actually ended up with a couple of job offers. One of them was at a fertilizer plant, doing the same basic shit I did at the hydroponics lab but with supervisory responsibilities over a crew of Home-Depot-parking-lot-tier degenerates, and the other was at the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta. The CDC job would be more spreadsheets and crap- data analysis in support of grant proposals and academic research.
The fertilizer plant job actually held a lot of appeal to me. It seemed like an extremely low-key place, perfect for a subhuman to hide away in and collect a big, easy paycheck. The place was literally surrounded by a 12-foot chain link fence wrapped in that green plastic stuff they use at golf courses and shit. LMAO- no one wants to see fertilizer or the unfortunate troglodytes who have to manipulate it.
In the end, though, my family and people on 4Chan said the CDC job was just objectively better, and that I'd be stupid not to take it. The fact that it was in Atlanta (a completely different city from the dumb-ass Rust Belt one I grew up in) and offered paid relocation was also cool. The salary was $74,000 per year, which seemed like a lot.
Mentally, though, I was in the same terrible state as I'd been in, well, forever. I was on Lithium and Latuda for supposed bipolar depression, Vyvanse for ADHD, Ativan to help me sleep, and probably some other stuff I'm not remembering. Honestly, I was just zonked out as fuck all of the time and I figured it was my consolation prize for losing the genetic lottery.
The CDC and Atlanta were really relaxing and cool for exactly one week. I didn't have any possessions to move. The help of the General Services Administration along with my relocation cash and the cash I'd been saving made my move seamless. I rented a car and drove down there the night before my first day on the job. Then, at lunchtime I went and picked up keys to my apartment. On Saturday I bought a car (slightly used Chevy Cobalt SS) and turned in the rental.
The thing is, my boss was on vacation for that first week. I'd graduated in the Spring, and these things were all happening around the middle of June. He was off at Sea World or Harry Potter World or some crap with his wife and kids. So he was just a name to me- Mark Augustine- and I filled my days with watching training videos, freejunkfoodmaxxing, and hiding in the bathroom.
In any case, Mr. Mark Augustine would arrive on Monday and I was to meet with him in his office at 1PM. Or, I should say, Commander Mark Augustine, since he (like many of the CDC managers) was an officer in the Public Health Service. They basically walk around in Navy uniforms all day, kind of like the one Tom Cruise wore in "A Few Good Men." This is so that they can't be tortured by the enemy during wartime (or something). It's in the Geneva Convention. They've been in the news lately, because Biden made some grody-looking tranny an Admiral in the PHS (to universal acclaim, of course).
So, Monday morning arrives and it's pretty similar to week one. No real responsibilities yet, just staying out of people's way and getting shit like insurance, direct deposit, and my computer set up. Right at 12:59 PM I throw away an empty bag of Costco beef jerky and leave my cubicle to walk to Commander Augustine's office, which is around the corner from my cubicle, on the other side of a big conference room.
I said that these wackjobs wore Navy uniforms like Tom Cruise's in that movie. In actuality, most of them wore a khaki uniform day-to-day that was pretty discreet. It didn't even have a tie, and the hat was one of those floppy little "piss cutters" that you tucked under your belt.
When I opened the door to the dimly-lit, well-appointed office of Commander Augustine, though (having knocked and received his grunting assent) I was somewhat flummoxed to observe that he was all decked out. I mean, he was wearing a legit, full-blown sea captain get-up with a navy blue jacket, brass buttons and spit-shined shoes. He had a real captain's hat (not the piss-cutter) with crossed anchors and eagles and shit (though it was just sitting on his desk).
And here's the shock, the part that completely threw me for a loop and would end up costing me my CDC career: it emerged, as my eyes adjusted to the light and my brain attempted to process the Commander's somewhat ridiculous attire, that the dude was a curry truecel of the highest order. Look up Dravidian in the dictionary and you will see this person. He arose to shake my hand when I entered his office at the appointed time, and he was all of 5'3", with a shiny bald spot, giant nose, scraggly eyebrows, and weird boils on his neck.
What really pushed the experience over the top was his accent. The noise of acknowledgment he'd made when I knocked was difficult to place, but the words now coming from Commander Augustine's mouth came straight from the darkest heart of India, a rice paddy flood of "beep beeps" and "boop boops" delivered in that unmistakable Indian way, where speech becomes somehow sing-song and monotonous at the same incredible time.
"Soo you are our new Data Analyst... how goes your first few days at the Center? I am Commander Mark Augustine and I beep boop blup to tell you something about blah blah..."
I lost the ability to even process the sounds as language. The rantings of this supposed Commander were too absurd for my drug-addled brain to process. I smiled, then sort of snorted, and finally found myself quivering with laughter at the fantastic, previously unimaginable spectacle unfolding in front of me. This was just unbelievable. My boss was a balding janitor-style currycel and he was wearing a sea captain's outfit. WTF.
This whole time, we had been shaking hands and Commander Augustine's left hand had rested gently on the top of my arm. We uncoupled as I nearly doubled over, attempting to contain myself.
"I'm sorry, uh... Commander... I just thought about a really funny joke. I am really glad to be on the team here."
"Oh yes... a joke?" Augustine smiled. "You must tell me it."
"Well, it's something like, 'what do Hitler and Lance Armstrong have in common?" and you're supposed to jump to the fact that they both lost a testicle, but the real punch line is 'a profound disregard for externally imposed codes of behavior.'"
"I see. Ha, yes that is a bit ironic, isn't it? Anyway, you'll find that the job beep bloop bleep let me tell you something about blup bloop..."
So I made it through the rest of the day OK, just feeling very stupid, but the next morning the secretary told me I had to report to a different building to be drug tested for "suspicion." This was weird, but I didn't sweat it too much because I'd taken a pre-employment test at the Labcorp back in my college town, and that was just a few weeks prior.
As it turned out, though, I had apparently taken a bunch of left-over Ritalin from back before my doctor switched me to Vyvanse, so I was technically taking a pretty heavy-duty drug without a prescription and I was fired on Wednesday or Thursday of that second week. I never did speak so much as one word to Commander Augustine after that first meeting, or even see him. Some creepy federal agents in suits (FBI or NCIS I think?) delivered the news of my firing and also grilled me with questions about drug dealers and threatened me with criminal prosecution for lying on an official document.
This was all about 5 years ago, and I've been pretty much fucked since. I called up the fertilizer plant, but they acted like they didn't know who I was and I had a lease in Atlanta anyway. I managed to pay my rent (barely) from savings and working at Publix and then I moved back to my parents' house in Benton Harbor, Michigan. I couldn't find a job fixing electronics in Atlanta because my neighborhood was full of Asians and they all just hired each other for shit like that. In Benton Harbor, nobody has a damned job. Unemployment is like 14%.
So, that's my jobmaxxing story. The lesson is, I think, that one cannot just wallpaper over frank unattractiveness with a job offer. Losers are losers, and all of the studying, counseling, pills, etc. in the world can do absolutely NOTHING about it.
The only answer is to LDAR, and that's what I'm doing. My parents don't have a basement, but they do have a 3.5' tall encapsulated crawlspace and I hid a sex doll down there. It's not a nice, expensive one, just an inflatable one. Other times I'm in the garage playing XBox. My mom turned my childhood bedroom into a special room for her dogs, so I don't really hang out in there.
Thanks for taking a look, esteemed fellow incels.