A man loses patience

What is the eventual fate of the universe? What happens to a body which is continously becoming more and more disordered according to the tirelessly destructive 2nd law of thermodynamics which states that any action that takes places in a universe which obeys the observable laws of physics can only create more disorder than it can order. This means that if something happens to bring form and order to a group of particles somewhere in the universe, the energy that was required to perform such a task will have come from a correspondingly disordering event. The overall sum of these two events always comes out negative. Whatever one does, disorder in the universe increases. So we can ask ourselves what the prospects are for such a universe. Not great.

What if the body that is in a constant state of increasing disorder was something closer to home; more personal?

What if that body were me, for example? What is the eventual outcome for a young man with no job who with every action he performs (paying for an hour's internet usage is an example) brings closer some kind of ultimate disorder. Some kind of endgame.

This sounds strange but I genuinely want to know.

My creditors are mounting up and the means with which I could potentially pay them back are whittling rapidly away. I owe my current housemate 700 euro for rent, I owe the landlord of my future housemates 550 euro for a deposit and I owe the pizzeria where I recently lost my job 7 euro 20 for an apparently underfunded till one shift.

Let me give you an example of what it is like looking for a job here:
I discover one night that Bar Basque, a hip student-frequented bar in the centre of town is looking for a barman. I speak that night with the direction who confirm this and ask me for a CV. I take in the CV the next day. The man says he'll call me in the week to organise an try-out. All is good.

8 days later and I have heard nothing. My french friends tell me I should go in and hassle them. I do this and the direction is not there. The barman tells me to come back in three days time. I wait three days.

I manage to see the direction and he tells me that yes, they are still looking, and can I do an try-out in... oooh, lets see... 9 days time. I'm frustrated but don't want to appear desperate so I agree. We exchange phone numbers and he tells me he'll call me if anything changes.

9 days later is today. I'm half an hour early for the try-out and I'm excited and a little scared. A quick preliminary chat with the direction is what I need to calm my nerves. 8 seconds in to this chat, the direction tells me that they hired someone on saturday and that they have a full team now. He apologises for having forgot to call me. Having had to pretend to be sorry many times, I recognise the signs.

I almost cry. Fortunately I know that if you speak slowly and in a measured manner you are less likely to do that thing when you voice cracks and suddenly you're crying and I talk slowly and calmly. I tell him that it's understandable that he forgot to call me; he's busy. I tell him it's not serious. I leave in a daze.

It might sound stupid to get so worked up about a job in a bar but it's just SO FUCKING TYPICAL of my experience here. I just can't fucking get anyone to take me seriously. And I'm serious: what happens to me when I inevitably run out of money. I've drained the not inconsiderable savings I amounted when I was in my old (real) job and I'm starting to run seriously out of resources. It almost makes me want to say that I just want to be in England where not absolutely everything turns to shit the instant your back is turned.

But I won't say that. That's not what I'm saying. I don't really know what I am saying for the moment. Just that when I add up all the politeness and friendly smiles I've had from potential employers here over the past two and a half months of almost constant searching, I'd happily trade it all in for one single honest yes or no.

Ok that's plenty of ranting for now. I'll leave you to get on with your lives in the peaceful tranquility of knowing that whatever your problems may be and however unjust your world appears, you know that there is someone, somewhere who's a thousand kilometres from home and is utterly failing to make, find or even visualise his fortune. A man who feels like he's learned the meaning of failure. A man who has spent months banging his head against a door, happily patiently and politely waiting for it to open only to discover that it's not a door at all - it's a brick wall.

Your faithful correspondant,
Rob