Go to Tyndall’s road between the hours of 9am and 6pm, and you might notice a queue of glum twenty-somethings, downtrodden, heads bowed – the vim and vigor of youth nowhere to be seen.
“Oh why do you look so glum? Why is your callow face lined with the ravages of age?” You ask.
Stupid, it’s the economy, they tell you.
“Cheer up, young chap! Don’t you know you’re only young once!” You respond. All of the fiscal crises of the 1970s combined didn’t stop you from having a good time, after all. Not even the three day week.
The young fellow – who you realise is queuing for a meagre portion of lentils – looks back at you, tears welling up in his eyes, and clears his throat.
“However hard I try, I won’t be employed.
In no sphere of the economy, can my labour be deployed.
There is nothing in this world left to be enjoyed.”
“Cheer up young buck!
You may be down on your luck,
But if it’s your lack of employment you do not like,
Then what you must do is get on your bike!”
— “O, do spare me that tiresome platitude!”
“You’ll never get anywhere with that attitude!”
— “I can’t even afford a measly bowl of soup!
So to this careers service I must troop.”
–“The problem with you, the youth of today,
Is that you always think you can get your way.
Not without work do good things come
A message clearly lost on some.”
–“Oh do be quiet, you old fool,
There is no room in the labour pool.
Even with my first class bachelor degree,
nobody will employ someone like me.”
–“In my day, one could just ask for a job —
why don’t you try that, you lazy yob!”
–“But even this career service cannot provide that, you dried up pseud!
All I can hope for is some liquid food!”