Failure after failure, but...

God, it's already into mid-spring, and the race season is just around the corner. Meanwhile I've been busying myself with job-hunting, which, of course, proved to be impossibly hard.

Using a disability job agency wasn't a good idea.
Two weeks ago, I was sacked from a restaurant after a day's trial because I couldn't even carry two light plates, according to the owner's reasoning. - Bullshit. She knew that I was an epileptic. And I COULD carry two light plates no problem. However, I couldn't carry two HEAVY scorching hot plates and I'm not denying it.

It was the night of Collingwood vs. Hawthorn match and the restaurant was jam-packed.
Both trainer and the owner were super busy, therefore had no time to properly give me the training that they were supposed to provide.
'Well, I can't stand there doing nothing and waiting for them to tell me what to do next', I thought - so I got on with my job after the brief introduction and instruction. I thought I did well, even the trainer admitted it. It was only the owner, the only person who knew my condition who was giving off the negative vibe.

IT DOESN'T MATTER. I'M OVER ＩＴ．

Then around a week later I received a call from a shop I was applying for, for an interview. The job was pretty much the same as what I've been doing at my Op-shop, so the interview went extremely well, and the interviewer was extremely happy - until she did the reference check. It was a mistake that I used the referee from the disability job agency. They must have found out what sort of agency they were.

It's going to be a long road to my independence yet.

Speaking of which, I once lived next door to a guy, who's as known as "The Golden Jacket". Well, I am not a Collingwood supporter. I am indeed a Western Bulldog supporter, but I've always had a soft spot on the Collingwood Football Club because of this lovely ex-neighbour. He has a daughter who has the same condition as mine - Juvenile myoclonic epilepsy with occasional tonic-clonic seizures.
Him without that golden jacket was a genuine softie guy who supports his socially-disadvantaged family. We haven't called in by his house for quite a while, but these few days the thought of him and Emma (his daughter) comes across in my mind a lot as I struggle through my job-hunting.

I might have already said this a few times before, but breaking the social wall between Epileptics and Non-Epileptics is no easy job, if not impossible; although breaking the personal wall is not that hard as all you need is your own open-mindedness.

I recall the reaction of the owner of the Restaurant now. At that time when she asked me how I felt about the job, I almost felt the pressure to say, "No. I didn't like the job." In retrospect, the true reason that she sacked me may not have been her being prejudiced but because she was concerned about the customers' and the other staff's reaction IF ever I have a tonic-clonic seizure there.
What I mean is, even if I could win the staff members' understanding, I can't expect every single customer to understand, which means that the restaurant would lose the customers and inevitably its reputation would suffer. The owner couldn't let it happen. She couldn't take that risk. The only grudge I have against her was that she wasn't honest with me.

Here at my Op-shop I do my job spot on, so why can't I get a single paid job? - I'd think.
But it scares me to imagine the situation where I have a seizure at work and creates the chaos that I don't want.

Human-right issues are tough to beat because there are a lot of dilemmas there, because there's no solution where everyone is happy - and sometimes it's not even a matter of good morals and ethics.

Having said that I still think that I can do better. A lot better.
I can't help but envy all my high-achieving friends who work days and nights doing things that they are passionate about. It's not like I want to be like them. All I want is independence.

- Joffa still supports his family. I don't think Emma has the independence either, which I believe she's always wished for. She now is the mother of 3 lovely kids, but I can't even have kids.

I could scream.

I'd bite my lips, hold back my tears and try to get on with my life, hoping that tomorrow will be a better day.