Yes, job number one fell through cos daddy didn't like the new contract issued after the probation period. So I didn't sign it. And I wasn't going to argue with the old boy, especially since he makes things really unpleasant at home when he is in a foul mood. Besides, I agreed, in part, with some of the the terms he was griping about.

The whole situation cemented an important concept. The ability to choose is a luxury. The rarity index of that luxury is directly proportional to the number of options you can have. Unhappy as they were, my fellow co-workers signed that contract because to choose otherwise meant an unpleasant state of unemployment. They needed that job to feed their families.

I, on the other hand, am fortunate enough to be given the luxury of choice. I can afford to keep my pride, bum around and go job hunting to my heart's content. Within reason of course. I'm not so fortunate to have an infinite number of choices at my fingertips.

***

When I tutor a child in English and manage to turn his F9 grade to a C5 or even a B4 (I'm no miracle worker, thank you very much), the first thought that springs to mind is,

"At least I didn't screw that one up."

The student is reduced to a mere cipher of a job well done, or at the very least accomplished to a reasonable standard. I don't experience the very understandable element of pride or joy, but relief.

It is extremely discomforting when you think about it.