My life sucks and I want a deathstick

I had the weirdest experience last week.

Recent political and other developments have made me a bit nervous about remaining on Tatooine as a moisture farmer. I can't go into depth about that right now, but the short version is that I have good reason to explore other possibilities, both on and off this planet. There's no emergency, but the situation is volatile and I need to be ready to do something, even if I don't have a full plan yet.

I was talking things over with Darklighter a few weeks ago, and he suggested that I apply for a job (gasp! an actual job!) in Mos Eisley. It wouldn't be moisture farming, obviously, but it would be moisture-farming-related, sort of a liaison for local government to deal with the Guild and cooperatives.

That just shows you how nervous I am, that I would consider such a thing. It is a long drive to Mos Eisley, and I would have to wear clean clothes every day, and the pay would be so poor that I wouldn't be able to afford to move, which would mean I would have to continue moisture farming in some capacity, which (due to looming possible events I alluded to earlier) might soon become more trouble than it's worth.

Anyway, the interview: It was a panel-style interview. I had to sit at the head of the table. The interviewers were three Mos Eisley politicians, two Empire lackeys, and a silver protocol droid who, if you haven't guessed, did most of the talking. (The Empire's involvement is a story in itself, and one of the reasons I'm nervous about my future as a farmer.) They were polite, and asked reasonable questions, but they also seemed to spend a lot of time trying to convince me that the job sucked.

For some reason, this only seemed to encourage me. At this point I was still enthusiastic. I had talked myself into believing that this was a way to kick off a new and exciting phase in my life. Heh. I wasn't nervous, but my hands were shaking which probably made me look nervous AND old. (I didn't think it was a good time to explain about that visit from my bookie's henchmen; after all, that fateful podrace was years ago, and these people looked pretty young.)

I didn't think my age would be a problem, but the questions they asked suggested that they were looking for a younger, more malleable candidate. Age discrimination is illegal in the Empire, but Tatooine isn't technically part of the Empire (although it's not exactly not part of the Empire either... we're in sort of a semi-colonial phase), and in any case the cutoff age for humanoids is 60, and I am only 55.

Anyway, I can't prove anything. They say that it is an "entry-level" job even though they clearly want someone with some experience. And, I am thinking, someone with either no brain, no self-esteem, or no backbone. On the application, I was supposed to provide my grade point average from school, and the names of some of my "professors." What good is a 40-year-old GPA, and anyway, what professors, since Naboo kids are usually done with school by age 12? They also wanted to know why I didn't want them to contact my current clients as references. Uh, because I don't want my clients to switch to another farmer, on the assumption that I am planning to dump them without warning (which I would never do)? DUH????

I can see why they might find this an interesting question, but their baffled reaction to my answer was clearly a pretense for my benefit. Some sort of feeble non-Jedi mind trick.

The drive home was miserable, and the first thing I saw when I got home was a big fat bill from my grocer in Anchorhead. Just the reminder I needed that life isn't cheap, won't be getting cheaper soon, and doesn't support pay cuts.

Still, even with mixed feelings, I kept my hopes up. I think I just wanted to feel that I had a choice. But when the rejection came this morning, I was relieved.

I almost feel like celebrating, even though my position is no better now than it was a week ago. It's worse in a way, because a little glimmer of hope has just been extinguished.

Hmm. Now my morale is plummeting. I can't decide whether I'd be celebrating or drowning my sorrows, but I think a drink is warranted either way. Wonder if Kenobi's up for a night on the town.