So eventually you have reached the point where you have a set of shiny polished qualifications which prove your intrinsic worth to the world, and are finally ready to take a job. Then you'll have a real thrilling feeling of worth and acceptance no doubt, working hard and being normal. You'll get up early and be restless and worried and this time you'll have a legitimate excuse for being loud and irritable, and you'll be proud of yourself as you splash water on your dumb face and rush out the front door, saying, "I'm late, i'm late, i've got to work, i've got to work!" There you are then, spending all day in your lovely office or wherever you are, getting tired feet serving awful patrons in cafeterias or friendly bars, being happy and smileish with the rest of the efficient workforce, or scraping by with some menial bit of storework and musty shelfstacking in backrooms and near iron grilles in your uniform, now and then a big commonfaced boss coming and glowering at you while you're dreaming of paychques and sultry Saturday afternoons, and then you get home exhausted pulling off tired shoes and collapsing on weary beds and then making yourself a mean microwave dinner which you slurp up gruesomely from a plastic tray and maybe you'll peruse the daily paper telling you of all the latest sex murders and chaotic wars before you shudder restlessly back into sleep before facing another cold day: "humph, so this is the dignity of work." Employment and steady work are worthwhile goals of course but not meaningful ends-in-themselves. They're just a necessary evil way of feeding your stupid belly and paying your dumb rent, and are neither dignified nor wonderful. It's all just the drudgery and weariness of days, i've met very few people who had jobs they were the remotest bit happy or satisfied with.