I really wish I was excited.  Even mildly.  Afraid not.

I really wish that the day was not going to be filled with a 3 hour queue, people sitting too close to me, breathing on me, probably not wearing Chanel No. 5!

The reality is that I was retrenched in April and at a certain point one must accept the inevitable.

I, and the other masses of hopeful South Africans, will be toddling along to the Department of Labour.  Tomorrow.  Deep, very deep sigh.

I have cleared my schedule and plan to plant my arse on a very long wooden bench with other unemployed South Africans, desperately clutching my UI2.8, UI19 and two of my last payslips and hoping that the civil servant behind the counter likes the look of my jib, and cuts me a cheque and sends me on my way.

That is sort of how I am hoping it will go.  I have accepted the 3 – 5 hour wait in a queue with people sitting WAY too close to me.

The reality is that I will get to the front of the longest queue EVER and be informed that some form is not filled in correctly, or I am missing something – though I have gone through the site meticulously and consulted a UIF Guide.

No matter what happens, and how long I have waited, and how long I have held back a stream of hot urine (because I will not be using a public toilet) I will smile, nod and say thank you!  Because one can throw a hissy fit and really it is like pissing into a strong wind — it will all just blow back in your face.  So really no point.

I really do not hold much hope for tomorrow, but when you read this I will be in a fun time queue at the Department of Labour!

If there is a DOL deity of god you can mutter a word of hope to, please, for the love of all things sane, do!

Catch you on the flip side.