III - Hell Is Other People

Jean Paul-Sartre, in his play No Exit, coined the legendary phrase "Hell is other people."

The phrase, despite being heralded by misanthropes as a call to arms and the truth, the phrase is actually one of the most misunderstood phrases in literature, and a phrase Sartre himself stated was misinterpreted. The phrase is NOT an invitation to loathe other people, or view the human race with utmost hostility, but instead is an acknowledgment of humanities constant need and desire to appease their fellow man. A human's desire to be constantly praised, acknowledged and lauded by their peers. According to Sartre, and his concept of the Other, we don't see ourselves as ourselves: We see ourselves as objects in a world of consciousness. We see the need to have others verify our power, status and feelings. We need to be seen as special and unique, but we are also faced with dejection and rejection from the very peers we rely on to feel something. We need to be something more than an object, need to see ourselves as something more, but by turning to others for help, we open ourselves up for pain and suffering. We need constant adulation and praise, we cannot live without it, but we are trapped. Hence, we are stuck in a spiral of constant interaction and abuse: We want to be lauded, but for every compliment we get, insults follow. It's a spiral of praise and abuse.

Hell is other people.

Therefore, one can only imagine the utter hell you suffer when you hear the words "We're sorry, but..." in an e-mail or at an interview.

Or, rather, the LACK of hell.

Three words, placed together, that are ultimately hollow. If you're lucky, you'll receive one in person at an interview, where at least you can mentally update your "CRUSH MAIM DESTROY" list with faces while your mental stability degrades even further. If you're partially lucky, you'll receive one by e-mail or by post which is actually catered to you. If you're unlucky, you'll receive one churned out by an automated system designed to register whether or not you hit all the buttons, whether it be through the failing of an online questionnaire that is incredibly vague, to having the wrong nationality (British), where you aren't even seen as a human being. You are seen as an inanimate object, nothing but a burden and a mere obstacle in the way of good ol' Capitalism.

Jobseekers have enough on their plate, but on the plus side, we're already used to being dehumanised. Just read the British press: Anyone on the dole is a lazy arsehole who needs to be shit for the good of the state. One inanimate, faceless object condemning another inanimate, faceless object to death.

Well, given the intelligence of the average Daily Mail reporter and reader, it may as well be an inanimate object.

So, here we are, drifting through the never. We're not humans, but statistics. The news flashes up, and we can see ourselves in a percentage. We're palmed off with faceless machines telling us we're not good enough. Hell is other people. Well, Misery loves company, so fuck you, Sartre.Who needs individuality when we're the 10%? Woohoo, break out the tequila! Who needs individuality or to be acknowledged as a human when you've already been dehumanised to the point of non-existence?!

However.

Though Sartre is supposedly what we live through everyday, Sartre is NOT what a Jobseeker lives through everyday. We can't earn individuality when we're not given the chance, and we're seen as nothing more than a heap of crabs in a bucket. We're acknowledged as a mass, a heap of failure on the country, only to gain individuality when we finally escape the Bucket of Britain and quickly scuttle away to finer shores.

For the Jobseeker, hell is not other people. It's Hell is the silence of other people, or rather the ignorance of. Although, maybe today, Sartre would have to sit behind his computer screen watching as nameless and faceless corporate and publishing bigwigs churned out copies of "We're sorry, but you're manuscript won't be accepted." churned out from an automated e-mail system, without any acknowledgment that he is a human fucking being at the end of the day.

Although i'm Sartre would have something to say on that too, presumably along the lines of Thus this means that inanimate objects do acknowledge our will because the inanimate e-mail thingamebob is talking to us or something, the depressing French bastard.


You may wonder what the point of my rambling was today.

In all honesty, I'm just sick of automated rejections. Five goddamn minutes to write a personalised rejection. Give that job to a HR intern or something.

Hey presto. Problem solved.

I'll grab my suit.