Raymar Driver was tired. Not just a physical fatigue, but a sense of helplessness, an ennui that filled his eyes and the fluid in his joints.
It was the seventieth application.The seventieth sincere apology, but gracious refusal of his services.
"We wish you all the best for the future"
What a joke. They didn't. They just wished he'd go elsewhere, with his inappropriate skills, either just under- or over-qualified for the job.
A cartoonist with jokes no one ever got. Too sharp for the local newspapers and a pencil that wasn't quite sharpened enough for work on the digitised big reads.
"What were they on about?" he thought. "I mean battered baby jokes are funny. A bit niche maybe, but funny."
Raymar Driver by Parasputin and Saaleha Bamjee-Mayet is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 South Africa License.
Based on a work at raymardriver.blogspot.com.
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