How have you all survived the final hurdle of toxic workplace before entering your new career? What are your thoughts on taking a pay cut to make a career change?
I graduated with a degree in mental health nursing aged 21, coming from a family of mental health nurses and having hopes of making a genuine impact on peoples’ lives. I obtained my first nursing post as a Community Psychiatric Nurse. Within the first day of working in the NHS I quickly sobered to the idea that mental health services are extremely underfunded, and that most of my colleagues did not have the same positive intentions when working with service users. I was lucky to be paired with a female mentor who practiced with integrity, respect and supported me through my 4 years working in the service. Most other nurses, psychologists, psychiatrists, and administrators were evidently burnt-out, resentful, cynical, bitter, and unwilling to acknowledge this. They refused to develop professionally or change career paths due to the security of NHS contracts, pay, pension and sick leave entitlement. Workplace bullying and micromanaging was rife, lunchbreaks were timed, consistent staff conflict and on long term sick leave. I witnessed sexual harassment from male nurses towards patients during injection clinics, cynical and judgemental attitudes towards particular trauma-based diagnoses such as personality disorders or suicide attempts. Senior charge nurses would claim “Typical PD Behaviour, let them jump, if they were serious they would have ended their life already”. Any excuse was used to speed up the discharge of chronically unwell patients, the entire field is more focussed on service statistics and litigation than providing safe, effective nursing care. I survived the experience as I was young, introverted and raised in a narcissistic abusive family so very clued up on coping with challenging personalities. I obtained a job within a college aimed at supporting students with their wellbeing during their studies. The office took the news of this very badly, comments were made indicating that I would never be welcomed back into NHS, I was not cut out for a “Specialist” position working within Education etc. I remained calm and professional, it was humorous to witness 50 year old women becoming genuinely upset and fixated on a colleague progressing. I understand that rejection from others is a projection of their own emotions, and protection from a path that is not meant for us.
I have worked in my current job for many years in a service aiming to support disabled students. Education is just as toxic as the NHS. The team has had approx more than £1million in misplaced funding and it has made little to no positive difference to the student experience. Bullying is evident on a daily basis in the office, I do not partake in office gossip of bullying and this makes me an outsider. Management are avoidant, cliquey and openly gossip. In the past months we lost multiple long term receptionists as they were crying daily due to verbal abuse from students and their own manager. They outsourced more receptionists, both were bullied and left within a number of weeks. Office gossip is rife, it seems to be the norm to disrespect and discuss colleagues openly. Staff attitude towards the aim of the service is horrendous; service users attending to voice thoughts of suicide are treated with panic despite clear processes being in place to ensure their safety, colleagues are burnt out and see no issue in statements such as “tell them to go and kill themselves then, if they were serious about it they would have done it”. Managers have been witnessed referring to disabled students as “retarded”, many people attending the service are vulnerable and present with symptoms of self-neglect, our receptionists feel it’s appropriate to gossip about this, cover their noses and spray febreeze in the waiting area. It is a dangerous, immoral, and scary place to work. Senior management are fully aware of the state of the service, do nothing and continue to hire their own friends and family members into positions in the team irrespective of their experience, qualifications, or interviewing process. Many of the service users, due to their circumstances and symptoms, often push boundaries, misunderstand the limitations of support that can be offered (we cannot refer into NHS services, no access to crisis team, bed managers or medical reviews etc). I cannot count the number of times where students with complex needs have harassed staff members, who have been left unsupported. Despite always practicing with dignity, respect, upholding professionalism, and boundaries; chronically unwell service users have threatened to kill me, stalked me, placed complaints over situations out with my control such as academic decisions. Senior management are not clinical, no awareness of the mental health field, risk assessment, the equality act, mental health act, and have no boundaries relating to this. They throw money at new positions believing that 1 staff member will change the culture of an entire Institution. Every colleague that has left due to mental health crises has recovered since leaving.
I regret training in mental health due to the lack of genuine opportunities to engage with clients in a meaningful manner. In the office staff walk around like Zombies, most days I witness a colleague upset or tearful, the others are numb and silent, counting their hours until they can clock off. This has impacted my health significantly, due to work related stress I am repeatedly physically unwell (headaches, anxiety, viruses, chest infections, sinus infections, insomnia). Most people in the office take repeated 6-12 months periods of sick leave with no issue, as absence management and return to work interviews do not take place. Managers are absent, avoidant, do not set standards, take months to reply to basic emails, there are no routine team meetings or communications. I raised all issues noted within the 1st year in post, organised a meeting with the Senior manager and formally documented my concerns. Nothing changed, I was gaslit. I learned quickly that the more competent and caring I was, the more my own team would use this against me to overwhelm me. In a team of 50+ people they would assign the most complex cases to me, no care for my current workload. I released that I have to leave the job this year as likely nothing will change and I will not allow myself to stoop to their low of treating vulnerable people with disrespect due to their unhappiness in personal life and their career choice. I have upskilled myself to obtain qualifications and experience in other fields.
My hope was that documenting this experience on Reddit would support me to evidence the malpractice, negligence, and toxicity of the field and gain advice on how best to proceed. I am introverted, the experience has lowered my self-esteem and I often worry that I am the problem. Recently morale in the office has hit an all time low, I admit that I have been slower to complete admin-based jobs and lost motivation to make a meaningful difference. My life has changed dramatically over the past years. I left the NHS, survived an abusive relationship, survived and escaped an emotionally abusive home, moved in with my new loving partner and created my own peaceful home. Change can be daunting, but I now see that staying in toxic situations of any kind is not an option and that I can and will create my own reality. My current salary is over 44k per year, most jobs I am applying for are approximately 30-35k per year, permanent contracts, better working conditions and less stress associated with the role. Family discourage me from leaving a well-paying and secure job despite the chaos and negligence, they have remained in toxic unhappy work situations which directly impacts their health, relationships, and life satisfaction as they fear the unknown. My loving partner recently left a toxic workplace and reassures me that there is more to this life than this - seeing him progress and feel valued in work inspires me.
I am applying for approximately 2 jobs per week, in the Learning Development field. Please, can anyone provide tips of how to survive in the bleak period between deciding to move and obtaining a job? I am researching good working practices, office etiquette, email etiquette and only applying to companies that I have fully researched employee reviews. Thank you for your time and any advice or guidance that may help.

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Looking for some advice here. (32 M, UK)
As the title suggests, I am currently applying for a job. This organisation offers a 'Guarenteed Interview Scheme', where anyone who applies automatically gets an interview if they declare themselves to have a disability in the application.
I was diagnosed with ASD last year at the age of 31 and this is the first job I've applied for since diagnosis. I also applied for this same role in 2021 when it last came up (pre-diagnosis), and out of 400 or so applicants I was in the final 20 who recieved an interview. Despite being unsucessful, I did pretty well to get to the interview stage.
Now I'm slightly worried that notifying the hiring manager of my ASD during the application might hinder my prospects of being hired, mainly because the merit of getting an interview feels less applicable as before, as I'd be guarenteed one. I guess I'm worried they might overlook my strengths by focusing on my percieved weaknesses.
Am I just overthinking this too much, or should I ommit the information about my ASD from the application? Has anyone else struggled with this kind of problem before?

I'm feeling really down about my ability to understand SEO. I've been trying to figure it out for years now, starting at age 19 and trying again at 20 and 21, but I still haven't made any progress.
I can manage to do simple things, but when it comes to the main aspects of SEO that could help my website, I just can't seem to get it. I've read so many books, articles, and watched countless videos, but it still makes no sense to me. I try to reassure myself that maybe it's just not for me, but then I end up beating myself up with thoughts like "you're not trying hard enough."
It's frustrating because I can't afford to hire someone to do it for me right now, and I don't want to depend on someone else until I can afford to. So, I'm wondering if there are any alternative options I can explore. For example, I thought about redirecting people to my website every time, but I'm not sure if that will take longer than SEO.

I am graduating soon and stressing out big time finding a decent job. I've been working minimum wage jobs for years just to survive, went back to school for second degree after finally realizing my profession. Thinking about all the time I've been through just to have a better career but might not be able to do have a decent one worries me to sick. I do not want to mess around any more at this age of 27 so I tried my hardest the last 2 years to get out of my young, broke, dumb stage. My bf saw all that and insisted to let his dad to pass my resume around.
I am so afraid that if I let my bf's dad help to get hired, it would be a lot pressure in the future since I have to meet people's expectation and not embarrassing him. Also, I don't know how to get over the feeling of not being good enough and owing someone something big.

Izuku is given Deathstrokes-Slade origin story.
After discussing with All-might Izuku lets go of his dream of being a hero, but he wanted to do good regardless so he fakes his age and applies to the army.
After a few years, he gets chosen in the super soldier experiment that killed many. Due to being quirkless Izuku survives, but his hair turns white. He realizes that the serum gave him superhuman healing, strength, senses, an inability to die of old age. He was forcibly discharged and was abandoned.
Izuku feeling unfulfilled in life, decides to pick up arms and become a mercenary.
Izuku debuts as Deathstroke. A mercenary who quickly establishes themselves in never failing contracts, which caused him to be the most expensive one to hire on the market.
I can only imagine Bakugo realizing that the legendary mercenary is actually the boy that he bullied when they were young.
Hell, you can include a bunch of characters like Inko realizing that her son is a mercenary.

Who’d ever be afraid of postcards?
After all, it’s nothing but paper, right?
That’s how I’d have reacted if you’d asked me that question about a month or two ago.
It all started back in April. I’d just returned from the grocery store and checked my mail. I do it less than frequently. The only thing that ever finds its way there are fliers, random advertisement or the occasional bill.
That day though, as I stood in front of the big outdoor mailboxes of my apartment building, there was something else. Amongst a handful of fliers that had accumulated over the past week and a half, I also found a postcard.
After I’d crumbled up the annoying advertisements, I checked the postcard. Its front showed a pair of cute kittens and a ball of yarn.
When I turned it around, wondering who it was from, I found a postal stamp, my address written in fine letters, but no message. At least I thought so until I saw a single smiley face drawn where one would usually find a message.
I stared at the card for a bit, more amused than confused, wondering who’d sent it.
Without thinking much, I pocketed it and went inside. After I’d put away my groceries, I added it to a small bulletin board in my hallway where I’d put up all the postcards I’d received from friends and family over the years.
I’d forgotten it soon enough, if not for another one that arrived a week later.
This time the motif was a sprawling forest with the sun rising in the distance. When I turned it around, it was the same thing. A stamp, my name and address, and another silly little smiley face.
“What the hell?” I brought out before I shrugged. Back inside, I pinned it to the bulletin board and went on with my day.
A few days later, another two postcards arrived. One showed a couple of balloons flying through the air, the other what I assumed to be an important historical building. Once again, neither of them contained a message. Instead, both of them showed the same lonely smiley face.
By now, I couldn’t help but frown. This was getting creepy.
This time I didn’t bother to put the cards up on the board. In the trash they went, without a moment’s hesitation.
And yet, I couldn’t help but wonder what was up with this. Why’d anyone sent me those cards? Why not add a message instead of that stupid smiley face? Was this supposed to be a joke?
I didn’t find any answers to my questions, but the next time I checked my mailbox, I found another batch of postcards inside.
They depicted random motifs, were all addressed to me, and each one sprouted another smiley face.
This time, I wasn’t confused or puzzled. This time I was getting angry. Who the hell was sending them? In my anger, I tore them to pieces right then and there and grumbled up the remains.
Then I stopped and looked around to see if the perpetrator was nearby. Maybe this was all someone’s elaborate joke to see how a random person would react to something like this?
Then I shook my head. It wouldn’t do me any good to grow paranoid about a couple of silly postcards. And they all had a postal stamp, so they’d arrived via mail, anyway.
And yet, the next day, I found myself in front of the mailboxes again, checking it even though I told myself to not let it go to my head. But wouldn’t you know it, I found another one. The same was true for the next day and the day after. Each day, a new, cute little postcard arrived, address to me and sprouting another random smiley face.
Who the hell was doing this? Those cards, the shipping, it all cost money, didn’t it?
That’s when I wondered who it could be. I didn’t exactly have friends and what few old ones I had I hadn’t talked to in years. The next thing that came to mind were past relationships, but I hadn’t dated anyone in years. The only nasty break-up I could think of was with Lin, and that had been almost a decade ago. No, as much as I racked my brain, no one came to mind.
I went online, asked about it on Reddit and other similar sites, but most of the answers I got were silly jokes. What few serious replies I got suggested it might be some sort of marketing campaign, a social experiment or someone tricking random people to see how they’d react.
Great, that didn’t help me one bit. So much for the information age.
Each day, I thought about the damned cards more and more and each day new cards arrived.
Eventually, on my way to the grocery store, I ran into the mailman who’d just started on his delivery on our block.
“Hello, excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a question?”
The man turned to me and gave me a puzzled look before he nodded.
“Sure, what’s up?”
“Well, for the past weeks, I’ve been getting those weird postcards in the mail. Do you by any chance know something about it? Maybe other people receive them too and I was wondering if there’s some sort of, you know, promotion or something.”
For a moment, he stared at me again.
“Haven’t heard of anything like it.”
“Yeah, but those damned cards keep arriving. By now it’s two or three a day and I was wondering,” my voice trailed off.
“They are like, landscapes, animals, greeting cards, anything basically.”
“All right,” he brought out in a strangely suspicious voice. “Do you live here?”
“Ah, down the road, in number sixty-eight.”
“Tell you what, buddy, I’ve no clue if I delivered any postcards, there’s a ton of mail and even more mailboxes. I’ll keep my eyes open though.”
“Thanks.”
From the way he held my gaze, I knew he wasn’t doing anything like keeping his eyes open. No, I could tell he was uncomfortable about the entire thing and just wanted to get over with. I sighed, nodded, and went on my way.
The next morning, while I put on some coffee, the same curiosity overcame me again. I put on my shoes and made my way outside. Wouldn’t you know it, another pair of postcards had found its way into my mailbox.
In an onset of fury, I tore them apart, cursing to myself, and threw their remains down in front of the mailboxes.
Once done, I found one of my neighbors, an old woman walking her dog, staring at me, a worried expression on her face.
“Ah, sorry,” I mumbled, more to myself than to her, before I hurried back inside.
Great, fucking great. If this continued, I’d be known as the local crazy guy in no time. But really, what the hell was up with those cards?
I had talked to the mailman, of course, but by that point he hadn’t been at my building yet. And he probably didn’t give a shit about a random guy pestering him about postcards. No, if anything, I had to talk to him right here, while he was delivering the damned things.
Yesterday I’d met him at about one in the afternoon. So he’d probably be back shortly after noon.
I tried my best to distract myself with my work, but I soon couldn’t concentrate on it anymore. Instead, I found myself sitting at the kitchen window, watching the street and mailboxes outside, waiting for his arrival.
I sat there for more than an hour, busying myself on my phone, when I noticed the bright-yellow delivery car. In an instant, I jumped up, put on my shoes, and dashed outside.
When I’d made it, he was rummaging through the back of his car, sorting through letters and parcels. Then he made his way to my building with a stack of them in his hands. The moment he noticed standing by the mailboxes, he gave me an awkward smile.
Shit, I told myself, now I’m the guy who’s stalking the mailman.
He gave me a friendly nod, trying his best to ignore me, but every so often his eyes wandered back to me. The way I watched him clearly unsettled him. Shit, I had to do something about this situation.
“Sorry about that,” I brought out, stepping up to him.
He gave me a half-questioning, half-scared look.
“You probably think I’m a nutcase but,” I broke up and couldn’t help but laugh. “All right, shit, now you definitely think I’m a nutcase.”
He joined my laughter, but his had an awkward, hollow sound to it.
“So about the postcards,” I started, but he raised his hand to cut me off.
He went through the stack of letters right in front of me, showing me one after another and then the three parcels.
“Nope, no postcards, same as yesterday,” he eventually said.
“Yesterday?”
“Yeah, when you asked me.”
“Motherfucker,” I brought out.
He gave me another curious glance as he pushed letter after letter into their corresponding mailboxes.
“Sorry, not you. It’s just, I found another batch this morning, so I thought maybe today there were more of them.”
“Well, as you can see,” he said, shrugging.
“Yeah, all good. I’m just trying to figure out who’s sending the damned things,” I said, giving him a little smile.
He gave me another curt nod before he hurried back to his car.
All right, if those things weren’t delivered by the postal service...
And so the biggest question on my mind changed from why to who and especially when.
For a moment, the strangest feeling came over me as I watched the mailman at his car and opened my mailbox again. Maybe he was fucking with me and hadn’t shown them. But when I stared into my mailbox, it was empty.
Back inside, I hatched a plan. They were there every morning, and the mailman didn’t deliver them, so someone else had to be behind it. I mean, they couldn’t just appear there out of thin air. So if I just waited by the kitchen window and watched the damned mailboxes, I should catch the perpetrator.
I found myself an interesting podcast, sat down by the window, and began my watch.
I sat there all afternoon, but all I saw were neighbors checking their mail. None of them touched my mailbox at all. When the sun set, I prepared myself a can of coffee.
When night fell, I was about to turn on the light, but then remembered what I was doing. Whoever was behind this would see me in the window and would just sit tonight out. Hell, maybe they’d already seen me and decided to leave things alone for today.
Shit.
Still, I had told myself I’d catch the one responsible for this and that I’d watch the damned mailboxes.
And yet, slowly, ever so slowly, hour after hour passed. Soon enough it was midnight, then one in the morning. At two, I grew tired and downed yet another cup of coffee. At half-past three, I almost nodded off.
I slapped myself across the face, downed another cup of strong coffee, and turned the podcast a few notches louder until it sounded like someone was screaming into my ear.
Eventually, morning came, and the sun dawned. I sat there, tired, exhausted, but most of all, discouraged. No one had shown up, no one at all.
For a moment, I couldn’t help but laugh. What the hell was I doing? Why was I sitting here all night just because of a bunch of stupid postcards?
And yet, I kept sitting there, watching the mailboxes for another hour and then another. Somehow, I couldn’t stop. It felt like the moment I’d step away from the window, someone would rush to the mailbox, put the cards in and dash away.
Then I started to think. What if they were waiting for exactly that? What if someone had seen me by the window and was waiting for me to give up, to falter?
My apartment was on the ground floor. I’d be out at the mailboxes within moments. If I was fast enough, maybe I could catch them red-handed.
For a moment I scanned the area nearby, the street and the sidewalk, the bushes and trees, but I saw no one.
Still, just to be sure, just so I wouldn’t miss a thing, I put my phone up near the window where it couldn’t easily be seen. Then I made sure it was pointed at the mailboxes and started a recording.
Once I was sure everything worked, I stepped away from the window. I put on my shoes, grabbed my keys and hurried outside to the mailbox.
I was all alone. My eyes darted around for movement, trying to see if anyone was nearby or hurrying away. All was as quiet as it could be. No one was nearby.
Then I walked up to my mailbox.
My fingers were sweaty as I put in the key and my hand was shaking slightly as I turned it.
It had to be empty, I told myself, it had to be.
But the moment the small mailbox opened up, I could already see them, three postcards. Cute kittens and puppies stared at me from each one. When I turned them around, I saw the postal stamp, saw my address and name and of course the damned smiley faces.
As they stared at me, I felt almost as if they were laughing at me, mocking me. Had someone actually made it to the mailbox in the few moments it took me to get here?
In an instant, another surge of rage came over me and I shredded the damned things. Then I made my way back inside and hurried to the kitchen.
The phone was still pointing at the mailboxes, still recording.
I was filled with the strangest sense of glee, of curiosity as I replayed the recording.
I brought the phone as close to my face as I could, gazing at it. The recording began, showing me the lonely mailboxes.
“Now, where are you, asshole?” I wondered as I continued watching.
Second after second passed with no one showing up, with nothing moving.
Then I saw something and at first I thought I’d caught the damned asshole playing tricks on me before I realized it was me walking up to my mailbox. I watched as I looked around, as I took out the key and opened it and eventually tore up the postcards.
In frustration, I dropped my phone onto the kitchen table and laughed.
How the hell had someone put those damned cards inside? I had seen no one!
Then I wondered if someone had dropped them in before I’d started watching the window. There had been a few minutes after my talk with the mailman. Hell, what if I had actually nodded off and hadn’t noticed it?
What if the damned mailman was behind it? Maybe that asshole pretended not to know anything and the moment I’d left him, he ran back to my mailbox and put the damned cards in? What if...
All right, stop. This is getting ridiculous. You’re sounding like a crazy person. Hell, you’ve acted like a crazy person. This entire ‘let’s watch the mailboxes all night long’ thing was crazy enough.
I rubbed my temples and shook my head. Shit, I was exhausted and all that for nothing.
The moment I fell into my bed I was deep asleep.
After that day, I made it a conscious effort to ignore whatever was going on here. Who knows, maybe that person did it all to get a reaction out of me. Maybe they were watching me, and maybe they’d seen me tearing up postcards and talking to the mailman. Maybe if I stopped caring they’d tire of their antics?
Either way, I told myself I’d better things to do than to worry about freaking postcards.
Still, whenever I was in the kitchen, I found myself at the window, staring down at the mailbox for a little while before I moved on.
I checked my mail occasionally. When I went to the grocery store or when I returned from an evening walk. Every single time, I found postcards inside and every single time there were more of them. They had to arrive in droves by now. At one point, I pulled out over three dozen of them.
It was the strangest thing, dumbfounding even, but I forced myself not to show a reaction. I wouldn’t give whoever was doing this any sort of satisfaction. No, I took out the postcards, closed my mailbox and went inside where I discarded them.
It was about a week later that my doorbell rang in the late afternoon. When I answered it, one of my neighbors was outside.
“I guess those are for you, aren’t they?” he brought out in a slightly annoyed tone when I opened the door.
I stared at him and then at the stack of postcards in his hand. My eyes grew wide, and I almost cringed back.
“Wait, what? No, those aren’t mine, they are,” I broke up, shaking my head.
“Look, no, those aren’t mine, they are-“
“But that’s your name on them, isn’t it? Right here, on every single one of them,” the man cut me off, his voice now more annoyed.
“Yes, I know, but-“
“Then how about you take them off me?”
“I... fuck, all right!”
With that, I ripped the stack of postcards from his hands.
“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to be a bit friendlier,” he brought out, staring at me.
At first I was about to retort something. To tell him to go fuck himself. But then I told myself to calm down. The guy probably brought them here because he thought the mailman had messed up. He was just trying to be a good neighbor in his own way.
“All right, I’m sorry,” I brought out. “Look, there’s something odd about those postcards.”
The guy’s face didn’t change. Instead, he kept staring at me.
“Someone’s been dumping them into my mailbox for weeks. Hell, probably for a month by now. Every day I find those stupid cards inside. Look, there’s not even a message on them! It’s all just those stupid smiley faces. I don’t know why they put them in your mailbox, but maybe they want to fuck with other people as well.”
“Who are... they?” the man asked me in a half-concerned, half-confused voice once my rant was over.
“Shit, I don’t know! The ones who are doing this, who are fucking with me, fucking with you!”
By now the man had grown apprehensive and taken a few steps away from me.
“Look, I’m not looking for any trouble,” he said, raising his hands in a defensive posture.
At that moment, I got an idea.
“Hold on, let’s go back to the mailboxes.”
“Why’d I-?” the guy started, but after a few moments of standing there confused and lost, he followed me.
After a few moments we were back outside, me standing in front of the mailboxes and him keeping a safe distance from who he thought to be a madman. After a quick turn of the key, I opened my mailbox. A flood of postcards descended upon me. The entire mailbox had been filled to the brim. The last ones had been stuffed inside with such force they’d crumbled.
“What the hell?” the man behind me brought out.
“That’s what I thought,” I reasoned. “They probably dumped the rest into another mailbox, into yours.”
“Look, if this is your idea of a joke, then-“
“What the hell kind of joke would that be? Look, there’s got to be dozens in here, maybe hundreds. Why’d I buy all those postcards just to play a joke on you?”
“Why’d anyone?”
This time, I couldn’t answer.
For a few more moments he stood there before he shook his head and left me alone with all my postcards. As I stared at the filled up mailbox, at the postcards who’d rained down on my feet, I couldn’t help but laugh.
This was insane, this was just utterly insane.
Over the course of the next days, things didn’t get better. More and more neighbors showed up at my door. The nice old lady from floor number three, a student from floor number six, and a young mother from down the hallway. Every single one of them would ring my doorbell to hand me a stack of postcards addressed to me that had accidentally been delivered to them.
As quietly and as normal as I could, I explained to them that someone was playing a trick on me. I told them to just ignore any cards addressed to me or throw them away.
They all nodded, but I could see the puzzlement on their faces, the confusion and the apprehension.
I could tell they were all wondering if this was my doing, and I was sure they considered me the local crazy guy by now.
It wasn’t long before even the mailman rang my doorbell. He told me there was a problem, and he had to speak to me for a moment.
When he saw who I was, he frowned.
“You know this is a problem, don’t you?” he asked, pointing at the mailboxes.
“What do you-?” I started but broke up.
Half of the mailboxes were stuffed with postcards.
I couldn’t help but laugh nervously, which prompted an angry glance from the mailman.
“That’s got to be hundreds... thousands,” I eventually brought out.
“Yeah, and I can’t deliver the mail, thanks to them. What are you going to do about it?”
“What am I... what?”
“Well, they are all addressed to you. This is clearly related to you!”
“But, I don’t, ugh,” I broke up in frustration.
By now, another neighbor had arrived, staring at her mailbox.
“Not again,” she brought out as she opened her mailbox and tore dozens upon dozens of crumbled up postcards from it.
As I watched, as I stared at all those stuffed mailboxes, I knew this wasn’t a prank anymore. No, something strange was going on here, something extremely strange.
I pulled out my phone and called the police. I made my report as vague as possible, telling them someone was stalking me and damaging the mailboxes at my apartment building.
When they arrived, I told them about the full situation. They listened intently, but I could see the look on their faces.
The longer I went on talking, the more angry they seemed to get.
I was quick to lead them to the mailboxes and pointed at the general chaos. Their anger dissipated almost instantly and was replaced by confusion.
“And, how long has this... whatever this is, been going on?” one of them asked while his colleague stepped up to the mailboxes.
“I guess, about a month and a half,” I started. “At first it was only a single postcard, but then more and more of them arrived, and now it’s come to this.”
The two police officers did the best to handle the entire situation professionally, but I could tell they were as perplexed as I was.
They asked me if I had any enemies, but I answered I couldn’t think of anyone. I told them I’d tried to figure out who was behind this for weeks, but I had no clue. I even told them of my nightly watch.
Eventually, one of them handed me his card with a phone number on it. They told me they’d take some postcards with them and look into it and they’d have someone to watch the nearby area.
With the police here and them taking action, I was sure this thing would finally end. Stuffing all those mailboxes had to take time, and I was sure they’d catch whoever was responsible.
The next morning, however, I found all the mailboxes in chaos again. Mine was so stuffed, I was surprised the door was still closed. Almost all other mailboxes were in a similar condition.
As I stood there, I took out my phone and called the number on the card the police officer had given me.
He answered, and I told him it had happened again. The man listened, but he couldn’t tell me much. They had someone watching the area, but so far, they hadn’t been able to see anyone suspicious.
The weird deliveries continued, and soon I wasn’t the only one in contact with the police. And yet, they never found out who was behind it, saw no one.
Even stranger, though, were the postcards themselves. None of them showed any label or a hint of a manufacturer. The same was true for the stamps.
And yet, nothing could be done and postcards kept arriving.
Before long people began pressuring the renting company. Something had to be done about this absurd situation. I knew some of them wanted me gone from the building while others wanted them to hire a mailbox security who’d watch it at all hours of the day.
The renting company, however, had a different plan. One day, they sent a maintenance team that took down the entirety of the mailboxes and simply moved them inside into the entry hallway of the building.
When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I did was to check on the mailboxes. Other people did the same thing.
I think we were all expecting them to be filled to the brim once more. Instead, everything was normal. There were no postcards with my name and silly smile faces on them anywhere.
I could see the relaxed faces of people around me, could hear them sigh in relief and talk about how it was finally over. And I couldn’t help but join in. They were still wary of me, still wondering how I’d spawned that madness, but I didn’t care.
Instead, still smiling, I went back to my apartment. I hadn’t even had coffee yet, I thought to myself.
With quick steps, I made my way towards my kitchen.
For the first time in weeks, hell, in more than a month, the world felt normal again. All I wanted right now was a nice, hot cup of coffee.
All those feelings vanished and changed the pure terror when I opened the kitchen door.
Right there, on my kitchen table and on the floor all around it, I found an uncountable number of postcards.
With a shaking hand, I picked up one of them. On it I found a postal stamp, my name and address and a stupid little smiley face.
And as I stared at it, as I stared at that silly, stupid little face, I couldn’t help but smile myself, smile and laugh about the absurdity of this entire mad situation.

This movie is the epitome of new age garbage films. This film (along with many others from the past handful of years) makes me think that the quality of acting doesnt matter anymore.
Bad acting? No skill or passion? Youre hired! Its 2023 who cares anymore?!

I’m in Northeast Pennsylvania and I’m just curious if it is legal for a career department around here to have an age limit. They are hiring and state that applicants cannot be over the age of 35. How is this possible? Philadelphia was sued over this same exact thing years ago and no longer has their age limit.

I just need to vent. I'm not necessarily looking for advice, and no other sub seemed appropriate.
A few years ago, I quit a job I hated in an industry I couldn't care less about to go back to grad school to study something I loved. However, I've wasted a lot of that time in school putting forth the bare minimum, turning in mediocre work, and procrastinating to the point where it nearly wrecked the entire ordeal. (Chronic procrastination has been an intense struggle for me since my teen years.) On top of that, I'm just not particularly good at this new thing, I have a laughably unimpressive resume, and I am, overall, not a candidate worth hiring for a position in this new industry.
Despite all of that, a few months ago, I landed an almost-dream-job (not my literal dream job but one that put me on a direct path to it) through pure luck and accidentally networking with the right person. It was a long-term, remote contract role with a small company ("Company A") working on a large, genuinely exciting project for a large, well-known tech company ("Company B"). I started in mid-February after having been unemployed for nearly two years -- parenting a toddler full time and going to school part time.
It was awesome. I loved the job and I loved the people I was working with. My toddler was enrolled in an affordable daycare that my husband and I were very pleased with. (We nabbed the only available spot in her age group at JUST the right time.) Everything, in general, felt like it was finally falling into place for me. I even joked with my husband about all of the good luck we were having and would wonder out loud when it was going to run out.
I guess I jinxed it, because right around the point that I hit the three week mark at the job, the project director called all of the contractors into a virtual meeting and told us that Company B was shutting the project down and that we were all out of a job, effective immediately.
Long story short, I'm not doing well. I'm in a deep emotional funk that I don't know if I'll be able to get out of anytime soon. The thought of having to start my search all over again from scratch terrifies me because, like I said, I'm not a candidate worth hiring. I can't even use this brief position as a resume boost because I barely had time to learn or do anything, and I can't use these folks as references because I had hardly any time to get to know them and zero time to show them what I can do. If anything, having this fling of a job on my resume will be a liability.
Landing this position meant the enormous burden of having to search/apply for jobs and network (while trying to build my portfolio and parent full time) was, at least temporarily, lifted off my shoulders. Being set back in this way is extremely overwhelming and I have absolutely no idea where to begin in terms of starting over.
My daughter has been officially pulled from daycare as of Friday, and despite the fact that I (obviously) love her desperately, going back to the tedious daily full-time parenting routine after having gotten a tiny taste of the career I'd been dreaming about is...emotionally draining, to put it lightly. (And, of course, because that luck I mentioned earlier seems to have officially run out, she's been very sick during my first two days back in the SAHM world. She's miserable and in pain, which means she's also emotionally volatile. It's been an extremely rough 48 hours, and there will be more of the same tomorrow.)
I also made a big deal out of this job with my family and friends, so having to tell people about getting essentially laid off after less than three weeks is humiliating, despite the fact that it wasn't the result of something I did. I've been avoiding telling anyone who's not immediate family and just hoping nobody notices my quiet removal of the position on social media (particularly LinkedIn).
This job also meant that, for the first time in years, my family wouldn't be living paycheck-to-paycheck. Now we're right back where we started, constantly having to stress about finances.
The best part? I turned down a paid internship for this position. I also spent $2,500 on equipment I needed to do the job, which is nearly 100% of what little I earned, after (estimated) taxes. So, financially, I ended up in exactly the same place. We didn't even get a little boost from the month's salary that I earned. (I worked for ~three weeks, but I was paid for an additional week.)
On top of it all, I have no close friends, so I have very few people in my life whom I feel comfortable talking about this with.
Everything just sucks.

It sucks, because this is not the way i wanted it to happen but my parents are finally seeing the truth about how disposable the working class is to the elite.
Today my mom got the notice, that she and her friend at work would be pitted against each other for who gets to keep their job. They were notified together, that they would both need to reapply and re interview and only one of them would keep their job and the other would be eliminated. The worst part? Both her and her friends divisions have made steady profits over the past 15 years. There is no logical reasoning behind this, her boss just told her they were cutting costs.
My mom has been with this company since 1988, fresh out of college. A total of 35 years with them and she is now told that she will need to re interview for the job she has been working successfully at all these years. On top of that, even if she gets to keep the job there are rumors her division will be sold at some point in the next few years. She made them a profit for 35 years, and in just a few weeks to a month they could make her unemployed at the worst possible time.
She is 60 years old, 5 years away from her planned retirement. Shes not sure where she would even go, but shes certain shes not financially ready to retire after putting both my brother and i through college debt free. She just needed 5 more years out of the company she gave 35 years to. Her biggest fear? That no one will hire her due to her age, and that she couldn’t get a job in her current management position so she would have to step down to the more manual labor oriented part of her field. At her age and health thats becoming a risk in of itself.
Shes likely facing the fact that the retirement she earned, with minimal vacations and countless hours of unpaid OT will be robbed from her to strengthen the bottom line on a division she’s made profitable year after year for the past 20 years.
Fuck corporate america. Eat the rich, may we dance on their burnt corpses.

Louis II "The Lion" Lacroix - From Soldier, Seargant, General and Later Military Dictator & Emperor of Marley.
"The Scourge of Eldia"
Birth 722 - Death 834
---
Born in a quaint town near the coast of Odiha within the Nation of Marley in the year 719, Louis throughout his youth was a studious and obedient youth, Often engrossed in historical & philosophical text and thought, He would lead a relatively ordinary life working at his Fathers Orchard until the age of 14. Where during his nightly routine of keeping watch of his family's livelihood he was approached by a group of men belonging to the marleyan military.
Though only one truly stood out, It was a well decorated man of the military with a "Salt & Pepper" Beard, Numerous scars of varying sizes and location and dressed in a uniform befitting of higher ranking Officers.
"You've been workin' hard aye?"
The men of the army offering him the last cigar from the box of them they'd purchased along the way.
"Young man like yourself surely deserve a respite from toil, especially under the schorching sun. Tally-ho!"
He watched the men like a hawk as they left, contemplating his lot in life. Knowing his stubborn father would have to let go of his stingyness and hire a herd of farmboys to do his work for him, It wasn't until the young man of the orchard lay on the canopy of a familiar on his family estate that he wondered what lessons his life would be remembered for.
The very next dawn as he finished his make-shift bindle, filled with a multitude of personal belongings. Ranging from the sweet fruits he's grown to know and love, A Journal and the ancestral familial sword he miraculously taken under the nose of his hawk-eyed father.
He mounts his mare, An Onyx coloured and Icy blue eyed beauty and rides towards Odiha.
---
I don't want to overburden the reader with too much information, but what i've written here barely scratches the surface, If you haven't noticed...I'm indeed expanding upon this Prequel Story I'm writing, There is so much that is still yet to be written and explained events or unfinished plot points that will be finished / explained. =)

So I just started as an Automation Architect at a company a few weeks ago. I went in nervous understandably. I've worked writing automated test cases in Cypress/Postman (Newman) and Supertest for a couple of years, and set up some PoC frameworks using Selenium (Capybara)/Cypress at my job before that.
However I got hired on to basically start working on automation for a company that had only manual testers.
Problem is....this company has 100's of projects and sub-projects, ranging from old legacy C++ apps to newer .Net/React stuff and everything in-between. The other issue is how everything inter-mingles together. Multiple projects depend on external (old) API's (some 3rd party ones) along with various services depending on each other (of varying age)
ALSO eventually the plan is to train the manual testers into the automation.
Im used to working on frameworks and adding to frameworks in a more traditional manner (Some backend language with an API + whatever front end). I feel like thats what MOST automation targets. Im obviously up to the challenge but when I started combing through repositories I started to feel the feeling of "oh shit" lol.
Another issue is a lot of even the integration testing that DID exist may be 6-7 years old using old frameworks of libraries that may not even be supported.
I have at least some ideas of plans of attack...but im curious if anyone has ever fallen into this situation. Obviously part of the feeling of being overwhelmed is not knowing the software sure...but working with this complicated of a system(s) makes me wonder where I CAN contribute.
I feel like probably in cases like this, some of it is probably not going to be easily automated, and some may be just not able to. But I certainly want to at least work with what feels "exposed" to where manual testers can reasonably write API tests/UI tests within reason?
Anyways just looking for advice. I know trying to write integration tests for systems such as this is probably near impossible as from what i've seen, a developer (or group) works on each particular system and knows its ins and outs (rather than expecting a QA to know how all of them work, and subsequently writing integration/unit tests for all of them). Or is that an unreasonable expectation?

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Synopsis:
Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.
Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.
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Chapter 13: Clockwork Doll
Apple let out a snort as he plodded along the uneven dirt lane. Whether it was the rapidly degrading quality of the roads or the new company he found himself in that was the source of his ire, I would never know.
Beside us was Coppelia, walking at an easy pace despite the many sacks she was swinging. Swinging. Not carrying. She didn't sling those sacks of loot over her back like some overworked mule, but swung them as she walked like a young girl toying with a basket of flowers in the meadows.
It was a ridiculous sight. A girl keeping up with a trotting horse while also carrying more than the animal's burden. Granted, as a work horse, Apple was no galloping steed. He went as fast as he wanted. And that was very slow.
Still, I had to accept the slight on Apple's image. The horse could not have carried the extra weight. He lacked the bridle necessary to pull a cart. And while I'm certain I would have fashioned a solution, I wasn't one to reject the appeasement of commoners.
Thus, girl on foot.
Or rather, a clockwork doll.
“You know, you've been staring for a while,” said Coppelia, turning to show the giant golden key sticking out of her back. “Go on. Want to touch it?”
She didn't look the slightest bit shy. And I didn't act the slightest bit incurious.
It'd take a level of ignorance neither of us possessed to pretend that she wasn't an extreme rarity in this kingdom. Only a few workshops possessed the knowledge, technical and magical expertise to build clockwork dolls. And none of them were in Tirea.
The fabrication process required to create one was said to be so demanding that it was always clear when a doll was being built. Sales of coffee beans boomed.
And now I fully understood why.
A girl whose beauty almost rivalled mine. Almost. She looked my age, or perhaps a year younger. A sweet and dignified appearance, yet she had a spritely smile full of mischief … as well as cogs, sprockets and gears.
Seeing such a marvel of engineering before me, I now fully understood what I had to do.
… I had to build my own!
What was this?! Not only was she pretty. But she was strong! She couldn't just carry tea cups. She could carry me! With someone like that by my side, I wouldn't need to work an extra day in my life!
“M-May I?” I replied, urging Apple to slide over as I reached down for the golden key. “Do I just … touch it?”
“Sure. Just make sure you don't turn it.”
“I see … and what would occur should I accidentally turn it?”
Coppelia puffed up her cheeks, then popped the air.
“Boom.”
My hand froze. I looked at Coppelia.
She didn't correct herself.
“Per … Perhaps it's better if I don't,” I said, swiftly uprighting myself on the saddle. “Besides, you're hardly some plaything to be prodded and poked. I apologise for my less than discreet ogling. Clockwork dolls are not known to visit Tirea.”
“I bet. I mean, who'd want to visit this tiny kingdom out in the boonies?”
I almost choked on my response, such was the speed at which my indignation sought to leave my lips.
No matter how wonderful this invention of engineering was, that didn't give her a blank cheque to disregard my kingdom like some downtrodden restaurant!
“T-Tiny?! The … The boonies?! Miss—”
“Coppelia.”
“Coppelia! This is a majestic kingdom, graced with verdant fields and enterprising scholars! I assure you, there is nothing tiny or … or boonie-like about this rich land!”
“Really? My memory core must be out of whack. It says the Kingdom of Tirea is the second smallest independent nation-state by surface area on this continent, and that it's gross economic output—”
“Shhshhshhshh!! This … This kingdom holds treasures beyond the definition of crowns and industry. We measure prosperity in different ways. In culture. In harmony. And in peace.”
“You were attacked by bandits five minutes ago.”
“A most unfortunate and poorly timed coincidence that doesn't reflect the safe and harmonious nature of this kingdom.”
Coppelia giggled, delicately bringing up the back of her hand to hide her lips … all the while still gripping those huge sacks.
Such brutish strength! It was … marvellous!
Imagine if I had such a useful attendant by my side! The next time Roland hid behind a door to frighten me, I could order her to rip the door off and launch it and him through the nearest window! The possibilities were endless!
“Unfortunate and poorly timed coincidences are the domain of Ouzelia, actually. It's pretty much our trademark, and we guard it zealously. I'm afraid you can't have that.”
Her words could have been written as jest, but her tone was anything but.
“I see. My tutors always said that Ouzelia was a land of splendour and opportunity, and that its freedoms exceeded even that of Tirea.”
“A rotten lie. What did they actually say?”
“That it was full of oddballs and I should stay away.”
“Much better.” Coppelia twirled as she took her next steps forwards, swinging the sacks perilously close to Apple's side as she spun. “Ah, Ouzelia, where dragons roam the skies and there exists no fiction in fairytales. Humans live with ogres. Ogres live with goblins. Goblins live with … well, nobody since they're kinda grouchy. How are the ones here?”
I gave it a moment's thought, then decided to answer honestly.
“Still grouchy.”
“Goblins, eh?”
“Goblins.”
I nodded, needing to say little else.
At least ours were fiercely isolationist. As were our ogre clans. Such a mixing of cultures could never be considered in Tirea, where few non-natives other than the odd troll caravan or questing minotaur could be found passing through our towns and villages.
Then again—
As I stole a glance at the girl alternating between walking and skipping beside me, at the heavy sacks in her hands, and the large golden key protruding from her back, I couldn't help but think that even a dragon probably wasn't as rare as a princess and a clockwork doll passing through our streets together, either.
“Have you been searching for this missing book for long? I'm curious how much time you've spent wandering the kingdom.”
“Waaay too long. These shoes weren't made for walking. But books are hard to find. Especially the one I'm after. Alas, if only I had a different job. My sisters, they got jobs like cleaning bookcases. How wonderful is that? Books always get lost. But bookcases? If that's all I had to do, I'd be able to relax at the—”
“I understand!”
“Eh?”
A flush of excitement ran through me as I seized on the opportunity at once.
Ohhoho! Indeed, rejoice, fair clockwork maiden! No insinuation was lost on me!
As a princess trained in the art of reading cues and desires, I was adept at understanding the words between the lines as keenly as a conductor sensed the notes weaving amongst a grand sonata.
And my instincts were telling me ... that she wished to serve under me as my personal attendant!
“A-Ahem, if cleaning is something you wish to experience, I can offer you a position as attendant. You see, I happen to have left my previous residence without any. Therefore, you may be at ease, as from now, I will declare you to be my sole—”
“I refuse.”
“Geh?!”
My jaw dropped at the abruptness of her rejection.
Could … Could it be that I was wrong? Or perhaps I'd pressed her too suddenly? True, it was only natural to react with inappropriate modesty when presented with such an envied position as the personal attendant to a princess. There were rivalries to consider. New enemies to watch. Old allies to turn. To become my sole attendant was to make one's social debut in high society. Even a maid could be elevated to the lowest rungs of lower nobility by adopting such an exclusive role.
Hmm?
But wasn't I forgetting something?
Ah, but of course! She didn't know I was a princess!
“I refuse,” she repeated cheerfully. “Thank you for the offer. But I've no need for a mistress. My loyalty is to my library.”
A bizarre croak exited my mouth as a thousand responses amalgamated into one.
I … I couldn't tell her!
I was supposed to be incognito, not hiring new employees!
“Sooo, well-dressed, haughty girl who wants an attendant ... is it just 'Juliette'? Or is there a 'High Ladyship' or 'Her Revered Countess, Holy Destroyer of Unwanted Beetles' title somewhere in there as well?”
I winced.
Partly because my masterful disguise as a titleless 'Juliette' was clearly not enough to hide the fact I was simply far too dignified to pass as anything less than nobility. But also because she'd just butchered our entire peerage system in one single sentence.
“Those are not titles.”
“My cunning word trap worked. So, nobility?”
“Undisclosed.”
Coppelia raised an eyebrow.
“Royalty?”
“............”
Hmm?
What … What was that?
Was that … sweat? Why was I sweating? How long had I been riding for? When had sitting in a saddle been such a taxing activity on me?
“U-Undisclosed ...”
For a moment, Coppelia had the look of someone who wished to make an unnecessary comment. I was relieved when she didn't.
… She didn't suspect!
Really now. That was too close. And the fault lay entirely with me.
It was vexing, but the truth is that I didn't enjoy parading myself as anything less than a princess. To do away with my title was difficult enough. But to adopt another was quite another. I needed to find a compromise … eventually.
Eventually.
Meaning ... there was no rush!
I had no need to dive straight into the details of my subterfuge, did I? Once I picked an identity, I'd need to actively utilise it or risk being outed. I couldn't have that. A poor identity was more suspicious than having none. It'd undermine everything!
Therefore, the best thing to do was to disclose nothing. The less I spoke about my background, the less anyone would suspect I was a princess. If anyone asked me if I was Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea, I could simply refuse to answer and they'd be none the wiser.
Ohohoho! Genius.
Why make things harder? Sometimes, less truly was more.
“To answer slightly more, I can't offer myself for any role other than that which I'm already sworn to do. My purpose is to search for unreturned books. That means I'm forbidden from washing the dishes of any ladies of high standing. Or putting on their socks. That one is specifically ruled out.”
I nodded, taking the loss of a potential handmaiden with good grace.
… Ohhhohoho!! Until next time, of course!
Fortunes waver and ambitions stir. When this girl wished to seek a rewarding new career path in the exciting world of courtly backstabbing, treachery and betrayal, I'd ensure that the door remained open.
“I see. A terrible shame. Nevertheless, I applaud your loyalty to your library. Indeed, by refusing my first offer, you passed the first test to becoming my personal attendant. Should you wish to continue this application, you may do so at any time.”
She connected her thumb and index finger into a circle and smiled lazily.
“O-kay~”
I contented myself with that somewhat lackadaisical response. It lacked the dirt eating grovelling that I usually received when overseeing prospective hires … but I was nothing if not mildly flexible!
When it came to receiving a promising new attendant who could carry my extensive wardrobe wherever I pleased, I was willing to bide my time.
In fact, if she could display such wonderful strength, would that not also make her an excellent candidate to be a bodyguard? If so, that'd make her a two-for-one attendant! I'd be the envy of the soirée!
“By any chance, does your prodigious ability to carry large weights hint towards how you defend yourself in this peaceful and harmonious land?”
“Hmm?” Coppelia looked down, then blinked at the sacks in her hands. “Oh, this? This is nothing.”
“I disagree! … Hence why I note that you carry no weapons on your person, and yet you're able to traverse the perilous wilds that exist between Ouzelia and Tirea. Tell me, would you happen to be proficient in overcoming physical confrontations?”
“My, my, my … what are you implying? I have my feminine wiles and girlish charms. What else do I need to travel the wide world?”
Coppelia flicked her fluffy golden hair and gave a smile as radiant as the sunshine.
I was appalled.
Who did this girl think she was? Me?
Clearly, she had to boast martial skill or magical ability. Not everyone possessed a princess's charisma. And for all the confidence in her smile, that also included her.
“Charm and wit is not enough to negotiate the dangers that pervade this world, unless you're me. Everyone else requires the knowledge of a scholar and the intuition of a rogue. To challenge, to compromise, or to flee based on coldly evaluating every morsel of insight available to you. This is the trifecta of choices one must continually master in order to overcome foes who wish to force victory through brute force alone.”
Coppelia nodded, interest sparkling in her turquoise eyes as she had the politeness to feign the correct amount of being intrigued. A valuable skill set. My tutors would be pleased.
“I see, I see … but what if your foe isn't someone who wants to talk or fight?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, what if it's say, a blight? How would you overcome that?”
“A blight?”
“A blight affecting crops and pastures, a faceless enemy with no notion of negotiation or belligerence. That'd be pretty tricky, wouldn't it? I just want to know where on the manual that is.”
I tilted my head slightly.
It was a concept I had to wrap my head around. To be frank, something which didn't try to sully my reputation or outright assassinate me wouldn't truly count as a foe.
At least not until I saw the first inklings of withering intruding upon the corner of my eye.
Apple came to a stop as I tugged back his reins.
Turning my gaze slowly, I took in the sight of the fields that lay ahead.
Appalling parched fields crept down from across the horizon. Beyond half-wilted lines of hedgerows and trees, a scene of death and decay promised to wait for me. The contrast to the green fields to my sides were stark.
Beyond a rotting demarcation as clear as lines in the sand, I saw a vision of the fine pastures fit for napping replaced by a barren stretch of broken livelihoods.
I couldn't believe it. Was this what was meant by failing crops?
This was beyond what I had imagined! We hadn't even entered the lowlands yet! Was this some disease in the soil? How far did it stretch? How much of our farmland was lost?
It was more morbid than anything I could have envisaged. I could literally see the trail of tax income from yield percentages to stall revenues collapsing in front of me! Each fallen stalk of wheat was another feather snatched from my pillow!
It was horrible!
Beside me, Coppelia was cheerfully humming an unknown melody.
Judging from the brightness of her tune, the state of the kingdom's collapsing grain reserves and the riots that were certain to follow ranked lower on her reasons to be concerned list than it did mine. It was not, after all, my fate that she shared. Even now, I could see a grim future where my family was forced to sell our gold framed portraits and ruby inlaid candlesticks just to appease the peasant masses.
The indignity almost knocked me off my saddle.
Awakening from my stupor, I clenched my fists and spurred Apple onwards.
It was time for Juliette Contzen, the Third Princess of the Kingdom of Tirea, to do her duty. No matter what, I would prevent a future where I was forced to degrade my quality of life. To live as though I were mere nobility.
Or worse, common-born nobility.
No blight would stand in my way.
This, I solemnly vowed.
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https://reddit.com/link/1257gg0/video/98xpmsg7nkqa1/player
Sorry for the long post. If anybody is looking for a badass summer job, Virginia Beach Lifesaving Service is currently hiring ocean rescue lifeguards and supervisors. VBLS is a USLA-Certified ocean rescue agency that employs over 200 seasonal lifeguards and supervisors. The agency is responsible for 3 miles of resort beach (49 LG stands), patrols 3 miles of residential beaches, and is certified by the Virginia Office of EMS as a BLS non-transport agency. Supervisors utilize eleven ATVs, three vehicles, and a PWC, to support the guards in stand. They are also dispatched regularly to 911 calls on the beach and boardwalk. Lifeguards execute and respond to around 600-800 water rescues per season, provide immediate first aid for medical emergencies, and reunite on average nearly 1,000 lost children each summer. In addition, every member of VBLS is responsible for representing the company and city as ambassadors as they interact with the vacationing public and local community members. Here is the application link! This is a great job job if you are interested in going into public safety/healthcare!
https://www.vboceanrescue.com/join-the-vbls-team
Lifeguard Requirements:
* Minimum Age Requirement: Must be 16 years of age.
* Physical Standard: 500 Meter swim (550 yards) in 10 minutes or less.
* Health: Must provide proof of health.
* Training: Must complete all prescribed USLA training and paperwork prior to working. (Provided in-house)
Lifeguard Supervisor Requirements:
* Minimum of a High School Diploma or GED
* Must be at least 18 years of age at time of hire
* VA EMT-B certification or higher & BLS Provider certification
* Minimum of two seasons experience of surf lifesaving
* Current or extended past non-surf lifesaving emergency medical experience (fire/rescue) &/or other professional medical experience highly recommended.
* Successful completion of a 500 meter or 550 yard swim in 10 Minutes or less.
Pay is slated to start at $15-$16/hr for guards and $18/hr for supervisors
application link again: https://www.vboceanrescue.com/join-the-vbls-team
Swim testing has already started and will run through May. Surf Rescue Class (rookie school) starts mid-May but we usually run 2-3 classes a season, ending in mid-June. Please do not hesitate to hit me up with any and all questions! DMs are open and I will try to reply to all comments as well! There is also a referral section of the app where you can put my name down. Really looking forward to hearing from y'all!
Sgt. J. Naggy
Virginia Beach Lifesaving Service

I've been daydreaming (shocking, I know) about hiring someone to come to my house for an hour a day to help me with housework and household management. If I paid $25/hr and it was, say, 4 days a week, it wouldn't cost more than a weekly housekeeper, and I wouldn't have the stress of having to "preclean" for them, and having a stranger in my house for 4 hours at a time.
I was thinking a mom with school-age kids would be good. I used to have free time at that time and would have loved a very very part-time gig like that for a few extra bucks. I was thinking duties could be stuff like dishes, folding laundry, opening mail (I tend to open anything interesting and then leave medical bills for weeks), organizing. All the stuff I don't get around to.
I don't know, it seems so reasonable to me.

I NEED HACKER TO CHANGE MY UNIVERSITY GRADES
Hackers are breaking boundaries and connecting the world within a short distance. Exploiting school grades is a common thing. Changing your grades takes skills and techniques and unique software to accomplish your goals. What is common in changing school grades? the goal is to get good grades. What you score is not final? Despite how hard Universities and colleges attempt to safeguard their grading systems the truth is: the grades are actually more accessible to hackers now than ever!
The age of the traditional pad and pencil grading book is over, and the age of recording grades on the web is here. [[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])
HOW TO CHANGE YOUR GRADES YOU NEED IN SCHOOL
I need a hacker to change my university grades. School grades have to do with permanent and not permanent school grade change. There are a lot of tutorial on YouTube to show you how to do a nor permanent school grades to get your grades up. but they ain’t permanent and they are good for transcript edit. When you need to alter transcript, this is a good friendly tool for that change on transcripts.
VERY IMPORTANT NOTE ON CHANGING MY UNIVERSITY GRADES
When you hack your school systems to change your grades, understand that you could leave a trail on your school database. If you did hack through your school systems, you would have to consider implication of getting detected by school authority. Hiring a top hacker to hack your grades would be the best choice to hack your university grade
If you want to hire a hacker that is highly professional and reliable hacking service, SEND YOUR REQUEST VIA EMAIL TO [[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])

From John Keel.com
Alva John Kiehle was born on March 25, 1930, in Hornell, NY. His father was a singer and bandleader; his mother a “lively, pretty girl with a strong sense of humor.” The marriage was a brief one; John was raised by his grandparents in the nearby town of Perry.
As a child he read insatiably (he remembered himself as a “reading machine”), especially anything about magic, humor, science, travel, and aviation. By the time he was 14, he was determined to be a writer: he wrote a column, “Scraping the Keel,” for the Perry Herald; published his own science fiction fanzine, The Lunarite; and was routinely sending out submissions to magazines.
In 1947, he hitch-hiked to Manhattan — or, more specifically, to Greenwich Village. He became associate editor of the quarterly magazine Poets of America (1947-1949), and editor of the weekly newspaper Limelight (1949-1951). At this time, he was also writing for comic books, contributing poetry to various magazines, and turning out scripts for the early TV station WABD. He also wrote scripts for radio shows, including Grand Central Station and First Nighter.
When he was 18, he had a strange (but classic) illumination experience in his furnished room off Times Square. He remembered the room “filled with an indescribable light, a pinkish glow”; and his mind “flooded with a torrent of information.”
In 1951, he was drafted. He spent his military years in Frankfurt, working mostly for the American Forces Network. Some of his programming ideas — a remote broadcast from the Great Pyramid, another from Frankenstein’s Castle — earned him a great deal of publicity.
When he left the army in 1954, he was restless, and determined to see more of the world. He spent the next year wandering throughout the Middle East, supporting himself by sending back stories and articles to his agent, who then placed them in men’s adventure magazines. In Singapore, he was deported as an “adventurer,” and moved to Barcelona, where he turned his experiences into a book, Jadoo.
When Jadoo was published in 1957, he moved back to NYC, and promoted it by performing with cobras in the window of the Midtown Aquarium at Times Square, and with many TV and radio appearances. He suffered a bit of writer’s block after this, and turned to editing the magazine Echo. Funk & Wagnall’s also hired him as a science and geography editor (1959-1960).
In the ’60s, he worked a great deal in television: he was the head writer for the game show Play Your Hunch; and turned out many scripts for such shows as Mack and Myer for Hire, the Chuck McCann Show, and the Clay Cole Show. He also wrote a couple of novels, under his preferred pseudonym, Harry Gibbs.
In 1966, Playboy commissioned him to write an article on UFOs. The resultant piece was rejected (the assignment was turned over to J. Allen Hynek, and published in the December 1967 issue). But he had become hooked on the subject; and traveled around the country, interviewing witnesses, and writing dozens of articles. The phenomenon, he learned, took its toll on its investigators: he entered a shadowy world where black cars vanished on country roads, meaningless messages turned up in hotel rooms, and his phone and mail suffered strange interceptions. In 1966, he made repeated visits to Point Pleasant, West Virginia, then the site of a particularly active monster and UFO flap; the result was one of his most popular books, The Mothman Prophecies. Along the way, he also put out a lively newsletter, Anomaly; wrote a regular column for Saga; and published several classic books on forteana.
He was a technical advisor to the Library of Congress (1968-69), and special consultant to the office of Scientific Research and Bureau of Radiology (1968-71), before becoming a consultant to the Department of Health, Education and Welfare, for whom he produced a prototype for a magazine, You. He also fulfilled a boyhood dream by earning his pilot’s license.
In the 1980s, he attempted a number of plays and novels, none of which made it to the page or stage. He devoted his time to various mail order projects, and revived the dormant New York Fortean Society. And he contributed a regular column to Fate magazine, “Beyond the Known.”
In his later years, he was slowed down considerably by diabetes and its complications. He had some lean times, particularly when cataracts, and the resultant eye surgery, made writing difficult. His luck turned when The Mothman Prophecies was made into a movie in 2002; he was particularly delighted at being portrayed by Richard Gere, whom he referred to as a “John Keel look-alike.” The publicity sparked several new editions of the book, including numerous foreign editions. He bought a car, which he dubbed the Mothmobile, and often disappeared on solo road trips.
With age, his health declined, and he spent several years in and out of hospitals and nursing homes; his friends pitched in to keep him going. He died July 3, 2009, at Mt. Sinai Hospital in Manhattan.
Despite reports to the contrary, he did not die alone and abandoned. Larry “Ratso” Sloman and I were his medical proxies, and very active in helping him in his final years. Many friends visited him in his various hospitals and homes. I was at his bedside the day he died, to give the final directives, and to tell him goodbye. Despite other reports, his papers were saved by his friends and family.

I NEED HACKER TO CHANGE MY UNIVERSITY GRADES
Hackers are breaking boundaries and connecting the world within a short distance. Exploiting school grades is a common thing. Changing your grades takes skills and techniques and unique software to accomplish your goals. What is common in changing school grades? the goal is to get good grades. What you score is not final? Despite how hard Universities and colleges attempt to safeguard their grading systems the truth is: the grades are actually more accessible to hackers now than ever!
The age of the traditional pad and pencil grading book is over, and the age of recording grades on the web is here. [[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])
HOW TO CHANGE YOUR GRADES YOU NEED IN SCHOOL
I need a hacker to change my university grades. School grades have to do with permanent and not permanent school grade change. There are a lot of tutorial on YouTube to show you how to do a nor permanent school grades to get your grades up. but they ain’t permanent and they are good for transcript edit. When you need to alter transcript, this is a good friendly tool for that change on transcripts.
VERY IMPORTANT NOTE ON CHANGING MY UNIVERSITY GRADES
When you hack your school systems to change your grades, understand that you could leave a trail on your school database. If you did hack through your school systems, you would have to consider implication of getting detected by school authority. Hiring a top hacker to hack your grades would be the best choice to hack your university grade
If you want to hire a hacker that is highly professional and reliable hacking service, SEND YOUR REQUEST VIA EMAIL TO [[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])

I've encountered them before. They grab my attention but no real biggie. However, today popped into TJ Maxx to grab some of my favorite hand soap and ALL of the purses and luggage had ticking sensors. At first, they were ticking along to the music that was playing and all was good, but as soon as the music changed I had to nope outta there! 😂😭😳

I took CS50 last year and I just finished CS50 web. I have been building a few pet projects for about 1.5 years now. I’ve also built a couple of websites for relatives of mine. I’m 31 years old and unemployed.
I am confused as to whether to pursue a freelancing career or look for jobs. Freelancing is obviously difficult to land clients and deliver projects alone. But I wonder whether anyone would hire me for a junior developer role, because of my age and also because I don’t have a degree of any kind. While I can confidently try to pursue projects of beginner-medium complexity, I don’t think I’m skilled enough to make employers overlook my age and lack of degree + professional experience.
If I knew I would be equally successful in both, I’d easily choose freelancing, for the flexibility.
So, where do you folks think I stand a better chance, freelance or apply for jobs? Please help.