Job Center Offers Unemployed Teen Interview In Brothel

The younger generations tend to be full of themselves.

Having had self-worth shoveled into them like coal into a steam train by parents and educators, they naturally expect to rule the world and for the world to like it.

Reality does, occasionally, strike them in the forehead.

They find themselves unable to immediately get CEO jobs. They discover that sometimes they go for interviews and don’t get the job.

And sometimes, they are slapped repeatedly by the notion that they might not be quite as fabulous as they think they are.

None of this, however, can possibly explain why one teen was offered an interview in a brothel.

This offer came not from a casual pimp she met at a bar. No, no. It did not come from a man who called himself Larry The Man.

This was an official suggestion from her local Job Center.

As the Daily Mail reports with its usual mixture of giddiness and shame, this poor 19-year old had already worked as a housekeeper in Augsburg, Germany.

But being a housekeeper isn’t quite the same as being a barkeep where the girls don’t keep their bras on for very long.

How odd that a governmental organization would imagine that this was somehow, as Americans would put it, appropriate.

How odd, too, that they wouldn’t at least call her to ask whether being a barkeep in a brothel is something that would keep her amused.

Instead, she simply received a letter suggesting that this might be her metier.

This is Augsburg. This building may not be a brothel.

This is Augsburg. This building may not be a brothel.

Naturally, the first and basest instinct is to imagine that this was a mere administrative snafu. Somehow, the Job Center had no idea that a company that was using its services to find willing workers was actually an establishment of incomplete repute.

Yet the Job Center’s director, Roland Furst, was the very furst to admit that he knew that this business operated in Augsburg’s red light area.

This, as some game players might suggest, represented a clue.

Indeed, in most cities it is quite clear which establishments make their money from pursuits of the flesh and which are merely homes for the fleshy, the lonely or the deeply inebriated.

Here’s another clue: This business was called the Colosseum.

Not many bakeries or grocery stores would go by that name.

Not many bakeries or grocery stores would go by that name if they happened to find themselves in the red light district.

Here’s one further clue: The Colosseum is one of the biggest brothels in Augsburg. And the job Center ultimately admitted that it did know this was, indeed, one of the better little whorehouses in Augsburg.

Working in a brothel can, so I have been told, be a more rewarding experience than, say, working in Best Buy on a Wednesday afternoon. Or working in McDonald’s on a Saturday.

There is nothing fundamentally appalling about working at the Colosseum.

But if you’re 19, it would surely be nice if you didn’t get a letter suggesting that you might pop along to your local brothel for an interview.

It seems so painfully old-fashioned.

Couldn’t they at least have sent her an e-mail with a link?

 

 

 

 

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