The office of the president’s privates

 

Dear Sir/Madam/Comrade,

I am applying for the post of Deputy Director-General: Private Office of the President. I saw the job advertised in a newspaper that I must have thrown away because I can’t find it anywhere which isn’t surprising because my place is barely fit for human habitation and I even lost a cat in my flat once.

I am going to be honest with you, even though honesty in the civil service is frequently rewarded with demotion or death. I don’t care. I am not a spring chicken. On a good day, I can easily pass for an autumn chicken. This should count in my favour since the leadership of this glorious nation is currently hogged by the winter chickens.

Here’s the thing, darling. I don’t really want a job. Work clashes horribly with my lifestyle and I avoid it as much as possible. But when I saw the salary that goes with this gig, I thought I’d make an exception and offer my services.

If the Deputy Director-General makes R1 201 713, what the hell does the Director-General earn? To be honest, I’d rather have his job. But if you can’t get rid of him, I’ll settle for deputy. I see it also comes with a “personal allowance”of R5 930. Excellent idea. That bit of pocket money would be enough for a few bottles of Blue Label to see me through until the end of the month, should my R100-thousand run out before payday.

I briefly considered applying for a job a few weeks ago in the Western Cape’s Department of Economic Development. The position was Assistant Director: Red Tape Reduction. I know it sounds like a joke position – hiring a civil servant to help reduce bureaucracy is like joining ISIS to help bring about world peace – but it was no joke. However, it only paid R30k a month. What an insult. There was no way I was going to spend my day walking up and down corridors tapping my watch and saying things like, “Time is money, people” and “Just sign the damn thing”, which, I imagine, is what the job entails.

The idea of working in the private office of the president intrigues me. Hell, the idea that he even has a private office intrigues me. What’s it for? Does he run the country from his official office, then duck off to his private office and phone his wives and children? Is his private office like his private residence? Does it have a plunge pool to deal with smaller fires? More importantly, would I have use of it?

I see the requirements for the position include an appropriate Bachelor’s degree. In my opinion, there is nothing appropriate about a Bachelor’s degree. It is a fraud. I do have a variety of academic qualifications. However, all the certificates were lost during that terrible burglary at former SABC boss Ellen Tshabalala’s house in which she also lost her certificates. My things were at her house because we were lovers.

The advert says short-listed candidates will be subjected to Top Secret security vetting. I assume this includes torture. You wouldn’t want to hire someone who cracks at the first sound of Helen Zille’s voice. I rather enjoy a bit of the rough stuff so I’d urge you not to go easy on me.

You also require experience in setting up systems. This is your lucky day because setting up systems is my speciality. Obviously I can’t say much more about this until I get the job. I’ll give you a hint. Blackjack. That is all I am saying. For now.

I see my duties include “rendering personal support services”. Look, I don’t mind helping the president dress in the morning, but I draw the line at washing his back or clipping his toenails. He presumably has eunuchs for that sort of thing.

Apparently you also want me to ensure sound financial planning systems. Thanks, but I’d rather not. I have no wish to end up like Schabir Shaik. Having to cook the books and feign a terminal illness at the same time must be exhausting.

I shall take a month’s leave before I start work and will require three months’ salary up front.

Viva the Private Office of the President, viva!

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