Recently it was suggested that I contribute to the series of articles concerning the woes of the labor force (I am referring to the My Job Sucks series). I could have done so, as I possess ample material with which to exercise my First Amendment rights. This ample material consists of the many horrific, boring, tedious and unjust acts perpetrated upon my person during my working hours. I would probably mention how I was not paid overtime for working on July 4th or on Memorial Day. I could also mention how I had to learn Korean to understand what my first bosses were speaking. But instead I decided to devote my time to possibly the most useless activity I had to endure.

The Food Handlers’ Permit Class was, interestingly enough, not required by my first employers. I attribute this to their misunderstanding of the American legal system, and then pass over it discreetly. Rather, I will recall my first training shift at Coldstone Creamery, the store which I now frequent while masquerading as a paid employee.

Debbie Chaney, my boss (who, to prevent libel lawsuits and be just, is one of the nicest bosses you will ever have), mentioned the Food Handlers’ Permit Class. As best my memory can inscribe, she said, “Oh, and you should get your Food Handlers’ card as soon as possible…here’s the handout with dates and times and price. Remember cash…and it’s really easy. Sam? How easy was it?”

Sam: “It’s ridiculously easy.”

Everybody: “Oh, sounds good…I’ll get it soon.”

Now as you know I am one of the most punctual and organized people to inhabit the hallowed halls of Skyline High. So, after noting the times and dates of the places, I scheduled mentally an appointment in Bellevue, at the ungodly hour of 9:30 am. And being punctual, I completely forgot about it, and went to piano lessons instead. Therefore, in a desperate attempt to obtain my license before the next training shift, I reluctantly decided to go to the next scheduled class. This class happened to be in Seattle, at the Northwest rooms of the Seattle Center.

Thus, at an even earlier, ungodlier hour, I woke up in the parking lot of the Seattle Center, with no clear remembrance of driving there. Apparently my subconscious is a skilled driver. After many adventures, I finally found myself sitting in a padded chair, clutching a pencil, a booklet, and a miniature clipboard. The teacher, whose name has escaped me as have the names of the assistants, introduced herself, and said the class would begin in a few minutes. She encouraged us to read our booklet in the meanwhile.

Perhaps I should relay my mental state at this moment. I was anticipating an easy test and easy lesson. I was slightly peeved at the fact that this class was scheduled to be roughly an hour and a half long. I was relatively alert (finally) and prepared to use my well-honed short-term memory skills to get a passing grade. Let me emphasize the fact I thought it would be easy, but was prepared for anything, even a test and class of mediocre difficulty.

Then, I opened my booklet. I read it in fifteen minutes. I went back, memorized the important numbers, and then closed the booklet, ready to take the test. At this point I realized that I had to wait for fifteen minutes, and then, only then, would the actual class begin.

At this point I still entertained some faint hopes of the class being engaging enough to prevent my falling asleep. As I had nothing to do, my alertness began to fade again, and I slipped into a light doze. Then, the teacher stood up, and after a paralyzingly boring lecture began playing a forty-five minute video.

Any victim of the public-school system will remember the long PBS-style documentaries/education videos that infiltrate every teacher’s classroom like maggots in a festering rotten fish. (Quick shout-out to any members of Mr. Heldt’s MM1 class this last year - recall those mathematical videos concerning statistics?) Most students fear these videos, or welcome them as chances for sleep. But still, there is one attribute these videos all share in common: they are so deadly in their intellectual stultification that they have been known to lower SAT scores by at least 50 points.

Now, to put this Food Handlers’ video in perspective: this video made the education school videos look like the Dark Knight. Well, comparatively speaking, of course. This video was so horrible that it nearly suspended my brain in a liquid puddle of IQ-devouring stupefaction. Or perhaps it actually did, as my economics class has seemed more and more difficult recently.

I can’t exactly remember how I survived the video. All I can vaguely recall out of the foggy past is that I fell asleep seven times, woke up whenever the teacher strode past me, and then attempted to take a few notes, which consisted of drawing whales on the temperature range. Some might consider this exaggeration. I can assure you, I am being serious for one of the few times in my life.

Then, there came the test. I recall this, only because the most difficult question on this test was the following:

I kid you not. Perhaps a few of the choices were different, but they were relatively of that intellectual caliber. I finished the test in roughly seven minutes, and turned it in without bothering to check my score. I received my card, and literally ran out of the place to drive home and catch the last few shreds of sleep lying on my pillow.

As I drove, I reflected on the regulations concerning the Food Handlers’ Permit class. Firstly, why did they have a class? And secondly, why was the class so long? Finally, how had I forgotten to bring my energy drink into the class with me?

I realized the answers within a few short minutes. The response to the first is what it is to most crimes and bureaucratic entanglements: follow the money. They wished to install a class, simply so they could squeeze some more money from the working taxpayers of the United States.

As for the second, I was confused somewhat. Why couldn’t they have simply extorted the money and then let us take the test, saving us some time? Then I realized the key truth to democracy. Democracy works best when there are constant changes of government. To change government, people have to be dissatisfied with the current government. Thus, miserable people ensure good turnover politically, and a more democratic system in which things change constantly for the best, and if they don’t succeed, they are thrown out for causing misery and bring in better resorts. Perhaps my logic is a little semantic, but the main point is this: bureaucracy wishes to make us miserable.

My conclusion was a little far-fetched even for me, and then I recalled the laws that will let you conceivably risk your life daily in vehicles and yet refuse to let you vote until two years later, and consume alcoholic beverages three years after that.

I am fully aware that my elders and most of my peers will claim that those laws are foolish, yet I cite them anyway. Thank God for the First Amendment.

In summary: the Food Handlers’ Permit class is an unnecessarily boring, brain-draining exercise in futility. It is a tool designed to make you miserable and poorer. And to cap off this happy message, it is something that you will have to do again in two years after you get your first license.