Listen up, pal, ’cause I’m gonna give it to you straight. We all know you helped build this town. Hell, there was a time when you made this town tick. But times have changed, and your time is long past, buddy. You’re finished, get it? Done. Through. You’re all washed up.
Let me make this real clear: You’re a no-good filthy bum, and you’ll never work in this town again!
So go on, get outta here. Beat it!
Mark my words, you won’t find a paying job in Detroit for the rest of your miserable life. You won’t work on the East Side. You won’t work on the West Side. You won’t work up around Eight Mile or down in Delray. Just try showing your sorry mug in these parts and see if you get hired. No one’ll bite. Not even in the suburbs: You won’t get a job in Auburn Hills. No one will hire you in Dearborn. You’re sure as shit not seeing a paycheck in Pontiac.
You’ve punched your last time card in this godforsaken town, I guaran-goddamn-tee it.
Don’t believe me? Still hoping that maybe, somehow, you can find a factory job in southeast Michigan? Fine, why don’t you check over at Mercury or Saturn or Oldsmobile? Yeah, see that how that goes. It ain’t gonna happen, baby! Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. This is the end of the line—everybody off!
Seriously, if you’re even thinking about applying for a job with decent pay and benefits in this town, you’re out of your fucking skull. There are nearly 200,000 people in the metro area who need work—do you actually believe that there’s going to be a position for you? That through sheer hard honest work, through the sweat of your brow, you can earn a living, support yourself and your family? Not in this town. Not on your life.
We’re talking about six decades of solid decline in a city whose economy was propped up by a single industry. There’s no more chance of us making a comeback than there is of you working an honest 9-to-5 job and saving enough to send your kids to college.
Oh, Mr. Factory Worker thinks because he worked for GM or Ford for 20 or 30 years and gave them the best years of his life, that he’s got a job owed to him in this town? No, way. Dream on. You’re a carton of milk past its expiration date, my friend. So take your hard-earned and now-obsolete job skills and get the hell out of here.
Or how about I save you some time and just kick your ass to the curb? You won’t have to live in the gutter, you know. We have around 70,000 abandoned buildings for you to squat in.
What more do I have to tell you? If we have any working buses left, catch the next one out of town and never come back. Because as long as you’re within the 139-square-mile confines of the Motor City, you’re shit out of luck, pal. Fold your hand and walk away if you still can, because there’s nothing for you here.
I’m deeply, deeply sorry.