Not many job seekers would hold out hope when hundreds of people literally look the other way every day, but George Morrissey’s dedication to starting a new life in Australia is hard to match.
Although many of those bustling along Sydney’s pedestrianised George Street would pass by without a glance, Mr Morrissey continues to expose himself for long, gruelling days on the street, advertising himself as a job candidate.
“Brains for rent,” says one of the colorful laminated signs.
‘Use my unique problem-solving ability, attention to detail, analytical skills and excellent English in your business. Unleash my autistic brain.
“This has gone through many iterations, trying different formats,” the 50-year-old New Zealander told Daily Mail Australia of his eye-catching posters.
Mr Morrissey also hands out business cards and maintains an updated LinkedIn page to improve his hiring prospects.
However, she believed her age worked against her because Sydney was “a city for 20-year-olds”.
After arriving in Australia from New Zealand just over a year ago for a “mid-life change” to study degrees in science and mechanical engineering, Mr Morrissey has been sleeping rough for the past eight months.
Although many people would walk past him without even looking at him, Glenn Morrissey spends long days on the street looking for work.
“The first six months I was here I tried to do the usual job-agency thing… and in complete silence,” Morrissey said.
‘There are a lot of misconceptions about New Zealanders in Australia receiving unemployment benefits, but that’s not the case.
‘I came here with five thousand, but when the money runs out, you’re screwed.
“Australia has become so expensive that it is now much more expensive than New Zealand, although it was always the other way around before.”
Mr Morrissey said he now survives solely on donations, to which another of his laminated signs invites with the phrase: “Contributions welcome.”
“I fly through the city centre because it’s the only place where there are working people who walk,” he said.
However, he said that on Saturday, Sunday, Monday and even Tuesday “no money is made.”
“There’s nothing more destructive to the soul than sitting here all day and getting $2,” he said.
Mr Morrissye’s colourful posters invite people to ‘unleash their autistic brain’ in the workplace
‘I don’t queue up for food, I don’t go to food stalls, I buy my own food. Sometimes I don’t earn enough money to buy my daily food.
But everyone is having a hard time, not just me.
“Then you will have very generous people, thank God for generous people.”
Maintaining a reasonable level of presentation is important to Mr Morrissey and his hopes of eventually landing a job.
“I try to keep my clothes washed, I have one of those buzzers that I cut my hair with,” she said.
“If I look like a sack of shit, no one will take me seriously.
‘I don’t seem to be hanging out because I’m not hanging out.
‘I stopped drinking when I turned 30 because I knew it was bad for me. I don’t gamble, I don’t do drugs.’
Although he has not been offered any work during his street vigils, he said he has recently received promising leads.
“Last week I gave a business card to a civil engineer, a software developer, someone who wanted help with his business, so he’s starting to connect with people, but you have to be here a long time,” he said.
“It’s almost like a grip issue, they’ll pass you by many times before they stop.”
“It’s going to be the left-wing people who will stop. It’s not going to be the mainstream people because they’ll say ‘get a fucking job.'”
Mr Morrissy’s last job was in New Plymouth, on the west coast of New Zealand’s North Island, in a sheet metal shop.
“Before the pandemic, I had experience in the construction sector, carpentry, and I had a maintenance business that I subcontracted to a friend. Now I’m a little bit older for that,” he said.
Mr Morrissey said he held the New Zealand equivalent of a Certificate 2 or 3 in retail, Level 3 and 2 computing certificates, and could also speak Maori and was a skilled “roofer” (a semi-skilled worker or roofer).
“My resume is three pages long, but it would be seven pages long if I included all my skills,” he said.
The other major obstacle Morrissey sees in landing a job is also one he chooses to publicize as a strength: his autism, which he says was diagnosed 10 years ago.
“The word autism on a resume is poison,” he said.
“I think the unemployment rate among us is around 38 percent.”
Asked why she is so open about her condition, Ms Morrissey said employers will always “find out pretty quickly”.
“The moment you put me in a bind, you put me in a pressure situation where I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t react well to that,” he said.
“In autism we call it a meltdown. A meltdown is like an anxiety version of a panic attack and it’s horrible.”
Mr Morrisey said speaking openly about his condition was “my voice, my statement to the world”.
“People think autism is a mental illness, but it’s not, it’s a developmental disorder,” she said.
‘Being at the top end (of the spectrum) is almost like a curse, because you’re abandoned, there’s no money, there’s no help, there’s no support.
“In the end, you end up explaining much more than you should. People should know more than they know.”
Mr Morrissey said he wanted to show that autism had positive aspects.
“I get hired for my ability to think outside the box, and that’s really autistic,” he said.
“You can’t buy that kind of analytical ability to look at things differently and the fact that I have English as my first language and I’m very good at it.”
