Unemployment Object Memoirs - A Tribute to Social Media App

I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through un(der)employment. This edition is dedicated to Social Media App.
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Dear Social Media App,

As you might have heard because I told you using emoticons, way too many exclamation marks*, and a vague reference to Gandhi, I am once again riding the tides of un(der)employment. My friends and colleagues have kindly reached out with fake epithets of sympathy, though as you well know, Social Media App, most are occupied taking pictures of their food and posting the bike route exercise regimen GPS very well knows they did not actually complete.

These past few years, I have tried my level best to make a career change. Alas finding something that speaks to my intellectual curiosity, skill set, desire to make more than a cashier and need to not make the world a shittier place than before has largely impeded this process. In fact, thirteen replies on my post about the perils of un(der)employment were to make my way to the start-up world to work on you, Social Media App. Though a solid suggestion, when the question,

“So why do you want to work for us?”

comes up, I always find my mind wandering to the policy and advocacy work I am currently doing to help marginalized voices be heard. Sure, your creators reason, Social Media App directly led to the suicides of 17 people and started a human trafficking ring in Latin America last year, but there’s unlimited coffee and granola bars in the office!

Now I know, Social Media App, that I use you in a way to suggest that even in my low points, I am unequivocally amazing. That’s because I genuinely think this is true. But what is also true is that narcissism, “is not considered a strength” in applications for employment.

So, I have decided to turn over a new leaf on you, Social Media App. While Facebook benefited from my ability to straight out lie, I know the kids these days are using you to vent serious insecurities about their lives. After all, nothing screams intimacy more than setting your privacy settings to “public humiliation”.

Over the next few weeks, I will be posting a series of anecdotes highlighting particularly traumatizing and unnerving periods of my life. Through wit, photos, and hashtags, I will expose myself on you, Social Media App. This may result in you prompting me to seek medical attention and buy self-help books that truly do make me want to die, but in the end, I know this public display of catharsis is exactly what the un(der)employment doctor ordered.

I guess what I am really trying to say is that I would like to apply for the position of Social Media App Evangelist. I hope you will take this cover letter as proof that I still don't get how you're different from Facebook.

All the Best,

Mala

*The correct number is one. It’s always one.

Unemployment Object Memoirs: Me Makey Bussines Proposal

Dear Bussines Proposal,

A few years back, I ran into a very severe case of unemployment, which effectively shut down my body and forced me to watch copious amounts of Netflix. After slogging through endless hours of shows that were neither educational nor entertaining, I decided to use my down time as a journey of self-exploration...until I realized self-exploration costs a sh*t ton of money. Instead, I started this blog to pay tribute to the objects that helped me through that most devastating case of unemployment.

In the time since my last entry, I have established an amazing career involving tiny seats on planes, badges that UNdo any chance of integrating with mainstream America, rapping in French to bond with colleagues, and a persistent need to take notes on fancy pads of paper while failing to remember how to spell basic words, like bussines. Alas, after my whirlwind adventure, I find myself in a period I have branded "transition", so as to avoid the the reality that I am once again, unemployed.

Over the years, I have come to realize that pretty much everyone who chose stability regrets not following their dreams, and pretty much everyone who followed their dreams regrets not be able to afford dinner. Having fallen somewhere in the middle, I decided to pull myself out of this bout of unemployment with you, Bussines Proposal. Yes, I have decided to start my own company!

Of course every good new venture involves three key ingredients, as enumerated in an article I read on LinkedIn written by a guy who inherited his parents' company:

- A kickass logo
- All of your friends in high places
- A limousine

Seeing as my career has focused on the application of technology and international development, I have decided to make a logo that both reflects my company's essence and is easily recognizable: a Facebook "Like" thumb surrounded by a UN crest. In this way, potential clients will be assured of my company's credibility while prompted to spread the word on social media. Combined with targeted campaigns to increase my consumer base, I plan on amassing 20,000+ likes on the company Facebook page without a single person having any clue as what it is we do. Because let's be honest, Bussines Proposal, we have no idea, either.

In the case that the UN or Facebook gets angry we used their trademarks, I will be prepared. After years of networking with overpriced drinks and fake smiles, I have gathered an amazing group of friends whose last names I can sometimes remember. As most of these friends are now in a "transition" of their own, I have at my disposal all of the people needed to fill core functions of my company. Examples include:

• Director of Lawyer Stuff
• Director of Lawyer Stuff 2 (Specializing in getting Facebook off my ass)
• Dentist
• Chief of Human Rights, Rebel Groups
• Head Data Miner
• Head Data Mimer
• Limousine Driver
• Software engineering intern who secretly does all the work
• Dictator/Holiday Party Planner
• Director of HR and getting rid of the term "Talent Scout" from the English language
• Vice-President

Finally is the issue of the limousine. Now, I was thinking of getting a black one because white ones get dirty really quickly. But I do see your point that white limousines would look a lot better in contrast to my skin tone. I suggest we revisit this point later. Or we could get both. Yeah, let's do that.

So as you see, Bussines Proposal, I am well on my way to combating this regrettable case of unemployment. All that is left is defining the mission, scope, goals, objectives, and establishing funding streams. But I will leave that to our intern.

And they said that my career does not involve astute bussines acumen! UNbelievable!

With grandiose promises,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Ace Bandage

I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Ace Bandage.

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Dear Ace Bandage,

A lot has happened since my absence from this gem of a blog that gets two views a day! I am now the proud owner of a Subway chicken sandwich, and I decided to get serious about money and learn how to invest the $20 I found on the street. The first and second clauses of that previous sentence are unrelated; I just thought you’d be happy to know I went with your advice to avoid a Pre-Packaged Meal for lunch.

Instead of wasting my time by doing research, I decided to approach my investment problem the American way: by watching TV. On a particularly loud program, the guy screaming at the woman screaming at the robot screaming at Mitt Romney screaming about gay puppies ruining the universe told me that until this economy is stabilized, the professionally disillusioned and delirious would have to find alternate methods of securing financial success…you know, methods that don’t involve getting an education, working hard, or accepting the gay puppies for who they are.

Since I have a few degrees sitting in WTF box and I value and treasure the gay puppy next door, I decided to take screaming head #1’s advice and pursue other methods of making money. Unfortunately, I am too old to go on the “Real World” and write a memoir about the epiphanies I had while making out with someone in a hot tub, so I decided to skip straight to writing about epiphanies. Here’s what I wrote:

            “The word ‘epiphany’ is not spelled with an F. Epiphanies are nice.”

Sadly, publishers did not see this fit to invest thousands of dollars to promote. Phuck that.

Alas, I was forced to turn to plan B: stabilize the economy. It seems as though we are running into roadblocks in our quest to bring America up through the ranks to the same level of competitiveness as North Korea, Cuba, and Vanuatu. Apparently the problem is that many members of Congress cannot read or do math.  

My brief aspirations to become a professional Badminton player have taught me that you, Ace Bandage, are very skilled in holding parts that need stabilization to move forward. As such, I marched straight down to Congress and demanded to see the members who hate jobs and infrastructure. After using my scented candles as a relaxer, I carefully wrapped one of you, Ace Bandage, around the head and neck of every Congressperson who fit my strict criteria. You will be happy to know that as a result, these members are now forced to look in only one direction: at the primary school math teacher I hired for $10/hour. Times are tough. I got a good rate.

It may take awhile, Ace Bandage, but together, we can successfully constrict the minds that seem to not need any more constricting. Together, we shall change America. Together, we shall go back to Subway. I really want a cookie.

With talking heads,

Mala  

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Television

I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Television.

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Dear Television,

What happened to us? I remember a mediocre childhood filled with lively anecdotes about how my parents would spend their childhoods running around outside, while all I managed to do each summer was stare at you, Television, and watch my stories while casually sipping glasses of iced tea. Yes, it seems that even back then, I was a grumpy 75-year old woman stuck in the body of a child. Where the f*ck are my glasses?

Anyway, Television, in recent years, we have become estranged, as I am now able to watch nearly anything I want, whenever I want on the interwebs. Hope was all but lost for you until I came back to my parents’ house a few months back and discovered they had hooked a computer to you! Now I can watch television on the computer on the television! In my unemployed fury, I am able to watch countless hours of Netflix before the price of my subscription becomes too expensive for me to afford ($16/month)!

As I was perusing through the computer on you, Television, I noticed a video on YouTube about taking control of your life. A psychologist who went to some online school that’s accredited in Fiji made the video. With such solid credentials, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get my life back together, so I grabbed some iced tea and hit play. The barely licensed psychologist suggested to me (yeah, that’s right, he was talking directly to ME. That’s how the interwebs work) that I make a list comparing my standards during a good period of my life to my standards now. Then I can figure out what specifically I need to change!

 

Things that need to be changed in my life: Everything.

At least I still have Netflix…until September,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Flowchart

I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Flowchart.
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Dear Flowchart,

 

With antacid,

Mala 

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Ticket

I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Ticket.
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Dear Ticket,

After braving the worst place in New York (Times Square) for three hours, I made the disappointing discovery that even the matinee show of “The Book of Mormon” cannot be paid for in stale cookies. As I sadly pushed my way through the poorly dressed tourists, comedians trying to pass out fliers for their one-man shows, and right-wing protestors who prominently list every bad word they want to see stricken from the English language on their poster boards, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was you, ticket! Well, it was a human dressed as you, passing you out!

Human form of you waddled up to me, and asked, “Do you want a ticket?” “To the ‘Book of Mormon’?” I exclaimed! “No no, to success,” said the human form of you. “Oh, screw that,” I said. No offense, ticket, but I really just wanted to see dancing fake Mormon people singing on stage. It was that kind of day. You know, Sunday.

Anyway ticket, the next morning, I began writing my 400th cover letter. By this point, I have stopped changing the headers to reflect the organization to which I am applying, opting instead to write “You people,” or “Grrrrrrrr.” As I started writing the first line (“Why the hell am I still unemployed?”), I saw an ad on my computer pop up asking if I would like a free ticket to success? I was having a hard time writing, ticket, so after I finished the second line in my cover letter (“A blind monkey could do this damn job”), I clicked on the ad. Interwebs directed me to you, ticket! Well, a picture of human form of you, passing you out! Apparently to get my ticket to success, I’d have to go back to the worst place in place in New York.

Being the resourceful time-waster I am, ticket, I decided to use interwebs to find you online. First I tried Ticketmaster, then Eventbrite, then Facebook, then I got distracted watching videos with cute puppies, then I decided to figure out where the word “puppy comes from,” (ça vient de France), then I started reading the French news, then I decided that was boring, and then I ate a hot dog, but that reminded me of puppies again, but I wanted a real plot, so I started watching old episodes of “Lassie” before I remembered people telling me Lassie was racist, so I fell asleep without turning off my computer and lost the two lines of my cover letter that I wrote: “Dear Grrrrrr, Why the hell am I still unemployed? A blind monkey could do this damn job.”

SO. On Tuesday, I saw a special morning feature of “The Book of Mormon” was playing. I decided to go to the worst place in New York to see if I could buy my way in with a box of stale cookies. As I pushed my way back through the poorly dressed tourists, I felt another tap on my shoulder. Human form of you, ticket, had waddled up to me again. “Do you want a ticket to success?” It asked me. “No! I want to see closeted gay guys singing and dancing about Utah!” I screamed. "Well you’re in luck!” Human form of you told me. “Success is a right-wing mega church located right here in Times Square!”
“Oh.” I said. “I’ll take three.”

Times Square sucks,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Receipt

I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Receipt.

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Dear Receipt,

Having been under the influence of unemployment for a bazillion trillion days, I have come to realize that most people in my situation experience significant loss of dignity, motivation, and sense of self. I, on the other hand, suffer from a far greater misery: the inability to buy large quantities of worthless crap. Over the years, I have amassed 40,000 socks, more than a million postage stamps, and nearly 10,000 beanie babies. Now with my current status of employment, I am forced to…what’s that, Receipt? Oh, that’s not me? That’s an episode of “Hoarders”? I see. Well, that’s embarrassing. Don’t tell anyone about this, okay? Thanks.

Anyway, now that I have your attention, Receipt, I really ought to take this opportunity to thank you. As I am afflicted with an unbearably long case of unemployment, I find keeping you in my possession very necessary, for 9 times out of 10, I immediately regret the purchase just I made. For instance, last week, I bought a box of 100 cookies from Whole Foods, but after looking at you, realized they were oatmeal raisin and not chocolate chip. Even with my dramatic fist pumps and feet stamping, I could not convince the cashier that oatmeal raisin cookies are absolutely pointless, nor that, “All Indians just look alike, how do I know it’s really you who bought the cookies?” is not a proper reason to deny my return! But there you were, Receipt, standing by my side, proving that I am indeed differentiable from the other 1 billion Indians on the planet, and that I do indeed deserve a refund for the dumbest cookie in history.

Now receipt, we are taught from an early age that what matters in life is family, friends, experiences, and memories. But any idiot who has seen America knows this is a bunch of bull. What really matters is how much stuff you own. As unemployment appears to be directly correlated to my ability to purchase said stuff, I have found it necessary to prominently display you, Receipt, whenever possible.

If someone asks me for the time, I make sure to search through my pockets, saying things like, “Where is that damn watch?”, while pulling out every one of you, Receipt, that documents important purchases, like a computer or gummy bears. Once the person asking for the time points out that my watch is on my wrist, I make sure to hold you in such a way that displays you in their line of vision. That way, the person will not only find out the time, they will know that I am an awesome person, as judged by the stuff I own. Now that, Receipt, is the definition of efficiency!

In conclusion, Receipt, I still need a damn job.

With cookies,

Mala