Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Gavel

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

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Dear Gavel,

After the interwebs decided to stop working last night, I finally figured out what function that strange box labeled “television” plays. 14 hours into the Law and Order: SVU marathon, I became inspired! To go to Law School? Hell no. To become an NYPD officer? Heller no. To go into business with you, gavel? Why yes!

Gavel, if I have learned anything from that Law and Order: SVU marathon, it’s that the bad guys of New York City are always rich white people with mommy issues. I have also learned that people with black robes who bang gavels on wooden desks command respect. I have thus hatched a new plan to get me back on track to employment!

Now gavel, sometime between now and January, I plan on finding my right shoe. And when that happens, I will dress myself up in my nicest hoodie, and put on my black robe from graduation. One time use, my ass. Together, gavel, we will travel to midtown, and storm the UN offices, demanding to be seen for an interview. The security guard who usually kicks me out will have no choice but to let us in, because he’ll think we’re some important judge! Once we get into the room for our interview, this is when you take the stage. I will say things such as. “Yes, I have 20 years of experience.” And, “No, I was not arrested for a felony last year.” After each sentence, I will bang you on the desk, gavel. This will show that pompous HR rep that I mean business! Finally, when the HR rep asks why I think I am the best candidate, I will start banging you on the desk to the beat of “Footloose” until the HR rep caves in or dies. Together, gavel, we shall prevail!

While I see absolutely no flaws in this plan, gavel, there is a minor possibility that it will not work. Should this happen, we will order a pizza. We might as well get fat, who the hell cares? Anyway, after pizza, we can hit the town! You are so versatile, gavel! We could be a pretend judge on Law and Order, pretend to be a judge in City Hall, invent a new kind of gavel banging massage in Chinatown, even be a construction worker! Screw those stupid hammers, you are so much prettier! Jobs abound for us, gavel. Your banging abilities will surely mean that the doors will open for us. And if they don’t, you can break them down, one Footloose song at a time.

With respect,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Hoodie

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

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Dear Hoodie,

I’m not sure if that’s how I should spell you since Word, Blogger, and my dictionary say you don’t exist, and I can barely spell my own name. But hopefully this will do. Anyway, my brother suggested I write to you since you have been sitting on my torso for three days straight, minus the two hours extended family came over yesterday to moan about life under the guise of “Thanksgiving.” I wanted you to join in the festivities of family complaining, but my mother looked a bit upset that my entire Thanksgiving outfit was composed of grey cotton, so I changed - into green and black cotton. Thanks for being so understanding.

Now, I should probably apologize for having bought you in the first place. You see you came from a far-away land called “Spain.” And in “Spain,” things are often written in a strange, rarely used language called “Spanish.” In “Spanish,” I know two words: my name, which means “bad” – (thank you mom and dad) – and “grazie.” Actually, “grazie” is Italian. So in conclusion, I know one word in Spanish. This is my justification of buying you – I had no idea you came from the men’s department, as I do not know the words for “men” nor “women” in Spanish. Sorry.

To be fair, you were also one of those hoodies whose designers donate two percent of their profits to a foundation that supports curing babies with three feet or whatever the fuck the cause is. Being the humanitarian I am, I decided to buy you to help those poor three-footed babies, instead of donating directly to a transparent organization that clearly defines their methodology in how to cure three-footed babies. You should be grateful.

Hoodie, I’m sure it’s clear by the waking hours I keep that I am indeed, unemployed. Since this disease attacked me six months ago, I have considered switching professions more than a few times. You have helped so much in this exploration, especially with my newest career choice: French rapper. Remember how I downloaded that song by Diams a few months ago? Well, Diams and I are like the same person: she’s a Muslim convert who grew up near Paris, and I am a lazy Hindu who grew up in Virginia. Okay, so we have nothing in common, BUT, in her latest video, she wears a hoodie! So do I! It’s you! We’re trop badass together, hoodie! You and me, sitting in front of the mirror, mouthing words about French racism, ouais c’est ça! I might even write my own French rap song one of these days. When the time comes to make a crappy video to go with the song, my first choice is to cast you, ma chère hoodie!

Look hoodie, I heard you whispering last night to left sock. There might come the day when I actually find employment, and all of those pretentious wool and silk dress clothes will once again reign free. However, I just want you to know that you are WAY more appealing than those bastards, which is why I plan on petitioning to my future place of employment to instate hoodie-only suits. Yes, I realize these do not exist, and yes I realize I do not possess the skill to whip these into creation. But just remember one thing hoodie: I ALWAYS choose comfort. So until our French rap song goes platinum, I will not rest until I have the right to wear you in the office!

With conviction (unless it’s hard),

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Susy's Mascara

I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to my friend Susy’s mascara.

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Dear Susy’s Mascara,

Hi, how are you? You may not remember me, but we’ve met a few times. I’m that odd-looking Indian girl who usually has some kind of processed sugar stuffed in her mouth. Well, Susy asked I write you, as you might have been feeling neglected these past few months. She would have written you herself, but since she moved back to Brussels and speaks to her family in Italian, she just couldn’t find the words in English. We know how uncomfortable things get for you when she speaks another language, being that you are a native New Yorker with no foreign language education and all…

Remember that one time we all went to that club in Hell’s Kitchen and everyone there was at least two out of the three following adjectives: awkward, Jewish, ugly? I vaguely remember – it appears those three shots of vodka and two shots of espresso threw me into a near diabetic coma. But no matter, unless my mind is making up shit again, I remember you being a star! You scored us no cover and like three free drinks a person! Ah, the glory daze. You rocked the house that night, and unless none of that never actually happened, I have not forgotten how capable you are, Susy’s mascara.

Anyway Susy’s mascara, times have been tough for her lately. As you may know, she too has been afflicted with this horrible ailment known as “unemployment.” It seems there are millions of cases reported around the globe. Now I realize you are water-resistant for emergencies involving rainstorms, tears, and Diet Coke explosions, but please understand that even so, you draw attention to Susy’s eyes.

Interviewers often ask questions such as:

-       Why aren't you fluent in Creole, Swahili, Latin and this language we just made up?

-       Why aren’t you 30?

-       Why won’t you work for free?

-       Why don’t you know how to polka dance?

And when this happens, Susy tends to make weird facial expressions trying to articulate sentiments such as:

-       I hate you.

-       You suck.

-       What?

-       I wonder if I brought my brass knuckles?

So you see, Susy’s mascara, any extra attention brought to Susy’s face tends to be bad in these situations. If you could, say morph into a cute pair of shoes, this would enhance your chances of being used.

Susy’s mascara, you should know that Susy is looking to take a job in Africa. Don’t tell her I told you, but there is a slight possibility she will bring you along. Of course, according to National Geographic, there is a sad lack of Jewish nightclubs in Africa, so your skills may be used in another capacity. And by that, I mean you will either be given as a gift to a village woman, or you will be used as body paint should Susy randomly get lost in one of those tribes that Keira Knightly uses for Vogue photo shoots.

So, as you see, Susy’s mascara, your time with her might be limited in coming years. My suggestion would be to scour the interwebs for job listings in Rome, Paris, or some other city that advocates (requires?) make up. If you would be so kind, please pass this message on to eyeliner and eye shadow, okay? They should have fair warning of the impending doom this unemployment malady has waged against the eye make up of the world!

Yours truly,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Cereal Bowl

I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to cereal bowl.

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Dear Cereal Bowl,

I couldn’t help but notice today that we have daily exchanges, yet we never talk. Certainly you have heard of this terrible condition I have contracted – unemployment. While it is not communicable (don’t worry, I wouldn’t do that to you), I still try to take the time to thank those things that help me through, just in case I find a way to infect them. True, this is a terrible reason to thank you, but you are a cereal bowl, and until I put you in the sink, you have no choice but to listen to me.

Cereal bowl, I still remember the first day we met. I was lost in the Brooklyn IKEA, and you were anxiously sitting in the 50 percent off bin in the kitchenware section. You had clearly been unemployed for quite some time, but I knew those asymmetric, gaudy petals you had painted on the side were petals of love. So I grabbed you, and for $1.99, I released you out of the brinks of unemployment in a bit of foreshadowing into my own unemployed demise.

You have probably noticed that during these days of unemployment, I have been eating an upwards of 7 to 8 bowls of cereal a day. This is due to the fact that this strain of unemployment is particularly incapacitating, and my ability to do anything of quality, including make a damn sandwich, is gone. Nevertheless, you stand by my side as I eat my happy “I have an interview!” bowls of cereal, to my sad “I fucked up the interview!” bowls of cereal, to my uncertain “Was that an interview or a magazine solicitation?” bowls of cereal. For this, I thank you, cereal bowl. You were commissioned for a 1-2 project per day job, but you have mastered this 4-fold increase in work beautifully.

I also want to thank you for being such a great listener, cereal bowl. Most of my unemployment rants are expressed over a bowl of cereal. My hatred of The Economist for praising New York in creating so many jobs last quarter, my hatred of my piece of crap phone cutting out at opportune moments, my hatred of not being born five years earlier…basically my hatred of everything. Lucky Charms, Peanut Butter Puffs, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch have boycotted my mouth, but cereal bowl, you have stuck by my side! You know how much I love to moan about my life, and you are there for me! So thank you! But I do ask you to go easy on the snide comments about how I eat cereal meant for 10-year-olds.

With sugar,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Harry Potter 7

I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Harry Potter 7.

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Dear Harry Potter 7,

My God, you’re a heavy book. How the hell to children read you? Geez, lose some weight.

Anyway, two days ago, my parents called me and asked how long I had been sitting on the couch. After groaning for five minutes, I finally determined it to be 40.2 hours, so they bought me a ticket to see the movie version of you (Part 1!) in a cheap attempt to prompt internal bodily blood flow. This taught me a valuable lesson: buttered popcorn is delicious. No wonder there are so many fat people at the movies!

HP 7, I can call you that, right? HP 7? Well HP 7, you know this has been a difficult time for me. No no, I am not talking about unemployment, stop crying! This Harry Potter craze has been troubling, for you see, HP 7, though your inventor has perfected the use of precise and perfectly paced detail, I suffer from what is known as an “underactive imagination.” Along with the overwhelmingly boring childhood this caused, it also means I have no idea what the fuck is going on in you 90-95 percent of the time. Apparently, much of the world suffers from an underactive imagination, because there are so many books that turn into movies! So when your movie version opened, for the first time, HP 7, I finally understood what you are all about (Part 1!).

Thirty minutes into you, HP 7, something quite profound occurred to me. In the duration of these thirty minutes, the main characters are neither in school, nor are they accomplishing anything for direct payment nor compensation, even though they are actively trying to achieve something. HP 7, this means that four-eyes, the dumb redhead, and Ms. Smartass are essentially: UNEMPLOYED. You have thus taught me, HP 7, that unemployment is acceptable under certain circumstances, including:

1.     Industrial collapse

2.     Economic collapse

3.     When an evil wizard named Voldemort takes over the magical world and endangers millions of muggles

Sure, I may have made an invalid comparison, and am using fictional characters in a fictional world to justify my status, but if you ignore all of these pesky details, my situation is completely satisfactory. So thank you HP 7. I may one day cease to use you as a giant paperweight, and instead read you cover to cover. But I will probably wait until after the second movie comes out and my parents decide to buy me another ticket.

With delusional gratitude,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Scissors

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

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Dear Scissors,

I woke up this morning to find a text message from you. I guess you heard through the grapevine you cut out that I wrote a letter to Chapstick yesterday, thanking it for all of it’s hard work during my struggles with the most horrendous of diseases: unemployment. Your passive-aggressive text made your point loud and clear – you are a good friend, and I have been ignoring your kind cuts far too long. This is for you, my darling scissors.

We’ve been through a lot, scissors. Through the highs and lows, the thins and thicks…well, it was mostly me that was thick. I mean, I was REALLY fat in middle school. Thank God I found athletic shoes and gym.

Anyway, my most recent fond memory of you and I, partners in crime, was in one of the most dangerous situations of all time: primary school. This past summer, we stood side by side, when I volunteered my time once more, as I am apparently unworthy of receiving any kind of compensation whatsoever for my work. But there we were – teaching children who survived refugee camps, war, pillage, and starvation – the important lessons of primary colors, shapes, and how the cow goes “Moo.”

Scissors, I may not be respected in the professional world, but damn, did those kids who don’t speak English appreciate my paper cutting skills! You and I, cutting out squares, circles, parallelograms, and other nonsense shapes! For six glorious weeks, I was queen of the classroom, the smartest of the lot, the most qualified candidate in the room. Screw those eight-year-old refugees! I WIN! I AM HIRED!

Now scissors, I hear your concerns. I know it’s sad I fail to get dressed until 3 o’clock most days, that my biggest accomplishment yesterday was charging my iPod, and that I spend at least one hour a week stroking my passport in a ceremonious commemoration of my globe-trotting glory days. But I want to let you know that your support means the world to me. You know better than most that I long for the days when I can actually buy the things they say can’t buy happiness, but oh so clearly can. Even in this pursuit, you help me, scissors.

Remember how I wanted that guitar? Remember how you convinced it wasn’t worth charging it to my credit card? Remember how you reminded me that I can’t play the guitar? Well, you were right, but I was still depressed when I didn’t buy that guitar. So that night, wow, you are SO sweet, scissors, you took advantage of that weird sleepwalking condition of mine, et voila! The next morning, I woke up at my desk, and there! You had made me a guitar, cut out of the finest cardboard Fresh Direct can buy! Scissors, that guitar is hanging on my wall. Sure, it’s the size of a Ukulele, and sure, it’s completely fake. But scissors, that guitar sings to me, especially when I have had too much white wine. It means the world to me, and so do you, scissors. So thank you.

With love,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Chapstick

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

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Dear Chapstick,

It’s November 18, 2010, which means my little brother turned 22 today. After the sad realization that he is more successful than I will ever be, I decided to stop pretending to be productive, and straight out waste time. So I decided to write a letter to you, and how you, my dear Chapstick, have helped me through this bout of plague I hatefully call unemployment.

 

Thanksgiving is coming up, which means it’s time to count one’s blessings and summarily stuff your face with genetically modified food. I am thankful for many things – some sappy, like good family and friends – and some far more important, like chocolate pie and Zappos.com. I thought about writing this letter to computer, but then realized that computer will see this as I am typing (such a waste if the surprise is spoiled). Plus, while computer keeps me connected to the places I can never afford to go to, it is also an infinite source of stress and rejection. I mean seriously computer, can’t you just fucking lie and tell me I got the job? When did you become so complacent!?

You, Chapstick, on the other hand, serve one and only thing: me. And what is more important than me? Oh, right, everything.

Anyway, Chapstick, this summer was brutal. I can’t tell you how many days were so hot, I woke up, peed, grabbed a stick of deodorant, and stayed next to air conditioner all day long. (Actually, it was like 9 days.) 

But even if the island of Manhattan combusted into flames half of those unemployed summer days, I need to look decent, and according to a Chinese proverb I made up, decency starts with moisturized lips. So Chapstick, even when the days seemingly mashed together, thank you for sticking by my side, for melting on my lips, and not in my hand. I may walk the streets of New York with a bleeding heart, but at least I avoid bleeding lips.

Chapstick, you’ve known me many years. The lies that originate from my mouth, the endless conversation about how Fox News is destroying America, the copious amounts of Diet Coke and chocolate I eat every day. But what you may not know is that unemployment makes conversation awkward. I have spent the better part of 24 years trying to convince the world of how fucking brilliant I am (I sort of gave up from ages 14-16). Now, Chapstick, I am faced with the embarrassing reality that I am barely able to afford to buy a new tube of you every month. Do you know how awkward conversation gets when someone SOO much dumber than me, yet employed, asks me a question about my professional life? 

 

These questions are successfully evaded though, thanks to you, Chapstick. For six months now, you have come to my rescue, applying a fine coat of chemical-filled wax to my lips, which gives me enough time to stall, find an excuse to leave, and avoid answering the question altogether.

In conclusion, Chapstick, I just want to offer my sincere gratitude for your existence. I may be permanently addicted to you and come down with lip cancer or whatever, but you have satisfied so many of my needs in this spell of unemployment. 

In the future, I hope to work with you more closely. For instance, should I ever get another interview, I will make sure to sail above the pack with you by my side. Mostly because I plan on using you to grease the walkway so my competitors slip, fall, and “decide to pursue other options.”

With love,

Mala