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.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

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