I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to sunglasses.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Sunglasses,
You may find it a bit odd that I acquired you during the season when the sun shows itself approximately 23 minutes per day. I too find this odd, but do admit that you have become quite useful during this horrendous period of my life in which I have become employment…challenged. I still remember where we met, that being the most authentic Chinese place on earth: New York City. After battling the horrors of the Q train, I emerged with one goal in mind: get a bánh mì. My God, the Chinese make fantastic Vietnamese sandwiches! Of course, this emergence happened during one of the 23 minutes of January daylight, and I squinted just long enough to be harassed into buying a pair of poorly made Chinese sunglasses. Thus, our partnership was born.
Now Sunglasses, as I have become employment…challenged, I have taken to affirming my self-worth in arbitrary ways. For instance, after acquiring said Chinese bánh mì, I poured half a bottle of Sriracha on top. Clearly, if I can eat a sandwich with 26 tablespoons of hot sauce, this spell of unemployment is not my fault. Clearly, I still have some value. Clearly, I am crying. Clearly, I am crying because that is really fucking hot. But if someone sees me crying, my self-validation is gone. So I wear you, Sunglasses, to prove to the world how my awesomeness is directly related to how much Sriracha I can consume without looking like a crybaby. With my capacity at such straightforward logic, I am continually amazed at how my cover letter keeps getting overlooked.
You know, Sunglasses, a funny thing happens to everyone else when you become unemployed. All of a sudden, everyone is a huge expert on the economy! At least they think they are! And when everyone thinks they are experts on the economy, I have to listen to everyone babble on and on about some story they heard a guy on whatever cable news network shout about for ten minutes. In times like these, I am sooo happy to have you, Sunglasses. Why, you ask? Because with you, I can pretend to listen while falling asleep! This ensures I won’t ask rebuttal questions like, “If you’re such as expert, why didn’t you see the economy collapsing 30 months ago?” and “Why are talking to me if you aren’t hiring?” and “Are you going to eat that cookie?”
So you see, Sunglasses, though we had an awkward start, I am finding you increasingly useful when I am employment…challenged. Comcast just forced a digital cable upgrade on its users, so I predict a 36% increase in my clandestine sleeping habits, followed by two quarters of steady crying. It’s going to be a long season of 23-minute daylight days, Sunglasses.
With Sriracha,
Mala
1.06.2011
Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Boarding Pass
I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to boarding pass.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Boarding Pass,
Sometime around noon on December 23, 2010, I went upstairs in my parents’ house to take a nap. 36 hours ago, I was roughly shaken by my mother, who informed me it is 2011, and that I indeed have been asleep for twelve days. I tried to pass this nap off on my terrible affliction of unemployment I contracted in May, as it has caused an addiction to watching documentaries about hibernation on the interwebs. But being the unsupportive parental units they are, my parents were upset that I slept through Christmas, New Years, a four-day vacation to the Dominican Republic, and my birthday.
Anyway, boarding pass, my family apparently failed to notice my lack of presence until my mother asked me to get a picture of her at a Dominican beach. Sadly, even the Delta check-in attendant imagined my body long enough to print you. On the upside, my parents saved you and promptly handed you over to me when they woke me up five days later! True, this vacation was my sole opportunity to travel in the foreseeable future. True, it was supposed to knock me out of my semi-comatose unemployed state. True, it was entirely paid for. But also true, I can just as easily live the Dominican experience through you, boarding pass, right? FALSE.
Listening to you talk about all the great Dominican things you saw inspired me, boarding pass. You see, even though the US government invested in those giant, expensive scanners that can see if you’re made out of explosives or if you’re an Arab, they failed to invest in salaries that attract TSA officials that aren’t either semi-retarded or just don’t give a shit. After talking it over with scissors, crayon, and glue, we hatched a plan! Now I know you hate cosmetic surgery, boarding pass, but think of our manipulation of you as a makeover.
Before leaving, I had told my mom that I was going upstairs to take a nap, so that bought us at least 5-6 days. When we got to the airport, you were so calm, boarding pass! Even though I misspelled the word “Dominican” on you, you never missed a beat! We made it through the Arab detector and to the gate without any problems. All we needed to do was have you scanned! I found a seat at the gate, and together, we started imaging the sun, the beach, the abundance of cheap food, the napzzzZZZZZZZZZ....
::12 hours later::
Well, brilliant, boarding pass! Your damn Dominican description made me fall asleep, and we missed the flight! I am not a person of fate, but I am a person of laziness, so there is no way in hell I am trying this again. All in all, that was a miserable failure. However, I am willing to forgive you, boarding pass, if you lie to the world and tell them I made it down to the DR. I may not have a job, but I still have integrity, albeit false. Just remember the lesson from this misadventure, boarding pass: it NEVER pays to try.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Boarding Pass,
Sometime around noon on December 23, 2010, I went upstairs in my parents’ house to take a nap. 36 hours ago, I was roughly shaken by my mother, who informed me it is 2011, and that I indeed have been asleep for twelve days. I tried to pass this nap off on my terrible affliction of unemployment I contracted in May, as it has caused an addiction to watching documentaries about hibernation on the interwebs. But being the unsupportive parental units they are, my parents were upset that I slept through Christmas, New Years, a four-day vacation to the Dominican Republic, and my birthday.
Anyway, boarding pass, my family apparently failed to notice my lack of presence until my mother asked me to get a picture of her at a Dominican beach. Sadly, even the Delta check-in attendant imagined my body long enough to print you. On the upside, my parents saved you and promptly handed you over to me when they woke me up five days later! True, this vacation was my sole opportunity to travel in the foreseeable future. True, it was supposed to knock me out of my semi-comatose unemployed state. True, it was entirely paid for. But also true, I can just as easily live the Dominican experience through you, boarding pass, right? FALSE.
Listening to you talk about all the great Dominican things you saw inspired me, boarding pass. You see, even though the US government invested in those giant, expensive scanners that can see if you’re made out of explosives or if you’re an Arab, they failed to invest in salaries that attract TSA officials that aren’t either semi-retarded or just don’t give a shit. After talking it over with scissors, crayon, and glue, we hatched a plan! Now I know you hate cosmetic surgery, boarding pass, but think of our manipulation of you as a makeover.
Before leaving, I had told my mom that I was going upstairs to take a nap, so that bought us at least 5-6 days. When we got to the airport, you were so calm, boarding pass! Even though I misspelled the word “Dominican” on you, you never missed a beat! We made it through the Arab detector and to the gate without any problems. All we needed to do was have you scanned! I found a seat at the gate, and together, we started imaging the sun, the beach, the abundance of cheap food, the napzzzZZZZZZZZZ....
::12 hours later::
Well, brilliant, boarding pass! Your damn Dominican description made me fall asleep, and we missed the flight! I am not a person of fate, but I am a person of laziness, so there is no way in hell I am trying this again. All in all, that was a miserable failure. However, I am willing to forgive you, boarding pass, if you lie to the world and tell them I made it down to the DR. I may not have a job, but I still have integrity, albeit false. Just remember the lesson from this misadventure, boarding pass: it NEVER pays to try.
Subscribe to:
Posts
(
Atom
)
