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.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
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