I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Microwave.
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Dear Microwave,
Hello, how are you? I’m not sure if you speak English since you were manufactured in China, but if you don’t, I apologize in advance for this blabbering. I was an idiot in school and took French. And now I’m unemployed. How do you say “merde” in Mandarin?
You’ve been doing an excessive amount of incoherent muttering these past few weeks. Initially, I decided to just let you be. I mean, who the hell writes letters to objects? So stupid! Actually, the real reason I decided to let you whine is because a friend of mine is so busy, she can barely breathe and asked me to help with her schoolwork. But then she found out I are writes bad, so she stopped asking. Now I have time, are you happy Microwave!?
Anyway, I first want to apologize for that little incident. As I have contracted this horrible condition known as unemployment, my ability to do things has waned, including my ability to buy food. That late October evening when I stumbled into the kitchen because I couldn’t remember how to get to my room is thus easily explained. You see, Microwave, I was starving, so I figured if I put that box of crayons in your mouth long enough, they would eventually get so soft that the crayons would become edible. Sure, this caused an explosion and we were both in the hospital for two days, but thanks for trying, Microwave! E for effort! And for explosion!
I’m so sorry that the months since then have gotten worse for you. We were all really devastated when we lost toaster to that piece of sourdough bread. I know how close you two were. In an ideal world, you would have time to grieve on your own, but as I leave the building less than 5 times a month, I couldn’t help but notice your long, anguished rotating plate spins. It’s always hard, Microwave, but I am here for you as you have been there for me.
Microwave, I know our relationship has been a bit rocky these past few months, but if you don’t mind, I have a favor to ask of you. Last week, I got an email from the prince of Nigeria, and he told me to click on a link at the bottom. Naturally I did, and was redirected to a porn site. Didn’t see that coming! But then I decided to get back to work, and submitted my resume to one of those companies that hire imbeciles to tell you what jobs you qualify for. Then it happened! One of the resume readers told me to let my experiences “marinate” while writing my cover letter. That’s it, Microwave! I need to let things marinate! So I finally bought some food! All I have to do to get a job is let my resume marinate in red wine, lemon, basil and garlic! The resume person said so! I assume this needs to be heated, so microwave, if you would be so kind, sometime next week I need to put my marinated resume inside to cook. I think 5 minutes on high should be enough. Then: presto! I will have a job! It’s coming, Microwave, my job is almost ready!
Yours truly,
Mala
Showing posts with label hungry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hungry. Show all posts
12.01.2010
Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Contact Case
I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to contact case.
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Dear Contact Case,
How are you? Sorry I missed you today…I neglected to wander more than 20 feet away from my bed, so I didn’t feel the need to put you in my eyes this morning. I believe this was a wise decision, given the fact that my contacts are so worn down, I need to push them back up to the center of my eyes every 20-30 seconds. Nevertheless, you and contacts are doing a fantastic job of keeping me from running into walls, knowing the difference between a dead rat and a purse, and staring blindly at wallet hoping some money magically appears.
You even help with my latest endeavor – proving to myself that other degrees are a bigger waste of money than my Masters. For instance, with the service you provide, last night I conned scissors into helping me give myself a haircut. Beauty school? Rip off! I admit my attempts to prove that lumberjack school, firefighting school, and medical school are wastes of money were met with limited success, but at least we showed that bus driver school is a superfluous certification!
Contact case, I won’t lie to you. These past few months have been rough. Last week, Facebook told me that guy in my undergrad Econ 101 class who thought the term “Demand Curve” is slang for “buttocks” just landed my dream job. How this keeps happening, I don’t know. But in these situations, my first instinct is to dramatically run out the door, get into a car, and drive. Until I get hungry. After eating, my instinct is to keep driving until I get hungry again. At then after eating again, my instinct is to keep driving until I get hungry again again. And then after eating again again, my instinct…well, you get the point. So why don’t I do this, contact case? To be frank, the reason is you. Despite the fact that thousands of you are manufactured every year, you, contact case, are the one damn thing no one EVER has when I spend the night. I read one time in a magazine that may or may not have academic merit that contacts meld to eyeballs after 38 hours. That would suck. So I stay, for you.
In essence, contact case, you are the reason I do not spend copious amounts of money on gas trying to prove a point to people who probably wouldn’t notice I am gone. In essence, contact case, this is not that big of a point. Damnit. But I do appreciate the work you put in. Without you, I would still wear glasses. And man, do I look ugly in glasses!
I’m hungry,
Mala
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Dear Contact Case,
How are you? Sorry I missed you today…I neglected to wander more than 20 feet away from my bed, so I didn’t feel the need to put you in my eyes this morning. I believe this was a wise decision, given the fact that my contacts are so worn down, I need to push them back up to the center of my eyes every 20-30 seconds. Nevertheless, you and contacts are doing a fantastic job of keeping me from running into walls, knowing the difference between a dead rat and a purse, and staring blindly at wallet hoping some money magically appears.
You even help with my latest endeavor – proving to myself that other degrees are a bigger waste of money than my Masters. For instance, with the service you provide, last night I conned scissors into helping me give myself a haircut. Beauty school? Rip off! I admit my attempts to prove that lumberjack school, firefighting school, and medical school are wastes of money were met with limited success, but at least we showed that bus driver school is a superfluous certification!
Contact case, I won’t lie to you. These past few months have been rough. Last week, Facebook told me that guy in my undergrad Econ 101 class who thought the term “Demand Curve” is slang for “buttocks” just landed my dream job. How this keeps happening, I don’t know. But in these situations, my first instinct is to dramatically run out the door, get into a car, and drive. Until I get hungry. After eating, my instinct is to keep driving until I get hungry again. At then after eating again, my instinct is to keep driving until I get hungry again again. And then after eating again again, my instinct…well, you get the point. So why don’t I do this, contact case? To be frank, the reason is you. Despite the fact that thousands of you are manufactured every year, you, contact case, are the one damn thing no one EVER has when I spend the night. I read one time in a magazine that may or may not have academic merit that contacts meld to eyeballs after 38 hours. That would suck. So I stay, for you.
In essence, contact case, you are the reason I do not spend copious amounts of money on gas trying to prove a point to people who probably wouldn’t notice I am gone. In essence, contact case, this is not that big of a point. Damnit. But I do appreciate the work you put in. Without you, I would still wear glasses. And man, do I look ugly in glasses!
I’m hungry,
Mala
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