Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Ace Bandage

I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Ace Bandage.

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Dear Ace Bandage,

A lot has happened since my absence from this gem of a blog that gets two views a day! I am now the proud owner of a Subway chicken sandwich, and I decided to get serious about money and learn how to invest the $20 I found on the street. The first and second clauses of that previous sentence are unrelated; I just thought you’d be happy to know I went with your advice to avoid a Pre-Packaged Meal for lunch.

Instead of wasting my time by doing research, I decided to approach my investment problem the American way: by watching TV. On a particularly loud program, the guy screaming at the woman screaming at the robot screaming at Mitt Romney screaming about gay puppies ruining the universe told me that until this economy is stabilized, the professionally disillusioned and delirious would have to find alternate methods of securing financial success…you know, methods that don’t involve getting an education, working hard, or accepting the gay puppies for who they are.

Since I have a few degrees sitting in WTF box and I value and treasure the gay puppy next door, I decided to take screaming head #1’s advice and pursue other methods of making money. Unfortunately, I am too old to go on the “Real World” and write a memoir about the epiphanies I had while making out with someone in a hot tub, so I decided to skip straight to writing about epiphanies. Here’s what I wrote:

            “The word ‘epiphany’ is not spelled with an F. Epiphanies are nice.”

Sadly, publishers did not see this fit to invest thousands of dollars to promote. Phuck that.

Alas, I was forced to turn to plan B: stabilize the economy. It seems as though we are running into roadblocks in our quest to bring America up through the ranks to the same level of competitiveness as North Korea, Cuba, and Vanuatu. Apparently the problem is that many members of Congress cannot read or do math.  

My brief aspirations to become a professional Badminton player have taught me that you, Ace Bandage, are very skilled in holding parts that need stabilization to move forward. As such, I marched straight down to Congress and demanded to see the members who hate jobs and infrastructure. After using my scented candles as a relaxer, I carefully wrapped one of you, Ace Bandage, around the head and neck of every Congressperson who fit my strict criteria. You will be happy to know that as a result, these members are now forced to look in only one direction: at the primary school math teacher I hired for $10/hour. Times are tough. I got a good rate.

It may take awhile, Ace Bandage, but together, we can successfully constrict the minds that seem to not need any more constricting. Together, we shall change America. Together, we shall go back to Subway. I really want a cookie.

With talking heads,

Mala  

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Television

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

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Dear Television,

What happened to us? I remember a mediocre childhood filled with lively anecdotes about how my parents would spend their childhoods running around outside, while all I managed to do each summer was stare at you, Television, and watch my stories while casually sipping glasses of iced tea. Yes, it seems that even back then, I was a grumpy 75-year old woman stuck in the body of a child. Where the f*ck are my glasses?

Anyway, Television, in recent years, we have become estranged, as I am now able to watch nearly anything I want, whenever I want on the interwebs. Hope was all but lost for you until I came back to my parents’ house a few months back and discovered they had hooked a computer to you! Now I can watch television on the computer on the television! In my unemployed fury, I am able to watch countless hours of Netflix before the price of my subscription becomes too expensive for me to afford ($16/month)!

As I was perusing through the computer on you, Television, I noticed a video on YouTube about taking control of your life. A psychologist who went to some online school that’s accredited in Fiji made the video. With such solid credentials, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get my life back together, so I grabbed some iced tea and hit play. The barely licensed psychologist suggested to me (yeah, that’s right, he was talking directly to ME. That’s how the interwebs work) that I make a list comparing my standards during a good period of my life to my standards now. Then I can figure out what specifically I need to change!

 

Things that need to be changed in my life: Everything.

At least I still have Netflix…until September,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Flowchart

I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Flowchart.
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Dear Flowchart,

 

With antacid,

Mala 

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.
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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

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Receipt

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

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Dear Receipt,

Having been under the influence of unemployment for a bazillion trillion days, I have come to realize that most people in my situation experience significant loss of dignity, motivation, and sense of self. I, on the other hand, suffer from a far greater misery: the inability to buy large quantities of worthless crap. Over the years, I have amassed 40,000 socks, more than a million postage stamps, and nearly 10,000 beanie babies. Now with my current status of employment, I am forced to…what’s that, Receipt? Oh, that’s not me? That’s an episode of “Hoarders”? I see. Well, that’s embarrassing. Don’t tell anyone about this, okay? Thanks.

Anyway, now that I have your attention, Receipt, I really ought to take this opportunity to thank you. As I am afflicted with an unbearably long case of unemployment, I find keeping you in my possession very necessary, for 9 times out of 10, I immediately regret the purchase just I made. For instance, last week, I bought a box of 100 cookies from Whole Foods, but after looking at you, realized they were oatmeal raisin and not chocolate chip. Even with my dramatic fist pumps and feet stamping, I could not convince the cashier that oatmeal raisin cookies are absolutely pointless, nor that, “All Indians just look alike, how do I know it’s really you who bought the cookies?” is not a proper reason to deny my return! But there you were, Receipt, standing by my side, proving that I am indeed differentiable from the other 1 billion Indians on the planet, and that I do indeed deserve a refund for the dumbest cookie in history.

Now receipt, we are taught from an early age that what matters in life is family, friends, experiences, and memories. But any idiot who has seen America knows this is a bunch of bull. What really matters is how much stuff you own. As unemployment appears to be directly correlated to my ability to purchase said stuff, I have found it necessary to prominently display you, Receipt, whenever possible.

If someone asks me for the time, I make sure to search through my pockets, saying things like, “Where is that damn watch?”, while pulling out every one of you, Receipt, that documents important purchases, like a computer or gummy bears. Once the person asking for the time points out that my watch is on my wrist, I make sure to hold you in such a way that displays you in their line of vision. That way, the person will not only find out the time, they will know that I am an awesome person, as judged by the stuff I own. Now that, Receipt, is the definition of efficiency!

In conclusion, Receipt, I still need a damn job.

With cookies,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Ruler

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

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Dear Ruler,

As I was walking up 5^th Avenue last week, I realized that Manhattan extends above 59^th Street! Who knew? Certainly not anyone who pays $1300 a month to live in a box downtown and pretend their only window view being of a brick wall adds a “vintage flair” to one’s life. Overpriced piece of sh*t.

Ahem. Anyway, enough about the poor choices one makes during grad school. Like I was saying, as I was walking down 5^th Avenue last week, I noticed a sign that caught my eye: Free t-shirts. Now, Ruler, if there is one thing I can never get enough of, it’s paper-thin, oversized, white t-shirts that accentuate my back fat and draw attention to my abnormally short neck. How sexy. Naturally, I was intrigued.

Upon further investigation, I was delighted to find out that I would receive said free t-shirt after sitting through a two hour presentation on a new service that is guaranteed to find you employment after 30 easy payments of $4000 that can be recycled as your annual salary should the program turn out to be a total failure! After a riveting 90-minute presentation (during which I fell asleep), I awoke to hear the presenter make his final point. “And remember, ladies and gents,” he said, “The key to a successful job hunt is to know how to measure your success. Does anyone know how to measure their success?”

Of course I knew the correct response. This is America. The answer is clearly inches. That’s when I thought of you, Ruler! Despite the fact that I have always have you, Ruler, I still try to measure things by opening a Word document and holding the item in question up to my screen. For years, you have been gathering dust, but now, Ruler, I have found your second calling, and according to my Word document, it is between 0.5 and 4 inches tall. I can’t really tell. My screen is a bit blurry.

So I rushed back home and found “WTF box” in the back of my closet. After tossing out Photo Frame, I found all of my “WTF” documents, including diplomas, theses, awards, and my welcome certificate to the official “Spice Girls” fan club, and made a pile. According to you, Ruler, my success stands approximately five inches tall.

Unfortunately, all of my Bing searches for “five inches average success?” resulted in a gross blogs about…you know. It seems, Ruler, that my five inches of success cannot be measured against the rest of the world. I suppose at the end of the day, it's the quality of the inches that matters, though it seems by composition of important institutions, such as Congress, that quality is a far second to the ability of making your inches appear on Fox News. Good thing I have my t-shirt to cover my ass. And back fat.

With inches,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Pencil

I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Pencil.
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Dear Pencil,

While recently reconnecting with Pad of Paper, I realized that I have not properly paid tribute to you and your valuable contributions getting me through this unnecessarily long and ironic case of unemployment.

Our relationship started many years ago, Pencil, as you have faithfully served me so well. In middle school, you erased embarrassing things I wrote on my notebook, like “I heart the Spice Girls!” And in high school, you stuck by my side, erasing embarrassing things I wrote in my notebooks, like “I heart the Spice Girls!” Still, in college, you were there, erasing embarrassing things I wrote in my notebooks, like “I miss the Spice Girls!” But Pencil, I suppose there are no Pencil erasers that can correct the bigger mistakes of life, like doubting Justin Timberlake’s solo career and going to grad school. When the scientists of the world do invent such an eraser, Pencil, be sure to let me know on Facebook, so I can write dreamily about it in my Spice Girls notebook. I mean Justin Timberlake notebook. Damnit.

Pencil, you are also so good for illustrating important points. Just last week, I was interviewed for a job in the UK that involves using a Monocle, spitting whilst talking, and using British-sounding words, such as “whilst.” As this job involves knowing a great deal about England, the recruiter gave me colored versions of you, Pencil, to draw a map demonstrating my knowledge of the Queen's island. Unfortunately, World Map was busy, but I did very well! See?

Of course, before I turned my map in to the recruiter, I realized I made a crucial mistake! So I used you, Pencil, to correct the folly!

Silly me, I forgot Loch Ness’s hat! Also, I put London on the wrong side.

Sadly, my application for the job was revoked once the recruiter realized I thought “Esq.” means I believe myself to be “exquisite.” But no matter. You are always there for me, and you are Esq, Pencil.  Together, we will continue write and erase embarrassing thoughts whilst illustrating important features of the UK, like the Spice Girls! Unemployment shall be conquered!

With Loch Ness,

Mala