Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Microwave

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

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Gavel

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

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Dear Gavel,

After the interwebs decided to stop working last night, I finally figured out what function that strange box labeled “television” plays. 14 hours into the Law and Order: SVU marathon, I became inspired! To go to Law School? Hell no. To become an NYPD officer? Heller no. To go into business with you, gavel? Why yes!

Gavel, if I have learned anything from that Law and Order: SVU marathon, it’s that the bad guys of New York City are always rich white people with mommy issues. I have also learned that people with black robes who bang gavels on wooden desks command respect. I have thus hatched a new plan to get me back on track to employment!

Now gavel, sometime between now and January, I plan on finding my right shoe. And when that happens, I will dress myself up in my nicest hoodie, and put on my black robe from graduation. One time use, my ass. Together, gavel, we will travel to midtown, and storm the UN offices, demanding to be seen for an interview. The security guard who usually kicks me out will have no choice but to let us in, because he’ll think we’re some important judge! Once we get into the room for our interview, this is when you take the stage. I will say things such as. “Yes, I have 20 years of experience.” And, “No, I was not arrested for a felony last year.” After each sentence, I will bang you on the desk, gavel. This will show that pompous HR rep that I mean business! Finally, when the HR rep asks why I think I am the best candidate, I will start banging you on the desk to the beat of “Footloose” until the HR rep caves in or dies. Together, gavel, we shall prevail!

While I see absolutely no flaws in this plan, gavel, there is a minor possibility that it will not work. Should this happen, we will order a pizza. We might as well get fat, who the hell cares? Anyway, after pizza, we can hit the town! You are so versatile, gavel! We could be a pretend judge on Law and Order, pretend to be a judge in City Hall, invent a new kind of gavel banging massage in Chinatown, even be a construction worker! Screw those stupid hammers, you are so much prettier! Jobs abound for us, gavel. Your banging abilities will surely mean that the doors will open for us. And if they don’t, you can break them down, one Footloose song at a time.

With respect,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Cereal Bowl

I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to cereal bowl.

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Dear Cereal Bowl,

I couldn’t help but notice today that we have daily exchanges, yet we never talk. Certainly you have heard of this terrible condition I have contracted – unemployment. While it is not communicable (don’t worry, I wouldn’t do that to you), I still try to take the time to thank those things that help me through, just in case I find a way to infect them. True, this is a terrible reason to thank you, but you are a cereal bowl, and until I put you in the sink, you have no choice but to listen to me.

Cereal bowl, I still remember the first day we met. I was lost in the Brooklyn IKEA, and you were anxiously sitting in the 50 percent off bin in the kitchenware section. You had clearly been unemployed for quite some time, but I knew those asymmetric, gaudy petals you had painted on the side were petals of love. So I grabbed you, and for $1.99, I released you out of the brinks of unemployment in a bit of foreshadowing into my own unemployed demise.

You have probably noticed that during these days of unemployment, I have been eating an upwards of 7 to 8 bowls of cereal a day. This is due to the fact that this strain of unemployment is particularly incapacitating, and my ability to do anything of quality, including make a damn sandwich, is gone. Nevertheless, you stand by my side as I eat my happy “I have an interview!” bowls of cereal, to my sad “I fucked up the interview!” bowls of cereal, to my uncertain “Was that an interview or a magazine solicitation?” bowls of cereal. For this, I thank you, cereal bowl. You were commissioned for a 1-2 project per day job, but you have mastered this 4-fold increase in work beautifully.

I also want to thank you for being such a great listener, cereal bowl. Most of my unemployment rants are expressed over a bowl of cereal. My hatred of The Economist for praising New York in creating so many jobs last quarter, my hatred of my piece of crap phone cutting out at opportune moments, my hatred of not being born five years earlier…basically my hatred of everything. Lucky Charms, Peanut Butter Puffs, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch have boycotted my mouth, but cereal bowl, you have stuck by my side! You know how much I love to moan about my life, and you are there for me! So thank you! But I do ask you to go easy on the snide comments about how I eat cereal meant for 10-year-olds.

With sugar,

Mala