Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Wrench

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

I remembered this morning that I had left my resume in microwave to marinate in red wine and basil. For some reason, after 2 weeks, resume was completely soaked and couldn’t be saved! So, I decided that perhaps marinating resume was not the best course of treatment for unemployment, and hit the interwebs to hatch my next plan.

As you may know, my latest goal is to go abroad to Argenbabwebodialand or somewhere in Afrasia, and I stumbled on this little known institution called the “United Nations.” It seems as though two things are always needed in Argenbabwebodialand: security guards and people who know how to use water pumps. I could totally be a security guard! Unfortunately, I don’t have any outdated Men-in-Black style sunglasses, and I spent all but 45 cents of my money on ginger snaps, so that didn’t work. Imagine how embarrassing it would be to show up to my interview without my sunglasses!

Since my masters degree appears to be nothing more than a $65,000 piece of paper, I figured it was time to learn how to become a master…wait for it…plumber. Remember when my dad bought you from the hardware store and attempted to show me how to use you? He didn’t mean to throw you under the bed that day. It was my fault. Whenever he said the word “bolt,” I would take off running, so he got mad and gave up. But I found you, wrench, no need to worry no more. Wrench, together I figured we could master the art of water pumps in 15-20 minutes, so I took my 45 cents to buy two dozen donuts and a pair of jeans from K-Mart that sit below my butt crack.

Wrench, I am so impressed with you! On our first try to change a pipe, we only flooded three rooms! And when we tried to put the water heater on max, it only took us three attempts to figure out which way to turn the knob! Those things are confusing. Pretty soon wrench, we will rule the streets with our mad plumbing skillz. That’s another qualification to check off on my UN application, right along with “French” and “Doesn’t cry a lot!” Watch out Argenbabwebodialand! Wrench and I are coming!

Now wrench, supposing I get accepted for this job in Argenbabwebodialand, there is a chance I will not be able to take you along. It appears airport security has new regulations that classify you as a weapon of mass destruction. If perchance you could crawl into a bottle that holds three ounces or less, you stand a much better chance. If not, I completely understand, and have even secured you a job if I leave!

It appears this “United Nations” joins many other organizations in establishing a new branch of human resources titled “The Department of Wrenching Hearts Out.” They have arbitrarily rejected SO many qualified people, that they need a separate office just properly wrench and dispose of these people’s hopes, dreams, and desires! I spoke to the office in mid-town, and they said you are more than welcome to join anytime! So you see wrench, even if I go to Argenbabwebodialand, you will be well taken care of.

With bolts,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Tin Can

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

Around 3 AM a few nights ago, it struck me that I hadn’t eaten anything in 28 hours, so I stumbled my way to the kitchen. I would have turned on the light, but that seemed like so much effort. I made it four steps, when I tripped on something. Naturally, I thought it was a hippo, but it turned out to be you, tin can. I saw on the discovery channel that one can calculate a tree’s age by counting the rings in the center. Sadly, you do not have rings, tin can, but judging from the abundance of plaid, leg warmers, and skinny jeans the people painted on you are wearing, you are either 26 or a hipster infant. Or Canadian.

Tin can, you have already proven yourself quite useful. After the painful process of crawling out of bed, I made it to the store. Only having $20.83 to my name, I decided to use my money pragmatically and buy 500 ginger snaps. Like some bizarre, incredibly boring fate, they all fit in you! This is really not that exciting, but these exclamation marks are not going to use themselves!!!!! Anyway, I decided to start a new game. The only time I eat a ginger snap is when I meet an incompetent worker or hear a tale of some idiot one of my three employed friends works with. That way, I remind myself that THEY have a job, and I am still heavily infected with unemployment. Yesterday, I ate 319 ginger snaps. Now why do I do this, you ask, tin can? Well first, it’s kind of weird that my tin can doubles as my psychiatrist. But if you must know, it’s out of the purest form of emotion: self-loathing.

You might have noticed, tin can, that the weather is getting colder. As such, I have invested three dollars into buying appropriate winter clothes. Actually, since I ate all my ginger snaps, I bought duct tape to turn you into a hat. I will be sooo cool with my hipster tin can hat! Sure, it won’t serve any function, and sure, it won’t be appropriate in any setting. BUT! According to all the expensive shit I see through the windows of the stores the people in SOHO don’t let me enter, these two things are what make great fashion! Tin can (hat), imagine all of the publicity I will garner when I break into fashion week with you! If we get lucky, I will get two feet taller, halve my weight, and be able to support five pounds of makeup. Then, I walk you down the catwalk! Down the catwalk, baby, yeaah! In your face, Tyra and Tim Gunn! I don’t need your whiny little shows to become successful! I invented the internet tin can hat!

With irony, suffering, and other misused hipster words,

Mala