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 Hoodie

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

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Dear Hoodie,

I’m not sure if that’s how I should spell you since Word, Blogger, and my dictionary say you don’t exist, and I can barely spell my own name. But hopefully this will do. Anyway, my brother suggested I write to you since you have been sitting on my torso for three days straight, minus the two hours extended family came over yesterday to moan about life under the guise of “Thanksgiving.” I wanted you to join in the festivities of family complaining, but my mother looked a bit upset that my entire Thanksgiving outfit was composed of grey cotton, so I changed - into green and black cotton. Thanks for being so understanding.

Now, I should probably apologize for having bought you in the first place. You see you came from a far-away land called “Spain.” And in “Spain,” things are often written in a strange, rarely used language called “Spanish.” In “Spanish,” I know two words: my name, which means “bad” – (thank you mom and dad) – and “grazie.” Actually, “grazie” is Italian. So in conclusion, I know one word in Spanish. This is my justification of buying you – I had no idea you came from the men’s department, as I do not know the words for “men” nor “women” in Spanish. Sorry.

To be fair, you were also one of those hoodies whose designers donate two percent of their profits to a foundation that supports curing babies with three feet or whatever the fuck the cause is. Being the humanitarian I am, I decided to buy you to help those poor three-footed babies, instead of donating directly to a transparent organization that clearly defines their methodology in how to cure three-footed babies. You should be grateful.

Hoodie, I’m sure it’s clear by the waking hours I keep that I am indeed, unemployed. Since this disease attacked me six months ago, I have considered switching professions more than a few times. You have helped so much in this exploration, especially with my newest career choice: French rapper. Remember how I downloaded that song by Diams a few months ago? Well, Diams and I are like the same person: she’s a Muslim convert who grew up near Paris, and I am a lazy Hindu who grew up in Virginia. Okay, so we have nothing in common, BUT, in her latest video, she wears a hoodie! So do I! It’s you! We’re trop badass together, hoodie! You and me, sitting in front of the mirror, mouthing words about French racism, ouais c’est ça! I might even write my own French rap song one of these days. When the time comes to make a crappy video to go with the song, my first choice is to cast you, ma chère hoodie!

Look hoodie, I heard you whispering last night to left sock. There might come the day when I actually find employment, and all of those pretentious wool and silk dress clothes will once again reign free. However, I just want you to know that you are WAY more appealing than those bastards, which is why I plan on petitioning to my future place of employment to instate hoodie-only suits. Yes, I realize these do not exist, and yes I realize I do not possess the skill to whip these into creation. But just remember one thing hoodie: I ALWAYS choose comfort. So until our French rap song goes platinum, I will not rest until I have the right to wear you in the office!

With conviction (unless it’s hard),

Mala