Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Napkin

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

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Napkin,

A few nights ago, I made the terrible decision to go outside. You see, Napkin, since I have come under the influence of unemployment, I have lost all ability to properly communicate with humans. Communicating with humans, along with other arduous tasks, such as bathing, eating, moving and breathing seem redundant, as I appear to serve no function. However, my friend made a compelling argument in her text message: U suk. comee out. who iz thiz? Clearly my friend needed me, Napkin, so I decided to do some research on the interwebs to see how to be a supportive friend in social situations/make everyone see how the world has become an utter failure by keeping me bogged down under the influence of unemployment.

After thousands of milliseconds of planning, you and I hatched the perfect plan. Sadly, my text-message “friend” turned out to be a 13-year-old girl in Arkansas, but with all the milliseconds of time we invested, there was no way this plan would not be (poorly?) executed. You were strategically sitting by the bartender, scoping out the scene. I entered through the back, and made a dash to the bar where I collected you. Then, I smelled one of those tiny onions no on ever seems to have in their drink but are always available at bars, and started crying.

The plan worked brilliantly: three people asked me what was wrong and what I thought smelling onions would achieve! Each time they asked, I pulled you out, and with the help of dramatic hand gestures, start drawing complicated diagrams illustrating the very fundamentals of human life and/or where my favorite taco place is. Unfortunately, in my third round of illustrating this mad genius, one of the bar patrons noticed that my diagram did not successfully articulate how the entire world is against me, but was instead, a giant smiley face. F you, Emoticons.

Thankfully, my research on the interwebs prepared me for how to deal with awkward situations in bars. Unfortunately Napkin, this also entailed the death of you. I suppose it’s a bit stupid to write a letter to a dead Napkin, but some would argue it is stupid to write a letter to any Napkin, regardless of its state of living. Still others would argue Napkins do not fall under a category of living nor dead. To continue this debate, please turn to the corner of 2^nd Ave and 23^rd Street, where a lively group of first graders will be happy to discuss this further.

Ahem. Anyway Napkin, interwebs suggested the best way to deal with awkward situations at bars is to either buy a round of drinks for everyone or show how happy and free-spirited you are. As my net worth is in the negatives, I decided to demonstrate my light and airy side. So, I took you and a few of your cousins, ripped you guys up and threw you in the air while screaming “It’s snowing, It’s snowing!” Then, when I had accumulated a giant mass of napkin shreds, I made a bar-napkin snow angel! That showed those bar people, Napkin! In one night, I had demonstrated my cultural knowledge through tacos, my genius through diagram drawing abilities, my emotional depth, AND my fun and creative side! With such a multi-faceted nature, there is no way anyone could possibly think me being under the influence of unemployment is my fault! One woman even offered to check me into rehab!

With a fun and airy attitude,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Goggles

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

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Goggles,

After watching television for fourteen hours yesterday, I saw a commercial for the Microsoft search engine, Bing. As television has become my only form of social interaction since I have fallen under the influence of unemployment, I take television’s advice more seriously than that of my parents, my friends, the Dalai Lama and God herself, Michelle Obama. So, I faithfully changed my default search engine to Bing. However, after Bing suggested a flatbed, moving cart (dolly) when I typed in “Dali,” I figured it was time to go back to Google. Unfortunately, I typed in G-O-G-G-L-E, and stumbled upon you, Goggles.

Goggles, when I saw you, I knew I had to have a pair of you. So, I made my way down the fanciest of all fancy (Target), and picked you up. Now instead of pondering the meaning of my life by computer, I do it in public pools and public fountains, scouring the bottoms for dropped pocket change, half-eaten sandwiches, and expensive cell phones that are the victims of dramatic movie scene reenactments. I may not have a job, Goggles, but thanks to you, I am now the proud owner of 17 broken iPhones, a pepperoni calzone, and a weird rash on my right foot.

Now Goggles, in between my float-time, I have managed the strength to look a few job postings, and have realized one thing: in order to get a job, I must be disabled. Sadly, this “disabled” category does not include impediments such as making bad life choices, being bads aat righting, nor being unable to stomach fast food. However, I figured that near blindness would be considered a disability. You thus serve an invaluable function, Goggles. You see Goggles, the next time I get an interview, I will wear you and pretend you are some special bifocal glasses I need in order to get around. Just for good measure, I will purposely bump into chairs, people, and sharp objects to demonstrate just how terrible my eyesight really is. Then they have to give me the job! And those sweet plastic scissors! Who would reject the poor blind girl who is are write’s bad?

Now Goggles, I understand your concerns. I am in international development and marketing. What if the job requires eyesight? What if the HR rep recognizes you are Goggles? What if I never get another interview ever again? To these concerns, I say this: I don’t fucking know! How the hell should I know what to do!? If I knew what to do, I wouldn’t be unemployed, would I!? Damnit Goggles, stop being such a pessimist. All the other things I’ve done have kinda sorta sometimes, okay, not really worked out! Life is about risk, Goggles. So if this doesn’t work out, we at least have a pepperoni calzone that is virtually indestructible from all that chlorine. And 17 iPhones. AND a rash. Ew.

Where are my Goggles?,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Emoticons

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

After a festive red wine and vitamin D pill dinner last week, I realized that I am still technically under the influence of unemployment. Though I nearly escaped this ill fate twice in the past eight months, small semantic issues such as “visas,” “citizenship,” and “work authorization” have prevented me from emerging unscathed. So, in a moment of semi-clarity, I decided to get strategic on unemployment’s ass and actually research what jobs were in demand, rather than continue my old methods of screaming outside of large office buildings and throwing my CV at UN directors’ faces.

As it turns out, someone thought of making a list of in-demand jobs before me! Who knew, Emoticons!? Right there, sitting at number three was something I figured I could try: miming. Yes, Emoticons, for a glorious 4 days, I became a mime. After calling a few miming companies and describing my passion and motivation to becoming a mime (read: I lied and said I was qualified), I got my first interview! So I put on my best black t-shirt, threw on a fake smile (red paint) and mime-ran out the door!

Emoticons, I was a bit shocked to see the quality of the other mimes when I walked in the door. Half of them didn’t even wear makeup – what poor preparation! Or so I thought. Apparently, Emoticon, mimes are not in demand at all. You know what is? M-I-N-E-R-S. As in data miNers. I guess I should take more than five seconds to read the listings, huh?

Anyway, I figured I should keep the mime vow of silence. Besides, it gave me an excuse to not talk to stupid people. But I wanted a way to express things quickly, since apparently, I am incapable of showing human emotion with my face, and in fact, make a terrible mime. So, I settled on you, Emoticons. This was my first conversation using you:

Woman on Street: That’s a nice jacket, where did you get it?
Me: :-)
WoS: Haha, yeah…it’s nice. Where did you get it?
Me: :-)
WoS: Um, yes, happy, I see that. Do you understand English?
Me: ;-(
WoS: So you do understand English?
Me: :-)
WoS: So are you mute?
Me: :-/
WoS: Oh, I am so sorry! I didn’t realize. That must be so hard. Can I get you anything?
Me: :-) ::points at CV::
WoS: You want a job?
Me: :-)
WoS: Well, I am looking for someone in one of our departments at the Republican National Convention. Would do you think?
Me: x-(

Needless to say, Emoticons, I decided your services should not extend to being a substitute for speech.

Oddly enough, the next day, I heard a story from one of my friends who said their new grant writer used you, Emoticons, to spruce up her cover letter – and it worked! Despite the fact that she has no experience, is a bad writer, can’t spell the organization name correctly, and is an arrogant brat, her use of smiley faces, sad faces, angry faces and whatever the hell this → <3 is impressed the bipolar director, and she got the job! So I decided to try using you too, Emoticons!

At first, I was a little shaky on where to place you, Emoticons. But after a few sentences, I really got the hang of it. I wrote things like, “There are a lot of poor people in Africa. :-( But for every three dumb Americans who watch Fox News, there is one American who cares. :-) This is my favorite organization. I <3 you, Oxfam.”

Just to be sure, Emoticons, I sent a copy of my cover letter to one of my former professors. She wrote back saying:

Dear Mala,

Stop acting like a child. Please see a psychiatrist. :-/

~ Professor White

Anyway, Emoticons, I suppose this means I can’t use you for my cover letters or CV anymore. And I can’t use you as a substitute for speech. So I guess I need to go back to using you as I always have – a way to say, “I’m not paying attention to this conversation.”

With regrets :-( ,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Sunglasses

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

You may find it a bit odd that I acquired you during the season when the sun shows itself approximately 23 minutes per day. I too find this odd, but do admit that you have become quite useful during this horrendous period of my life in which I have become employment…challenged. I still remember where we met, that being the most authentic Chinese place on earth: New York City. After battling the horrors of the Q train, I emerged with one goal in mind: get a bánh mì. My God, the Chinese make fantastic Vietnamese sandwiches! Of course, this emergence happened during one of the 23 minutes of January daylight, and I squinted just long enough to be harassed into buying a pair of poorly made Chinese sunglasses. Thus, our partnership was born.

Now Sunglasses, as I have become employment…challenged, I have taken to affirming my self-worth in arbitrary ways. For instance, after acquiring said Chinese bánh mì, I poured half a bottle of Sriracha on top. Clearly, if I can eat a sandwich with 26 tablespoons of hot sauce, this spell of unemployment is not my fault. Clearly, I still have some value. Clearly, I am crying. Clearly, I am crying because that is really fucking hot. But if someone sees me crying, my self-validation is gone. So I wear you, Sunglasses, to prove to the world how my awesomeness is directly related to how much Sriracha I can consume without looking like a crybaby. With my capacity at such straightforward logic, I am continually amazed at how my cover letter keeps getting overlooked.

You know, Sunglasses, a funny thing happens to everyone else when you become unemployed. All of a sudden, everyone is a huge expert on the economy! At least they think they are! And when everyone thinks they are experts on the economy, I have to listen to everyone babble on and on about some story they heard a guy on whatever cable news network shout about for ten minutes. In times like these, I am sooo happy to have you, Sunglasses. Why, you ask? Because with you, I can pretend to listen while falling asleep! This ensures I won’t ask rebuttal questions like, “If you’re such as expert, why didn’t you see the economy collapsing 30 months ago?” and “Why are talking to me if you aren’t hiring?” and “Are you going to eat that cookie?”

So you see, Sunglasses, though we had an awkward start, I am finding you increasingly useful when I am employment…challenged. Comcast just forced a digital cable upgrade on its users, so I predict a 36% increase in my clandestine sleeping habits, followed by two quarters of steady crying. It’s going to be a long season of 23-minute daylight days, Sunglasses.

With Sriracha,

Mala

Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Boarding Pass

I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to boarding pass.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Boarding Pass,

Sometime around noon on December 23, 2010, I went upstairs in my parents’ house to take a nap. 36 hours ago, I was roughly shaken by my mother, who informed me it is 2011, and that I indeed have been asleep for twelve days. I tried to pass this nap off on my terrible affliction of unemployment I contracted in May, as it has caused an addiction to watching documentaries about hibernation on the interwebs. But being the unsupportive parental units they are, my parents were upset that I slept through Christmas, New Years, a four-day vacation to the Dominican Republic, and my birthday.

Anyway, boarding pass, my family apparently failed to notice my lack of presence until my mother asked me to get a picture of her at a Dominican beach. Sadly, even the Delta check-in attendant imagined my body long enough to print you. On the upside, my parents saved you and promptly handed you over to me when they woke me up five days later! True, this vacation was my sole opportunity to travel in the foreseeable future. True, it was supposed to knock me out of my semi-comatose unemployed state. True, it was entirely paid for. But also true, I can just as easily live the Dominican experience through you, boarding pass, right? FALSE.

Listening to you talk about all the great Dominican things you saw inspired me, boarding pass. You see, even though the US government invested in those giant, expensive scanners that can see if you’re made out of explosives or if you’re an Arab, they failed to invest in salaries that attract TSA officials that aren’t either semi-retarded or just don’t give a shit. After talking it over with scissors, crayon, and glue, we hatched a plan! Now I know you hate cosmetic surgery, boarding pass, but think of our manipulation of you as a makeover.

Before leaving, I had told my mom that I was going upstairs to take a nap, so that bought us at least 5-6 days. When we got to the airport, you were so calm, boarding pass! Even though I misspelled the word “Dominican” on you, you never missed a beat! We made it through the Arab detector and to the gate without any problems. All we needed to do was have you scanned! I found a seat at the gate, and together, we started imaging the sun, the beach, the abundance of cheap food, the napzzzZZZZZZZZZ....

::12 hours later::

Well, brilliant, boarding pass! Your damn Dominican description made me fall asleep, and we missed the flight! I am not a person of fate, but I am a person of laziness, so there is no way in hell I am trying this again. All in all, that was a miserable failure. However, I am willing to forgive you, boarding pass, if you lie to the world and tell them I made it down to the DR. I may not have a job, but I still have integrity, albeit false. Just remember the lesson from this misadventure, boarding pass: it NEVER pays to try.

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.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
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