It’s Friday Night And I Just Got Paid. Only I Didn’t.

12 Oct

Unemployment is actually fascinating. I’ve never felt so ashamed and free all at once… except for maybe the time when my best friend and I went skinny dipping in her parent’s pool when we were 13. When you find yourself unemployed, you start to classify yourself as other things, in fear of actually admitting that no one thinks you’re competent for any sort of work, ever. You especially do this when filling out paperwork for official adult documents, such as car insurance.  “I work at home.” These words leave your mouth and you immediately feel a rush of guilt and shame. “I’m self-employed.” BAM. Self-hatred is coursing through your body so quickly, you’re just amazed that it’s not just seeping through your eye balls and onto the Geiko lady’s desk.

You start to do rash things, like look on Craigslist for jobs under the search word “Creative.” Here, you find people who want you to model for them. Okay, you think. I can do that. You must feel comfortable in your own skin. Okay. I LOVE my skin… mostly… No professional experience required. Okay, cool, I’ve never professionally modeled before. Check! I want to take pictures of a sexy girl posing nude in the woods. Call this number and let’s set up an appointment. Woah. Okay. Maybe I don’t feel THAT comfortable in my own skin…

Hm. So maaayyybe “creative” jobs aren’t for you. You then go and look under “Writing” jobs. Here, you find someone who needs you to write erotic stories for their women’s magazine. For a moment, you actually consider doing this. And then you realize that you went to school for 4 years to become an artist. You don’t need to write smut for a women’s magazine. You’re too good for this.

You go out and get a mediocre lunch at a dive of a Chinese restaurant. You get the Honey Chicken. While you wait, you notice a paper that says “Jobs Of Orlando.” You pick it up… hopeful… you then read an ad that says, “Housekeepers needed. You make 8 dollars an hour!!!! We will pay to train you!”

You close the paper, eat your Honey Chicken, and go home. You decide that right now, your job is to get a Florida driver’s license, put your bed on its bed frame, and shower every other day. Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll get promoted to working out four times a week, and actually COOKING yourself something. Something that doesn’t come in a box.


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