Statistically speaking, I am likely to land a job eventually. The more interviews I go on, the more likely I am to get one right. By some act of God or administrative desperation, some organization will hire me whether or not my fly is down or if I have toilet paper stuck to my shoe. Otherwise, I don’t know…I’m too old to do anything sexy and get paid for it but maybe I could get paid doing things for people who can get paid for being sexy. For example, I could “bathe the maidens” at the XXX Forum on 23rd & Market Street.
I’ve also looked into selling the contents of my ovaries locally, but I’m too old to do that too. My brother gave me a tip that In NYC they’ll take eggs up through age 34 but the clinic wants to monitor you every day for 2 weeks while they pump you full of hormones.
I’m not sure what my problem is. It could be that, even in an interview setting, I absolutely cannot pass up a chance to make a good joke. I also have trouble asserting anything about myself without negating it in the very next sentence. And as it turns out, I really, really enjoy not working.
I’m not sure what my problem is. It could be that, even in an interview setting, I absolutely cannot pass up a chance to make a good joke. I also have trouble asserting anything about myself without negating it in the very next sentence. And as it turns out, I really, really enjoy not working.
I can justify my unemployment with a little economic model called “The Law of Supply and Demand.” I do not work because no one is paying me to work.
It’s the founding principle of a free market, dude. The lack of demand for my services is justly reflected by the absence of my services. I’m only being responsible to the market.
In fact, no one is paying me to do anything. And until I do find a job, I am more than happy to pass the time drinking free trade coffee for hours until I can actually feel the sweat droplets forming in my balmy armpits and cascading down my sides. By night, I play darts, take Cha Cha lessons and most recently, bowl. It’s probably un-American of me, but for the time being, this totally feels worth whatever I’m not making.
2 comments:
Suggestion: Quit the cha-cha malarkey and double up on darts. Why? Because the word on the street is you need practice. Why? Because one day you may find yourself on the wrong side of town and the only path to freedom is to brawl your way through a barricade of boar’s bristles with steel-tipped fists. Have you ever seen “The Warriors” (1979)? It’ll be just like that. But instead of gangs of pimps and mimes and baseball clowns and overall-wearing roller skaters, you’ll be up against just one gang. One majestic gang of pimped-out hillbilly baseball mimes on wheels. That’d be us. The Eastside Consternaters. Of darts.
Bring your SCUBA gear, cuz you’re goin down.
February.
p.s. Nifty blog.
Wow. "The Warriors" sounds like my Nightmare #43. But I ain't skeard. I'm the best shot in my entire apartment. I don't know how you boys in Swaziland roll (other than in face paint and overalls, apparently) but on the Westside we sport facial tattoes and smell like monkeys- but we can still clear bull from the handlebars of our fixed gear bicycles.
Bring it.
I'm glad you like my blog.
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