Job Fruit
"I was looking for a job, and then I found a job
And heaven knows I'm miserable now."
-The Smiths


I suppose I really shouldn't complain.

After all, 5.2% of Americans are out of work. Over 70% of Zimbabwe is unemployed, half of Nepal doesn't work, and Aruba's unemployemt rate has soared to 0.06%. An average of one person a year dies in Switzerland from a bee or wasp sting, "Extra Soft" in French is "Ultra Souple," and more and more Land O Lakes butter is being imported from Poland, which, indeed, is a land of many lakes. And did you know that if you donate your body to science after you die, you could find your disembodied head propped up in a tray for plastic surgeons practicing face-lifts? You?d look great but you?d still be dead and missing the rest of your body. I?m not sure how you?d smell, but I?m guessing unpleasant. Try going to a job interview looking like that! Actually, try going anywhere like that!

So, yeah, 5.2% of Americans are out of work. And until two short weeks ago, I was one of them. I?d like to say that it was a deeply troubling time for me, that I felt useless, unproductive, and utterly without direction, and that I feared for my future, and indeed, my very identity, in a profound and soul-searching kind of way. But all that would be a bucket of mottled heifer excrement. Except for a profoundly disturbing inability to buy stuff, unemployment fit me like a spangled spandex unitard.

Not being a professional curler, hand model, or dirty cop on the take, I?m used to living on what most people would call a ?limited? income. It?s rather like being in the ?special class,? financially. Since my idea of a good time is eating pizza while watching bloody disaster befall a group of randy, thirty year old ?teenagers? on an ill-fated camping trip, being poor usually doesn?t interfere with my quality of life. However, the difference between ?limited? and ?no? income was far more dramatic and terrifying than anything than anything I?d ever seen in any my favorite movies. This time, it was personal.

I knew there were unemployment offices where one could go to get money for not working, but I didn?t know specifically where these offices were (probably in some building somewhere? like that?s at all convenient), and I didn?t know if abandoning a perfectly good job (aside from that fact that it sucked hellishly) would damage my ability to project a sincere desire to work, disinclining these people from giving me pizza money. There would be forms to fill out, and I?d have to find a pen. I was certain my lack of ?babies? (crack or otherwise) was going to negatively impact the financial worthwhileness of filling out all that paperwork. And if the lines at the unemployment office were anything like the lines at the DMV, I would find myself surrounded by unattractive people in shorts with poor cell phone etiquette, which is part of what made the job I had just quit so hellish in the first place. Was there no escaping them? Why yes, actually, there was. None of those people would be in my house, and so, I chose to remain there.

I wasn?t really worried, anyway. Finding a job was sure to be a breeze. Everyone knows employers nowadays value ?experience,? and I?ve been to a funeral and gone white water rafting. Any employer that failed to impress obviously wasn?t worth working for. When sending out my resume, I carefully screened out any job descriptions that required a ?cheerful and helpful attitude,? or ?liturgical dancewear? and avoided any help wanted ads beginning with ?Are you a people person?? or ?Have a nice body? Like showing it off?? Then I made sure I satisfied the core requirements of the jobs I was interested in; U.S. Citizen? Why, yes! Dependable transportation? So far, so good. Convicted of a felony? Only if they can find the body. Bilingual? Buenos Dias, and God Bless America!

Yep, things were lookin? good. I had planted well qualified seeds in entry-level ground fertile with advancement opportunities. Soon the seeds would germinate, flower, be molested by interview bees, and bear ripe, juicy job-fruit (which I assumed resembled a mango and carried a briefcase).There was little more to do than sit back, turn on the TV, and wait for the offers to come rollin? in. I was fully prepared for the process to take a few weeks. In fact, any immediate responses to my resumes were most unwelcome. I had worked for Target, a place where shoppers open merchandise they do not intend to buy to make little beds in the carts for their children to sleep in while they shoplift Celine Dion perfume and ?Hello Kitty? thong underwear. I had witnessed the breakdown of society and had worn a red shirt with tan pants almost every day for almost a year. I needed a break. I deserved a break.

Aside from the soaps, daytime TV is made for the unemployed. Every technical college and accredited ?certificate? program in the country advertises during Judge Judy and Jerry Springer. You are sincerely urged to join the rewarding, challenging ?world? of refrigeration maintenance and repair, and when you begin to seriously contemplate doing so, you know you?ve been unemployed too long. When you begin to believe Apollo ?College? can put you ?where the action is? with their court stenographer program, you?ve been unemployed for too long. When your heart seizes in anxiety when an announcer suddenly shouts: ?Inventors! Don?t let this happen to you! Have your idea or invention patented today!? and you haven?t invented a thing, you have definitely been unemployed for too long.

If you?re too lazy to get yourself job skills, the lawyers are there to remind you that you probably have cause to sue someone, but you just don?t realize it. People just like you and me stare blankly at the camera and read from cue cards. ?I didn?t even know I had a case, but I got a huge cash settlement. And he took care of my D.U.I. My lawyer was great.? These people usually claim to have been referred to the advertised law firm by a ?lawyer friend,? who really can?t much of a lawyer if he?s giving away lucrative lawsuits. But I digress.

Sure, you could just shut the TV off, but what do you do then? You?ve already emailed all your friends and said, ?Ha Ha! It?s 2 p.m. and I just got up! How?s work???? and they?re too busy working to reply. The dogs are hot and tired, and you discover the reason they?re so hyper when you get home at night is because they sleep all day. You could do laundry, but you don?t have to have nice clothes for tomorrow, so why bother? Clean the house? Shave? Why? You?re on vacation! You could go to the mall, but you have no money. A nap could be refreshing, but you?ve only been up two hours. No calls or emails in response to any of the resumes you?ve sent, and the job listings are the same as they were an hour ago. It gets quiet, too. Too quiet. Hey! Divorce Court is on!

When your hard-earned ?vacation? tarnishes into old fashioned, garden-variety ?unemployment? it happens gradually. The episode of Roseanne where Roseanne is supposedly almost killed by a mailbox hurled through her window by a hurricane no longer amuses you with it?s bad special effects they way it used to. You get angrier and angrier at the idiots on Family Feud who insist on slapping their hands together and hooting ?Good answer! Good answer!? after someone has given ?church? as an answer to ?a place you wish people wouldn?t bring their dogs.? In what universe is that a ?good answer?? Who the hell brings their dog to church? Nobody, that?s who! Moron! The big red buzzing X just isn?t enough punishment for these people. I hope it?s a long, long drive home for these losers and their families, filled with resentful silence that grows and grows until someone finally explodes, ?You idiot! Why couldn?t you have said ?beach??? That?s the Family Feud I?d want to see. See? When you?ve got too much time on your hands, you think of things like this. And the people you live with, who work all day supporting your unemployed ass, aren?t very interested when you greet them at the door saying, ?Oh my God, this woman was SO STUPID on Family Feud today, you wouldn?t believe it!? They?re more interested in knowing why you haven?t started dinner, or cleared your breakfast dishes.

Doing nothing is extremely addictive, like gambling, cocaine addiction, or stalking David Letterman. At some point you?re going to hit rock bottom. You become so lazy you experience real irritation when you have to get up to pee, and rack your brains trying to come up with an acceptable alternative to that long, exhaustive walk to the bathroom (millions of inventors in the world, and no one?s solved this one?). You become fogged and easily disoriented, and sometimes find yourself standing in the back yard with a garden hose and wondering why you?re there and what you were going to do. Time has no meaning, nor do days of the week. Saturday is just as good as Monday. Was it ALREADY 4 p.m., or was it ONLY 4 p.m.? You do realize you?re talking out loud to yourself, right? Shut up, fool! They?ll hear you!

Then, one day, some poor, unsuspecting fool will call you to arrange an interview. By the time this happened, I had totally forgotten what was going on. How long ago had I planted that seed? You?re who and calling from where? Getting up and dressed for the interview was a welcome change of pace. Hey, shaving! I remember this! The interviewer was the only person I had spoken to other than Shawn in a week. I was more than happy to sit and chat. When I got the call offering me the job, I immediately accepted.

"Can you start Monday?" I was asked.

"Absolutely!" I said.

Only after I hung up the phone did I realize that Monday was a mere three days away. Since I was no longer unemployed, I became immediately depressed. My vacation was almost over! It had all been so sudden. Why, oh why hadn't I said I couldn't start until NEXT Monday? Heck, even that Tuedsay would have been better. Now I'd have to do laundry, and there was so much of it! Was I even capable of getting up before noon anymore? How soon could I take another vacation or even a personal day? Why had I not realized what a fleeting joy unemployment was, and enjoyed it more? Why? Why? Why? Just one more week!

Now I get up every day at a 6 a.m. I do laundry all the time. My commute is a mere 20 minutes, but I still resent it deeply. I am keenly aware of the time of day and the day of the week. I like 5:00 p.m. best and Saturdays and Sundays. I haven't seen Family Feud in ages and I miss it.


Job-fruit is bitter.