taking stock

June will mark the fourth month of my unemployment. And in this time, I’ve done some soul searching. While I’d like to be able to say that I’ve figured out what career path I want to embark on and where my life is heading, nothing that meaningful has taken place. Rather, what I’ve discovered about myself is that I’ve gained a lot of weight and my socks all have holes in them…presumably from my now massively obese feet.

And these aren’t just normal sized holes. These are holes large enough for small children to stick their heads through. I put my socks on and my whole foot slips right through, making my socks more like garter belts. I don’t know when the sudden influx of holes began, but it is currently in full bloom and leaving a severe sock shortage in my wardrobe needs.

So a plan has been established. While I have no power over the hiring managers’ decisions to give me a job, my weight and socks are both things that I have control over.

And at least one of these goals, I’m certain that I can achieve.

great expectations at greatly inflated prices

Jim, who has recently decided to embark on a new career selling gyros, also decided that it was time for a new relationship. He broke up with his girlfriend a few months ago and is currently in the process of ‘getting a new start’ on life.

The plan, to help with the new girlfriend portion of his ‘new startedness’ was to head down to a company called Great Expectations…a dating service…and have them do the majority of the leg work for him. Having nothing better to do, I decided to take a drive down with him.

We walked into the office, located in a swanky new office building in a part of town which is undergoing a ‘revitalization’…which generally means that the rent in these buildings is triple what the rent is in the buildings three blocks down the street...where we were met by Lisa, who told us that she was finishing up an appointment, but led us to the lobby and asked if we wanted something to drink.

We declined and Jim was given an application form to fill out. As Jim began writing down his pertinent information, I sat and listened to the music which was lofting throughout the lobby by speakers hidden somewhere from up above. The musical selections, which were comprised of non-stop love songs, were carefully selected to showcase just how single and lonely you must be if you’re sitting in the Great Expectations lobby. Thus, the mood was set early so as to prime unsuspecting clients into ‘relationship mode’. A state which could easily be remedied by Lisa and her trained staff of ‘dating specialists’, turning you from a schlubby single schmuck into a dating Don Juan.

Shortly after, Lisa was escorting us into her office. For fifteen minutes, she dropped the best sales pitch I’ve ever heard…I was left wondering how anybody met and fell in love without her help. Then Jim broached the subject of price.

“Well, normally I don’t discuss fees until someone is prepared to enroll with us,” Lisa said, “but depending on which package you choose, the price ranges between $3,000 and $6,000.”

As I picked my jaw up from off of the floor, positive that at a $6,000 price tag I’d be remaining single for quite a long time, Jim continued listening and asking questions as if this figure didn’t phase him in the least.

As our time wound down, Lisa stood, offered Jim her hand, and said, “I’ll be in touch to let you know what the next step is and about our different payment options.”

We left the building and, as we were headed to his car, I said to him, “I can’t believe you kept listening to her pitch after she told us how much this would cost…you’re not seriously considering this, are you?”

“Hell no, I’d never pay that much!” Jim told me. “I just stuck around because I wanted to stare at her breasts a little longer. What an amazing pair of tits she had!”

The exact same pair of tits that I’m sure convinced many other single men to fork over $6,000.

kellogg's giveth and kellogg's taketh away

I found myself on the Kellogg’s website this past Thursday, filling out their on-line application in the hopes of getting a job. My birthday, having commenced just a few days before, left me thinking that this would be my year. 33 turned out to be not such a great age for me. But 34, I reasoned, would be my year. The year I get that great job and find that great girl. A year where everything comes up roses. A year that will go down in the history of great years.

This hope seemed to be confirmed when, after hitting the little ‘submit’ button on the Kellogg website, I was informed that a phone interview was being granted. Clearly, I had answered all of the pre-interview questions correctly and my skills and talents were easily recognized. I scheduled my interview time for the very next day.

Friday morning, I got the call. I answered, said ‘hello’ in my most professional voice, and prepared to amaze the Kellogg’s human resources department with tales of my success in business and my leadership skills. Stories that had been polished so as not just to amaze, but to entertain and illuminate as well. Stories that would leave them thinking, ‘how can we not offer this guy a job? He’s just that impressive!’

“Hello, this is Mindy calling from Kellogg’s,” the voice on the phone informed me, “I’m sorry to tell you, sir, that the interview confirmation you received on our website was a mistake. There seems to be a glitch in our system which granted you an interview in error. I’m calling to cancel that interview. Your credentials simply don’t warrant an interest from us at this time.”

And, in my most professional voice, I said, “Oh. I see.” Though I was thinking, “why don’t you take a fistful of Frosted Flakes and stuff them up your ass, Mindy.” But, as professional people know, these words are not conducive to professional business etiquette. Hopefully Mindy wasn’t a mind-reader.

As I hung up the phone, I was left hoping that perhaps there’s a one or two week margin of error before the start of my year…the year that’s supposed to bring me untold wealth and joy begin.

Because, God help me, I can’t endure another year like the past one.

old

Yesterday, I turned 34. Which means that the sunny-side of 30 is over for me. I have now officially entered those mid-30’s years…which means that 40 is looming closer than they were when I was still an early-thirty person. I’m getting old, and I’ve got the numbers to prove it.

My family always took trips to Ocean City when I was in junior high. One of the beach highlights was walking along the boardwalk and checking out the junior high girls that were also on vacation with their families. A few years after graduating from college I went back. Upon returning, however, I found that the women who were catching my eye all seemed to have babies. Mothers! With children! Instead of junior high girls, I was checking out young moms. I felt old.

Still being firmly rooted in my 20’s, however, I wasn’t too concerned. But as 30 came closer, more signs revealed that I wasn’t young anymore. At 28, I found myself teaching sixth grade. One day, I mentioned Bruce Springsteen and was met with blank stares and looks of confusion from the entire class. Not a single student knew who Bruce was. Springsteen. The Boss. The guy who was on top of the world back when I was in junior high was now just a footnote in history. An answer to a question in Trivial Pursuit the 80’s edition. I felt old.

When I turned 30, friends…in condolence…told me that ‘40 is the new 30’ and, because of this, 30 must be the new 20. But they were wrong. 30 is still 30, and is in a whole different ballpark from 20. As if to hammer this point home, no bouncer has asked me for I.D. since then.

But now at 34, it’s different. Instead of particular instances, all it takes is a quick glance in the mirror to make me feel old.

seeing the country, one gyro at a time

It’s very similar to a hot dog vendor that you see on a street corner, but housed in a mobile RV…more closely resembling the nacho, ribs, and Philly steak and cheese sandwich vendors that can be found selling their wares at county fairs and church bazaars. And this large, white van which was offering “Tony’s Gyros” was parked right outside of Jim’s house as I pulled up to his front door yesterday.

Being that Jim is neither named ‘Tony’ nor likes gyros very much, I was confused as to where this thing came from and why it was now decorating his front yard.

“Please tell me that you were hungry and found a gyro place that delivers,” I asked him as he opened the door.

“No, man,” Jim replied, “this is my new business venture. I’m going to clean up!”

For as long as I’ve known Jim, he’s always been looking for a fast, money-making scheme. In college, he named his band ‘Free Beer’, and stuck up fliers around campus promoting their first show. “Free Beer from 11:00-12:00” the signs promised. The folks that filled the bar, however, upon finding out the free beer wasn’t the beverage but the band, became quite hostile…thus ending Jim’s career as a musician after 12 minutes.

A few years later, he bought hundreds of discount rings off of the internet. “I’m moving to Florida to start a toe ring company,” he told me one day. “Toe rings are the new belly-button rings! All I have to do is walk up and down the beach and sell them to people sunbathing…just like those guys that take your picture and for those key chains! I’ll make a fortune!”

After a few months, he found the toe ring business to be less than booming. And the few people who did purchase one tracked him down a week later and demanded their money back because Jim’s toe rings had left a curious turquoise ring around the toe that it had been placed on.

He returned to town and decided that the city needed a movie rental delivery service. His plan was simple…people would call him with the movie they wanted to watch and he would drive to Blockbuster, rent the movie and then charge his customers a dollar more than it had cost him. But with the increasing gas prices and the availability of movies on cable, Jim quickly found that he was losing more money than he was making.

Now, however, he felt that he finally found a goldmine.

“Jim, where in the world did you find this gyro-mobile?”

“At some estate sale,” he told me. “All I have to do is drive down to the Regatta or maybe some college campuses, and sell gyros all day! I might even take a few months and follow the Grateful Dead or Phish around the country, selling gyros to their fans at their concerts! It’s ingenious!”

“Do you even know how to make a gyro?” I asked.

“No, but how hard can it be. Besides, since you’re not working right now, I thought that maybe you’d like to help me out until you find a job. I’ll give you a percentage of the daily sales.”

And with no job and no prospects, it appears that I’ll be learning how to make gyros very soon and embarking on my new career as a professional gyro chef.

as the nest turns

I read somewhere that dust is mostly made up of dead skin cells. And, judging from the amount of dust around my apartment, I have to conclude that I am either losing skin at an alarming rate, or that I really should dust more often than I do.

With this in mind, I decided that perhaps it was time to clean. Having no job, time wasn’t an issue…rather, it’s been motivation that has been holding me back. So today, I decided, I scrub.

Vacuuming, dusting, floor washing, and tub scrubbing all commenced. And, once finished, I even decided to tackle the windows. When things around my apartment were all agleam with cleanliness, I plopped down on the couch. And not five minutes after I plopped, a bird smacked head on into my newly washed window.

I watched it fly away, breathing easy that I wouldn’t be solely responsible for an increase in the bird mortality rate in the city, but I began to think that, surely, with the smacking that the bird just endured, some sort of bird concussion must have taken place. And, having seen enough afternoon soap operas to know what a concussion leads to, I knew what the future would hold for this bird.

This now concussed bird probably has amnesia, I reasoned, and most likely has a little wife bird with newly born baby bird off in a nest somewhere. Having completely forgotten who he is, this bird will probably find and fall in love and start a family with a different bird…completely unaware of the life he used to have.

His original bird wife will surely mourn the disappearance of her husband, but life will go on. Worms will have to be found. A little bird mouth will have to be fed. And someday, this little bird will inadvertently meet another little bird and fall in love. Of course, unbeknownst to him, the bird he is destined to fall in love with will be his step-sister, the daughter of his long lost father.

His father, having caught the bird flu, will have his memory return only moments before passing away…revealing to his daughter that she has a brother, the same brother that she has fallen madly in love with.

Torn and tearful, she will run off…perhaps to Cleveland…where she will find a nice pigeon to marry, but never forgetting the love of her life, her brother.

And one day, when her brother becomes rich and powerful in the bird world by amassing the most wealthy collection of colored string in town, she will return to claim her share of the fortune.

Naturally, her brother won’t want to forfeit any of his amazing string fortune. And it will be at this point that she reveals to him that he is really the father of her son, not the pigeon. Her baby bird…the heir to the colored string fortune.

Now reunited, this happy and complete bird family will fly off. And as they swoop down over a country road, I’ll probably be driving to an interview at the exact same moment…killing them instantly as they bounce off my windshield.

A sad end to a long saga. Of course, if I get a job offer from the interview, at least there will be a happy ending.