Getting To Know You

First sentences are a lot like analogies–they are extremely popular literary devices.

Now that we’ve broken that ice, what’s up with you?

What am I doing these days? Geez, so much, like, you wouldn’t, geez, where do I start?

Well, first things first, I am unemployed. Don’t get up, don’t get up, hear me out. I’m not poor. Far from it. Would you like another drink? Let’s get you another drink.

The reason I am so candidly discussing my quote-unquote situation with you has nothing to do with candor and everything to do with my need to be liked and  respected. You see, I am one of a revered few that have chosen to be unemployed, chosen early retirement. You see I’m not one of these guys, these briefcase bozos huddled around their smart phones downtown–well actually the smart phone has probably all but replaced their need for a briefcase but it’s a symbol you know–look I don’t have a schedule of appointments, per se. I don’t have a, what does the corporate world love to always say, “a reason to get up in the morning.”

I gave all that up: the fast cars, the penthouse apartment, the health insurance, the option to eat outside the house, really the disposable income to purchase anything that brings me worldly pleasure other than, and almost exclusively at this point, a daily dose of some kind of narcotic just so that I fall asleep happy and, look, you understand what I’m saying– sacrifices have been made.

You’re speechless. My story has that effect on people. That’s fine, it’s natural to be nervous when you meet a diamond in the rough. A wily ol’ bull amongst the cattle. Drink up. I’ll call you a cab in a minute.

Where was I… hmm… don’t you hate that? I totally lost my place, it’s that distracting smile of yours. And those eyes. You should hand people two adderall when you meet them just so they have a chance to focus.

I imagine this is what the world looks like outside my bedroom

So, given the bleak job market and slim possibility of an apocalypse, I did what any other American patriot would do: quit. I said ‘No!’ Give my office and my salary to some single mother with twenty kids, or some mentally-handicapped thirtysomething still paying off his student loans, or an immigrant–any hue of immigrant will do–give them my christmas bonus, work permit or no. Just give it to someone that needs the money because I sure as hell don’t. I got all the time in the world and those tablet computers you’re pushing on me will only go down in price.

It’s okay, yeah, you can text your friend back. Sorry, got a little worked up there.

Believe me, I got nowhere to be. I sit with the rest of my unemployed brethren on the steps of city hall (not literally) waiting for some guidance from our elected representatives. The classifieds section is as depressing as the obituaries these days. Don’t get me started on Craigslist–I dare you to type the word ‘job’ as a search filter there and see what deplorable sections of the city you end up in.

No, I’m not looking for a job, I’m just saying it’s tough out there. No, thankfully, I had the economic foresight to bleed a company dry for thousands of dollars the past half-decade in anticipation of this moment.

Oh, yeah, of course, no problem. I should be getting out of here, too. Big day tomorrow and all. Totally. So are you on LinkedIn?

This entry was posted in Personal by J. Robert Tyrrell. Bookmark the permalink.

About J. Robert Tyrrell

J. Robert Tyrrell is the most important contributor for The Computer Newspaper. The Computer Newspaper is an internet website accessed by tapping on a specific combination of computer keys. Like a paper newspaper, the Computer Newspaper contains stories, thoughts, feelings, and more often, hurt feelings. We are a division of Cook Street Productions.

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