On Unemployment Time
I open my eyes and regard the alarm clock on my nightstand. “Oh God, it’s you again.” Nothing has changed. I’m still on unemployment time — the fifth time zone located in the middle of a daydream, where time moves like a waffle ball.
“What day is it?” I ask my dog lying by my side. He shakes his head. He doesn’t know either. I’ll only find the answer after I climb out of bed, my daily workout, and stagger to the office out of breath. The calendar never lies unless I forgot to change the month. It is July, isn’t it? Yes, and look it’s Tuesday, though Tuesday seems a lot like Monday. It’s dayjà vu all over again, redundantly the same.
When I point the cursor to the task bar clock on my computer, it confirms what the calendar says. I feel better until I check the job sites. First, I look for office assistant jobs within 15 miles. Nothing. 20 miles. Nothing. 1000 plus miles later, there appears to be a job in Quebec, Canada, although I’d have to get a visa, and it would be a bit of schlep from Connecticut.
Time to check another job site. Lots of jobs here, but they’re written in a strange, unintelligible dialect. Oops, it seems I’ve drifted off to Belgium. No wonder I can’t figure out how to get off the page. Alt, shift, delete, and nothing.
Am I dead? The screen brightens. Don’t go into the light. No. This light won’t kill me. It just brightens the screen.
Thank God I’m alive and back in the motherland. I head over to Yahoo and scroll down the page. There’s a job 40 miles from here if I can speak Spanish, French, and Pig Latin. My Pig Latin is pretty good, but I’d rather not interact with hogs. My French is pathetic. I only know several words, and I am pretty sure they’re obscenities. I can speak Spanish well only if someone is asking about visiting the library.
I should stay away from jobs requiring a second language. Even my native tongue, ethnic suburban New York, is questionable at times. At least I can read the job descriptions in English unlike the other site I stumbled onto halfway around the globe.
It’s easy to continent hop in cyberspace. If only continent hopping was that easy in cyberland, I would apply to that job in Quebec. However, I’d have to speak French. I don’t want to anger my neighbors to the north, especially when it appears they have more jobs than we do down south.
Wait! How lucky is that? A pop up window promises that I can learn French in 24 hours. How fortuitous and thoughtful of them to pop on in. They just need my bank information and pin number. Oh, look. It’s my lucky day. It seems they already have that.