22-year-old whiners are so unemployed because we've never even had a job before. We're so unemployed that we've (read: I've) thought seriously about putting a best friend's first name and mother's maiden name under references and claimed that I nannied her 3 children last summer. On account of I was unemployed last summer. I was so unemployed that my parents, who are the world's worst house keepers and literally have not renovated or updated or really cleaned a single room in our house in over 10 years, gave me $200 to repaint our basement family room. We still have not put photos back on the walls or books back on the shelves. We rule.
Mostly I blame my unemployment on Ireland, but I shouldn't because they're way more unemployed than me. However, I lived there for a year in drunken, literary bliss at Trinity in Dublin. More often than not, I was running out of class and into a pub or running around trying to go to every place James Joyce got drunkenly tossed out of in his prime. Often these quests overlapped. In any case, not everything is Dublin's fault. Actually nothing is Dublin's fault. I change my mind! I love the fact that I spent all my money there. ANYWAY, when you go to a liberal farts college in suburban Massachusetts but you live in the New York metropolitan area and you are in Ireland trying to coordinate summer plans, your liberal farts college's career services office is, how-you-say...well, put it this way if you measured helpfulness on a Kelvin scale, this place would be flirting dangerously close to Absolute Zero. When I asked them, "Hey, might you assist me in procuring employment for the summer?" they responded, and I shit-you-not, "Did you try Monster?" Then I threw my laptop out the window and it landed on an old lady in a walker and I set my apartment on fire and jumped off the roof like Bertha. (Read: I drank a bottle of wine and went out until dawn to take the sting off of stupid.)
And so I spent my last college summer painting my parents' basement various Easter egg colors, asking my dad for beer money, crying, and sleeping until 3PM. This summer, however, no longer wasting away physically and mentally, I am much more proactive now that I have a piece of paper in a leather book that says B.A., which I wish denoted Bad Assery or Being Awesome or Bat Assassin or Basement Artist, but really just means Bachelor of fArts. As a result, this year when I went to Absolute-Zero-Kelvin-Career-Suckfest, as I came to endearingly know it, they were like, "Wait, we only have jobs for Accounting majors who already live in the Boston area and want to get paid in lollypops and pennies." Ugh. "Well," said I, "If that doesn't describe ME, I don't know what does!" Then I ran away, flailing my arms and yelling.
Now, I apply to upwards of 30 jobs a day. Today marks the one month-iversary of graduation, which I have decided to celebrate by month like a middle school dating relationship. Hopefully, my month-iversaries are short-lived and I break up with unemployment faster than I broke up with all none of my middle school boyfriends. Applying to 30 jobs a day, while watching every available movie and TV show on Netflix and Direct TV etc., is causing the following bad things to happen to me:
1. I had a dream last night I was on my way to an interview, but I was in Dublin, and I was dressed like the programs in Tron: Legacy and kept taking out lightposts with my disk. Then I was dating someone wearing an Iron Man suit but the power kept running out so every time we flew somewhere we'd hurtle to the ground and die kind of.
2. I am deathly, horribly, agoraphobically terrified by the outdoors. Like right now, for example, it's the first day of summer and it's a million degrees and sunny and part of me wants to go sit on my deck and read a book, but the other 99% of me can no longer handle the sound of birds chirping in the trees on my property or hearing squirrels and bunnies in the brush or the sound of literally any insect. And sometimes a leaf will land near me and I'll squirm. One time a squirrel climbed on the deck and we stared at each other for like 8 and half minutes until it slowly backed away and down the steps while I simultaneously walked backwards into my kitchen door. The whole ordeal took almost 20 minutes and I got a sunburn as a result.
3. Occasionally, or most nights, I can't go out with my "friends" from home because I drank too many whiskey-ginger-ales with my mother by 8PM and we're already too deep into any of the pre-Avengers movies, Tron: Legacy, Bridesmaids, X-men: First Class (because it is played on every channel every hour), or Harry Potter 1-7.2 (because if you time it correctly you can watch all 8 movies back to back to back to back to back to back to back to back).
4. I have put on almost every combination and permutation of my wardrobe and decided in my head where I would wear each outfit if I ever obtained enough courage to go outdoors again, reclaimed the ability to operate a vehicle after 8PM, answered the phone call of a "friend" who wanted to hang out, or go to an interview.
5. I get ice cream with my dad every other day at 3:30PM. Like fuckin' clockwork.
6. Speaking of clockwork (A Clockwork ORANGE, am I right?!), even though I reach my job application quota of 30 everyday and I've watched an equal number of movies per job application capita (see now why I would get fired from the accounting jobs in Boston that pay in lollypops and pennies?), I have also read a million books. One million. I think the number of books I've read in my first month-iversary with unemployment is equal to the number of books I read in my 4 years as an English major.
6a. I have found a love for metaphors that are also math equations.
I have to go now because I have to buy a suit for an imaginary interview with the last of my funds and get ice cream with my father as it is now 3:30PM. With this purchase, my weight will be a larger number than the one in my checking account. Huzzah!
Please hire me,
Erin
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