After four months of temp work, I woke up this morning unemployed. Today, there will be no data to enter. I will not populate the necessary fields with the requisite information. It’s back to the job search. Anything is possible. Careers I’ve never considered are suddenly opening up like new flowers in spring.
Softball Umpire: If you enjoy enduring a barrage of insults and having your integrity questioned by drunken weekend-warriors, the good people at Underdog Sports Leagues have a paying job for you. Umpires and referees for softball, kickball, flag football, and dodgeball leagues are in demand. You must show HUSTLE!
Prior to my era of unemployment, I rarely ransacked my own home in search of scattered change. Poverty is appalling and I refuse to give up my morning latte, so recently I embarked on full-fledged coin purge of my apartment.
I’ve listed my apartments coin refuges ranked in order of most-to-least lucrative:
- Couch cushions ($$$).
- Around the washing machine–particularly if you have roommates ($$)
- In the backs of desk drawers ($).
- Behind dressers ($).
- Under rugs ($).
- In old bags, purses, backpacks ($).
- In the pockets of seasonal clothes ($).
This money affords me any number of things: Coffee, stamps, shares of Citibank stock, or a small bouquet of flowers as an apology to my wife who caught me digging through the pockets of her ski coat.
Many a boy born in the 1970s dreamed of one day growing a moustache. Perhaps it was born from hours spent watching Magnum P.I. get the girl and then drive off in the Ferrari.
Maybe it was from watching Dennis Eckersley shut down batters with Oakland Athletics. Or perhaps it was because the men doing things with unclothed women in those magazines found in the neighbor’s shed all had large moustaches. Who is to say where are our dreams come from?
I don’t know. But I do know who crushes those dreams in their infancy. I know who cut down the moustache tree before it could bear fruit–my wife. Perhaps, it’s because I looked– “like a disgusting pervert.” Or maybe it’s because– “everyone’s going to laugh at you.” Or perhaps because it resembled the men in those magazines or at least what they symbolize. For whatever the reason, I was forced to shave my moustache.
But I ask… If not now, then when? When will the time be so right as now? There are no job interviews scheduled in my day planner. I have the free time and necessary resources to dedicate to the cultivation of a moustache. Why must this dream whither and die?
Oh… I guess that’s why.