Depressed, Indignant, My favorites, Pathetic

Why happiness seems like a lot of work

I’ve been tired.

I know it seems like there is nothing for me to get tired about, but I’m pooped.

Last Thursday I went to an “interview” for a position as a … a something. I had received a call the Tuesday before asking me a few questions about what were my good qualities, why I wanted to work there, and some other meaningless canned queries for me to ponder. I walked into the office on the third floor of a small building in the middle of downtown Minneapolis and was met by 15 other applicants in the same position as me. After waiting my turn I finally got to meet with the lady who had spoken to me on the phone just two days earlier. She asked me the exact same questions. Not even different phrasing of the questions. It was the same questions. She then sent me into another room to wait with the other applicants who passed this rigorous set of questions twice.

We each were presented with an application of sorts that asked us, yet again, the exact same questions. After quickly filling in the exact same answers, I sat sleepily leaning my head against the heating vent. I had only gotten seven hours of sleep the night before, and it was starting to catch up to me. Then a video forced me out of my slumber. A video being played on real player and projected to the front of the room. Solemn music played as did clips from news shows covering the economic crisis creating a montage of depression. I watched as Jim Cramer screamed “NO NO NO! I’m going to shoot myself!” followed by a middle class housewife crying as she lost her home. Then, after two and a half minutes of super-downers, the video faded to black, and then faded back up to two smiling faces. One was the president of the company I was applying to work for; the other was his right hand man.

The two screamed: “While our country is experiencing an economic meltdown, our company has only been booming!” They continued to scream as they explained why the country’s failure only meant that their job of selling cheap life insurance became easier and easier – because people are thinking about death more.  Behind their constant shouting, “The Final Countdown” played softly, getting louder and louder as more statistics about the financial success of their firm were yelled at us. This went on for eight and a half minutes, meaning that “The Final Countdown” was looped for eight and a half minutes. I don’t even think Gob could have handled it.

After the screaming CEOs fucked our eardrums with their crooning capatilist cocks, a spiked haired, well dressed, fast talking dude ran down the aisle that had been created between the applicants and started shouting about how happy he was working at this company and how much money he makes a year. To set us at ease, he started off our meeting by asking each of us to stand up, say our name, where we’re from, and one interesting thing about ourselves. At first I thought this was very fourth grade, but then I realized it was something much worse. In fourth grade everybody says something mildly amusing like: “I have four puppies,” or “I’ve been in an airplane twice.” In the job application version of this game everybody says “I have good people skills,” or “I’m dynamicly personable.” This series of bland phrases climaxed when one guy in the back said: “My name is Tyler, I live in Roseville, and I’m a closer. Period.” I let out a snicker that received only condescending glances and I realized I needed to leave.

When the time came for us to all get out of the room and head over to have our second portion of our interview, I faked a phone call and scampered out. I went to the elevator and hit the S button for Street. Two more people got in and hit the G button for Ground. I thought maybe I was right and they were going to some basement where they parked their cars, but I wasn’t so lucky. The elevator stopped at floor S and I stepped out onto a second floor full of junk- literal junk. I turned back to them to see they were holding the door for me, but I stayed the course and faked a necessity to check out the broken theater light and pile of garbage at the window.

I took a nap after that, but I don’t think I’ve fully recovered. Today I slept nine and a half hours only to wake up grumpily to the alarm I set.

Today was the worst day ever though. I wish I hadn’t woken up. My computer has been temperamental about how it is plugged in for months now, but usually after five or ten minutes of fooling around with the cord, I can get the computer to stay plugged in. Now the computer refuses to stay plugged in. I have to hold the cord at a certain angle just to get power to the laptop. So, now I will start every day by doing that for about an hour so that I have an hour of use from my computer.

So, as I sit here on the verge of tears in front of a library computer, I pray that something will put me in contact with a large sum of money. A large sum of money would allow me to fix my computer and my life could be good again. And by good, I mean I can watch Chuck, Studio 60, and other TV shows I only receive mild amusement from online again. I don’t know how I’ll survive with only an hour of computer usage a day. I may have to start reading, or cooking, or taking walks. Nah. I’ll just cry in my bed. That takes up enough time.

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5 thoughts on “Why happiness seems like a lot of work

  1. wes says:

    nisse, you can come live in my hospital room if you want. we’ll setup a couple chairs together for you to sleep on, you can play my wii, and they give you all the washcloths you need to wash yourself.

    also, they make a mean iceberg lettuce salad that you would be welcome to at every meal.

  2. Syreeta says:

    This is why I quit my grown-up job so that I could work late nights as a waitress and audit a class at Mac. The real world blows.

  3. wes says:

    yeah, no problem, i think i work that out. i can drop some dirt into my leg and then they will have to do another cleaning surgery.

  4. Pingback: Why H2$ seems like a lot of work « what it be, Bitches!

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