to plunder and misrepresent

 

I hadn’t worked in, like, a year. I was living on unemployment. I’d get calls from friends and family members.

 

“Found a job yet?”

 

“Not yet.”

 

“What’s going on?”

 

I always resented that question.  I didn’t think it was appropriate under the circumstances.  I’d play it off.  “It’s hard out there,” I’d tell them.  “Economy’s in rough shape.”

 

“Well, hell, there’s always McDonald’s.”

 

Right…

 

Fortunately, I knew how to hustle.  Every now and then I’d run into lonely spinsters who would offer to cook for me.  We’d have insane conversations.  They’d tell me all about their cats, their birds, their overdue library fines.  I’d just nod and smile, and excuse myself after tea.

 

“You could stay here,” they’d say. “I’ve got a spare bedroom.”

 

I’d thank them, tell them I’ve made other arrangements.

 

“Other arrangements?” they’d say.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” and leave it at that.

 

When times got tough, I’d call up old girlfriends, and sleep on their couches.  They’d play the games they played as kids and I’d watch them from a safe distance.  Some would light incense, others would do yoga, but they’d all end up telling me why they broke up with me.

 

“You’re strangely distant and emotionally unavailable.”

 

“You’re a drifter, a loner, lazy, self-absorbed and unambitious.”

 

“You’re afraid of responsibility and pressure.”

 

Then I’d go home, enroll in some correspondence course in locksmithing or gunsmithing or small business management, earn a certificate, and trot it around to potential employers.

 

They’d look at me, smirk really, try to make me feel inadequate.

 

“I’ve dealt with my share of tragedy and heartbreak,” I’d tell them.

 

They’d shake their heads, light a cigarette, take personal phone calls.

 

“No, I don’t like that color for the upstairs bedroom, goddammit, now, how many times do I have to tell you, fuchsia is not appropriate!”

 

They’d hang up, wouldn’t apologize, would just go on with the interview.

 

“Sooo… what is your greatest strength?”

 

I’d yawn and twitch a little.

 

“My greatest strength is I punch every button people got.”

 

They’d go, “Uh heh, mm hmm, interesting,” take another personal call.

 

“The curtains don’t match the carpet!  They must match the carpet, for chrissakes!  Feng shui, feng shui!”

 

They’d slam the phone down.  “God, people are so stupid ” they’d say.

 

I’d usually agree with them, and ask about the salary requirements of the job.

“Son, I’ll keep your resume on file.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Then I’d leave, say to myself, “what the f**k,” and go to my bank and take another cash advance on my credit card and catch a movie or go to IHOP.