Three months ago I was really busy yelling at the Universe. “Give me a job, you big brute!” I would shout to the heavens… er, Internet.
Not surprisingly, it didn’t take long before everyone knew I needed a job. Even my building’s super could tell I was unemployed. (I think my daily pajama runs to the corner store for a single Snickers ice cream bar gave me away, but I can’t be sure.) And like every story’s protagonist, I eventually hit rock bottom, and it wasn’t pretty. Day after day, my roommate came home to my puffy face, body splayed out on the couch in the same spot she left me 8 hours earlier. “I’m a failure! I’m an absolute failure!” I would sob pathetically to her between heaping forkfuls of spaghetti.
this is me
Then, during the third week of July I told my parents I was giving up and coming home. They didn’t know what to tell me. My parents had no sagely advice to give me. Instead, they braced themselves for the cleanup. That’s when you know it’s bad.
A few days after I accepted my fate as a failure, I heard back from a local coffee shop I had applied to on a whim. To be honest, I had forgotten that I even applied. The next day, dressed in my finest hipster garb, I interviewed with a tattooed, nose-pierced young man for a full-time barista job.
Well… either I nailed it, or they had no other choice, because I got the job. I was thrown head-first into what turned about to be a lucrative (and coveted) gig.
Two days later I heard from the wedding magazine I used to freelance for. They wanted me back for an extended period of time, for as many days a week as I was available.
In three days I had two jobs.
A few hours later I got an email from a client I had done some freelance copywriting for after I was laid off. They wanted me to start writing for them again too.
In 3.5 days I had 3 jobs.
A week later I was contacted by a web site I used to intern for to see if I was interested in a part-time job, and I had to turn them down. Why? Because I had too many jobs!
So now it’s October, and I have zero time left in my daily schedule for belly-aching.
Is there a moral in this story? Of course there is, dear reader! Sit on your couch, eat spaghetti and creep around dog parks for two months and you’ll land three jobs in one week and live happily ever after. You’re welcome.