June 08, 2005

You’ve been unemployed long enough. Put on your only suit and a pair of black socks and walk through the midday heat dripping sweat in search of a place where they hire people like you.

A small non-profit company somewhere on the edge of Waterloo is looking for a public relations agent. Waltz into their office sweating like a filthy animal and shake their hands. Say, “I’m good at PR — it’s practically all I do.”

They’ll ask you if you can write manuals. Say yes, beaming with excitement. For some reason they’ll choose to believe you. Offer to also rearrange their furniture. Desperation has an ugly stench.

They’ll call you four hours later to tell you you’ve got the job — they want the bookcases moved against the walls. They’ll ask you if you’re willing to come in tomorrow. “Hell yes,” say.

Tomorrow you’ll have to be all professional and shit. But for now you can go find the woman you love and dance naked in the rain with her. Rain feels orgasmic when it rushes down your naked ribs.