David Sells Out

After maintaining my unemployed status for 19 strong years, I was met with my first real monetary crisis when the recession hit home: momma cut off the funds. That's right; the woman who financially supported me with her lucrative career as a single-mother-of-2/attorney for my entire life decided she would rather watch me starve than cough over a few of her measly dollars.

Of course, this might not really have been as dangerous a declaration as it seems at first. I mean, I still have her credit card, and she seems to have difficulties fulfilling her end of the bargain, what with giving me $55 over the past two weeks or so, not to mention the fact that my Grandma in Pittsburgh sent me $100 dollars because I took the time, out of the kindness of my heart, to call her on Mothers' Day (what a beautiful grandson am I...). So yeah, I have actually gained $145 in this summer of lean and squalor. Also, the wonderful option of selling my plasma remains, which I find quite lucrative considering my body has the foresight to make plasma itself and I could get 80 bucks a week from it. Further pushing me towards that end was the fact that South Carolina, the homeland, the Urheimat (pardon my Deutsch), this beauteous land which brought me forth into the world and raised me as her own amidst the indigo, palmetto trees, and peaches freshly grown, has the nation's second-highest unemployment rate behind the arctic wasteland that is Michigan, hovering somewheres around 11%. And who am I to take viable minimum-wage jobs from those struggling, huddled masses who don't have their mother's credit cards at hand to fall back upon?

Nevertheless, I, David Wile, who promised his childhood self that he would never work a job like those lowly working classes, pressured by my mother and my conscious, have abandoned my Seinfeldian (Hurculean?) task, succumbed to the beckoning calls of employment, and applied for a job. Yes, I said it, I have applied for a job. Now, I know what you're thinking. Maybe, for the sake of the working order of the planet, for the sake of mankind itself, unable to survive such an earth-shattering event, they won't hire me. I know you're thinking - nay, silently praying - these thoughts, because I am thinking (read: praying) them too.

But, if they at the PetSmart (that's a letdown, eh?) are so brave as to hire me, so daring as to turn the earth around on its axis and give me a job, I guess I can rest comfortably in the fact that I succeeded in my childhood dreams at least for 19 years of my life (and 2.5 months!). It's no Jerry Seinfeld, who never once held a job that wasn't listed on a marquee, but I'll have to take it. Oh, what a failure am I...