I am a whore, a prostitute, a holler for a dollar low life scum. I lied to the Girl Scouts of America. I have lied to the American Cancer Society, The Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, Lutheran Adoption Services, Catholic Charities, even a community program that helps at risk youth. I lied. I will continue to lie. I will lie until someone believes my lies and gives me a job

It’s Armageddon week on the History Channel. It has been Armageddon week on CNN since September. It’s been Armageddon week in my life since last April when I lost my job.

Each night for a week, the History Channel airs a different documentary about the numerous possibilities as to how the world will come to an end. After the world didn’t end on New Year’s Eve 2000, I stopped buying rolls of duct tape and gave up my subscription to “How to Build a Fallout Shelter in your Backyard”.  Now it’s January 2009. The days are short. Gray dirty snow flanks both sides of my street. I get in my pajamas at 4:30pm. I am unemployed. The idea of the world coming to an end has given me a renewed sense of hope. The economists on Meet the Press this week said that under the best circumstances, we will not see a decline in the unemployment rate until the 4th quarter of 2010.  According to the Mayan calendar, the world is coming to an end in the 4th quarter of 2012.  In fact, they predict it will occur just 4 days before Christmas. I wonder how that will affect consumer spending that holiday season. I consider the possibilities and decide that if the worst does happen and I am forced to work the soda can redemption machines at Stop and Shop to support my family, I won’t have to do it forever.

I wake each day with dread. I have only one thing to do. I must find a job. That is my job. I am my own co-worker. I am my own boss. I am my own department head. I am my whole department. My department and I break for lunch in my bed under the warmth of the electric blanket. For lunch we eat pistachio nuts while watching re runs of the Twilight Zone. None of us can stand to watch the news anymore.

The Republicans and Democrats are fighting over the next stimulus package. While watching the news, I feel like a kid watching Santa Clause take presents out of his sack, praying that he has something in there for me. Birth control, Internet Service, Bridge Repairs, Medicare, Education. Santa offers me up a small package. It turns out that it’s not for me. It’s a tax break for working Americans. I am not a working American. It’s not like I am looking for a diamond ring. Maybe just a little health insurance and a way to pay back my student loan. 

I type in the same search criteria at Career Builder for 10 months. I have seen the results drop from over 100 job openings to 34. Of those 34 potential jobs, one is for a Geneticist, and 15 are for entry level marketing manager positions with unlimited earnings potential for an unnamed retail giant. Five of the postings actually ask the job seeker for what they call “a small initial investment”

There is one position for Marketing and Communications Manager for the Girl Scouts of Connecticut. I hate the Girl Scouts. I hate their sashes. I hate their patches.  I hate the beret like hats they wear. I hate their thin mint cookies.  I apply. I scroll through the long list of resumes I have sent out since last April, The Center for Traumatic Brain Injury, Cigna, Aetna, Norwalk Community College, Gateway Community College, Southern Connecticut State University, The Agency on Aging, Yale New Haven Hospital, Connecticut Public Television, The League of Woman Voters and numerous associations for every chronic and deadly disease. Each of these resumes is accompanied by a cover letter professing my lifelong dedication to whatever it is that they do, even evoking anecdotal stories about fictitious relatives and friends that have benefited from their fine organization.

I choose from the potpourri of resumes I’ve have sent over the past 10 months. I choose one that is free from spelling errors, and make the necessary revisions to highlight my numerous skills as they are listed in the Girl Scout ad. It takes me over 2 hours to revise my resume. I keep looking at the clock. I need to find a job. I need a nap. I need a shower. I tell the Girl Scouts about the impact they have made on my life, how my experiences as a Girl Scout have shaped my life, how I embody the Girl Scout spirit, how I love Snicker doodles. I end the cover letter with my standard confession stating that I have committed both my personal and professional life to promoting the values and advocating for the rights of, in this case, young girls and women. Having already committed my personal and professional life to the elderly, mentally ill, the disabled, minorities, and even a two state solution to the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, I have little confidence that I will be working for The Girl Scouts of Connecticut.

 I am pinning all my hopes on Barack Obama. I don’t know how he is going to help me get a job with The Girl Scouts, but I feel better whenever I hear him say Stimulus Package.