Last year I was unemployed. I had no job, and no prospects. I was living in my parents house, uggh, and the holidays were fast approaching. It was friggin’ awesome!
I had just been let go from a job that I cared very much about, but had drained me to the point that I was near soulless (As any job related to helping stop sexual assault might do). The grant that was paying me was not going to be refunded, so I knew in October that I’d be jobless by the end of December. I started saving money, not knowing how long I would be unemployed, and pretty sure that I would need to develop a taste for dog food.
One of my coworkers, who was one of the ugliest (personality wise) people I have ever had the displeasure of knowing (seriously. I imagine if you were able to look at her soul you would say, “Who ruined this perfectly good pit of death-black tar by dumping in human skulls and used diapers?”), was infuriated that her remaining vacation time would not be paid out, because she was being paid by the same piddly grant I was. (”Building a new widget for a missile, eh? Here’s a badillion dollar research grant from the government. Trying to help stop sexual assault, eh? Can’t you have a bake sale or something? Maybe women shouldn’t go outside if they don’t want to be raped. We’re not made of money.”) So she dropped everything she was doing, and took her remaining 30 days of vacation off. This was quite an odd move for someone who claimed to care so much about the program we had been working on, and the issues we had been working with.
I picked up the slack for a few days, and then approached my boss. She told me to take off an extra day here and there, because it wasn’t fair that they couldn’t pay out my vacation. I took off a few days each week in November and December, and I think in the end I had only used about half of vacation days that were owed to me, but my boss didn’t think I was a selfish malcontent. (No offense, The Mal)
I was paid until the end of December because of how the pay structure was, so I knew that I had about 3 months after January 1 to find a job before my saved money would run out, then it would be blowjobs down at the bus station for cash.
So what did I do in the month I was jobless? Paris. I went to freakin’ Paris.
When I wasn’t planning or packing for Paris, I met people for lunch, I ran errands for friends and family, and all around pretended like I didn’t need a job to get by, and that dog food and 5 dollar handjobs for strangers weren’t right around the corner.
Paris was very French, and the culmination of a fortnight of joblessness. I immediately fit in with the 2 hour French lunch schedule.
Unfortunately, when I returned, there was an offer for an interview, which led to the position that has me working so hard that I can only post here twice a day. But at least I’m not wearing high heels and stimulating someone’s prostate for a sawbuck.
