You are unemployed, at best, very unsuccessful. Yet you go to parties. Parties where you meet people who ask, “And what do you do?”
Getting a date, you realize, is much like applying for a job, which places you at a distinct disadvantage since you haven’t quite mastered that skill. You cite your work history to a girl at a party, try to make your job within Bed Bath and Beyond’s Human Resources department sound more glamorous, go heavy on your education when work lacks the guff of your Princeton years. You move quickly to craft some witty summary. “Or as we call it in HR, Bed Bath and More overpriced stuff you don’t need!” You laugh. Charm, you think, you’ve always had it.
You’ve heard a rumor that there is someone for everyone, but you start to fear that the one for you is fat and stupid. What if you don’t like the one for you? You begin to take seriously magazine articles offering dating tips. You come across an article online, “Dating Tips for the Unemployed or Unsuccessful.” It says:
Navigating the singles scene is easy once you’ve mastered just a few important rules. Singles can be divided into two distinct categories of people: the Miserable and the Non-miserable. Recognizing to which category the object of your affection belongs, is the first step in your developing of a healthy romantic life.
Rule #1: Never date someone more or less miserable than you! Your ideal partner is just as miserable as you are, though this may be difficult to discern in the beginning. Usually, when the right person comes along, each of you will put up a good show of disguising your misery with a sprightly off the cuff wit (this has probably been rehearsed), and thrilling to your ease with the other, your sudden élan, you’ll begin to fall. Thus, having successfully tricked each other into believing that you are in fact both happy, fun loving, laughing persons, one of you will suggest you share that happiness exclusively. You eagerly agree to the relationship, are happy to find yourself the object of a love you suspect you do not deserve. She/he is just so great! Soon, however, you will discover that your partner, whom you’d thought was way out of your league, whom you’d thought you had stolen from the high shelf, was really faking it just as you were! He or she, it turns out, is just as miserable as you! At first you are angry, but then anger gives way to relief. At last, you can share everything, including your misery; that is until one of you (you pray it's not the other) achieves some modicum of success and leaves you even more miserable than you were before. But cheer up—there are plenty of other miserable fish in the sea!
Rule #2: You will never fool anyone with your self-conscious diversionary remarks about what you do. Your wit will be your giveaway, as the most miserable in their work always have the most creative responses to the question. As you may have noticed, people who are happy in their professional lives thrill to the question of “What do you do?” and have no need for whimsical replies. They answer realistically, “I'm a bonds trader.” “ I'm a teacher.” “ I'm a doctor.” “A journalist.”
If someone says, “I'm a blowfish,” however, rest assured this person is narrowly holding on. Furthermore, it will never work between the blowfish and the bonds-trader. The non-miserable only date each other! And the bonds trader, judging by his truthful response, is decidedly so. Even if you can somehow manage a first date with the bonds trader or any other non-miserable bachelor or bachelorette, your misery and the odor of failure you are attempting to mask will quickly become apparent through the desperation of your wit and almost compulsive charm. “Why must everything be a joke with you all the time? I asked you a simple question. What did you study in college?” the non-miserable boyfriend might say angrily during your final fight. “I told you. Theory and Engineering of Sweet Meats!” you say devilishly, not wanting to tell him the truth: Medieval Poetry. “Why can’t you ever be serious?” he growls. “Are you suggesting my major wasn’t serious?” you purr.
Once you have disabused yourself of any notions of dating a Non-miserable, the next step is learning to navigate among the other Miserables just like you. The key to a successful relationship is finding that single whose misery best matches your own.
Online dating sites are bastions for the unhappy. Friendster, Myspace or Facebook are all great places to begin your search for a kindred Miserable. Once you’ve located a few nice pictures, scroll down their profiles to where it says “Occupation.” Learn to decode these signals and you are well on your way to finding your perfect love match.
See Christine! Blonde hair with a pretty smile. She has written under Occupation “Being Christine.” This is to affect the impression that she is so down to earth, that being herself is good enough. The truth is, Christine is lying to herself. She hates being Christine, but feels she must get used to it. At the corners of Christine’s smile are curls of defeat, but isn’t that what you found so charming in her photo?
John is posed beside a sock puppet in a suit and tie. Scroll down to Occupation, which reads, “I make toast in space. ” John is deeply unhappy, so much so that he has confused it with happiness. He blinks a lot and is confused by jokes, sometimes crying inexplicably at the conclusion of knock-knock jokes. He explains he is crying because he is so happy to find “Orange” at the door. If you go to a diner with him, he will make the beaker of milk talk to you until you laugh out of an awkward politeness, which he will take for encouragement and continue.
Watch out for those that write “Secret Agent.” Aside from an unoriginality that makes them terrible conversationalists, these individuals are prone to employing readymade phrases from their favorite sitcoms as a way of imbuing their steady stream of chatter with the personality they fear they lack. “How you doin’?” he will say over and over again in his Joey Tribiani voice, no matter how many times you say “fine.”
Longing for intimacy and eager to drop his disguise, the Secret Agent can morph into “the real me” in a matter of minutes. You’ll recognize the change, when he begins talking incessantly of your “getting to know the real me.” The primary characteristic of “The Real Me” however, is endlessly alluding to “the real me,” as if “the real me” were a set of Russian Dolls. Other catch phrases of The Real Me: “I thought we were beyond that” or “I don't play games.” What this really means is, “I am bad at playing games. My saying I don't play games is actually my best move. My secret agent secret weapon! Yeah baby! Please be gentle. I'm very vulnerable right now. I just lost my job and have had to move back with my parents.”
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Occupations Decoded
If someone writes this:
“I breed chinchillas with the hope of one day creating a super chinchilla.”
He/She really means this:
“I’m a realtor.”
If someone writes this:
“I make pasta necklaces. Would you like one?”
He/She really means this:
“I work as a barista, and spend my free time training my fine blonde hair into dreadlocks.
If someone writes this:
“I’m studying psychology.”
He/She really means this:
“I’ve been in therapy all my life and recently undertook the daily commitment of analysis. Studying psychology allows me to veil my self-absorption and more successfully mask my bad behavior as vulnerability. I cheated on my boyfriend to prevent him from breaking my heart and slept with my best friend’s fiancé because I have low self esteem, which is your fault.
If someone writes this:
“I'm pursuing an MFA in writing.”
He/She really means this:
“I like the flexible hours of school and sport coats. Graduate school allows me the time I need to write. Also, those years I spent working were really cutting into my rigorous drinking schedule.
If someone writes this:
“I’m in the book trade.”
He/She really means this:
“I work at Strand, scoff at the book titles customers ask me to find, and correct my co-workers’ grammar in order to deflect attention from my own insecurities, which you’ll find are numerous and fascinating should I open up to you.”
If someone writes this:
“Various freelance jobs.”
He/She really means this:
“I sell expensive knives over the phone to my mother’s friends. Also, comedy club tickets in Times Square.”
If someone writes this:
“Somali Pirate”
He/She really means this:
“I plunder ships on the open seas.”
If someone writes this:
“Professional Cow-tipper”
He/She really means this:
“I update my Facebook/Friendster/Myspace profile every hour with a new fake occupation. This is a good one. Ach! I just got poked! I love it! I’m gonna bite back with this awesome Vampire app.!
But back to you! “What do you do?” That is, what are you going to say when the question comes up at that party tonight? Feeling like you can’t face it, that you might just stay in after all, maybe stay in every night until your book is finished, until you’ve diagnosed the ails of your generation and found their cure in prose, so that when you do go out again, you’ll know who you are, and so it won’t matter anymore how you answer, but it won’t feel too bad either to respond to an attractive single, “writer!” Yes, you think looking in the mirror as you finish buttoning your pants, and then throwing on a comfortable sweatshirt, “Stay in, it is!” But to the deli first to buy a six-pack, and then, yes, of course, to your destiny in front of the computer, with your blank Word Document entitled, “The Novel.”
You type a few paragraphs. You’re not sure what it should be about, what should happen when, what’s important, if any of it is. You consider making the novel about desolation at a bar around the corner from your narrator’s apartment. You finish your last beer and consider going to the bar around the corner from your apartment for some research. You stay put; you’re already in your underwear and, besides, you notice you only have five dollars in your wallet, which needs to last the week.
You stare at the blank document, a broad open boulevard inviting you to pass through. The light from the screen reflects back onto you like a spotlight. What are you going to do? You decide to go online for a little while, just for a short break, and log onto Facebook, where, perhaps, you and I might meet. Look me up! I’m Iris. I have long brown hair, an uncertain smile, and become nervous when questioned directly about what I do. Scroll down. Under occupation my job is listed as “You!” Which really means: “I like writing and talking about myself in the second person. If you go out with me, I’ll tell you all about yourself.”
