Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Adventures Of The Non-Employed


Constantly, I find myself struggling to attach the most appropriate words to almost everything, almost as if I were thumbing through a pile of pages in my mind. Torn from my thesaurus, dictionary and various other literary sources, this collection of passages does what it can to steer me towards as clever of a composition as it can, and, lately, a large portion of it can be found here. Once again, it seems such thoughts have occupied far too much of my afternoon. I reflected on my thoughts, the decisions they brought about, and the actions and events that ensued and attempted to best label the logic from which they spawned. Though the initial answer came quickly, the search for the proper terminology proved considerably more intricate. To what could these words possibly be steering this post?

As I sat at my desk, composing a few emails and perusing the net for signs of any major events which may have occurred during my resting hours, I could feel my carpet between my toes, and, though that may seem like a nice feeling, it brought about a noticeable amount of anxiety. I know that it should feel peaceful to be sitting around your room, feeling no need to wear shoes, comfortably bouncing your heels on the soft fibers of your carpet, but I just couldn't feel that way. When I moved in exactly three months ago (to the day), there was a vacuum in my room, but the landlord moved it, almost immediately, into the remaining vacant room. I thought of it as a polite gesture, and I felt I would be able to use it as he left that door unlocked. As I reflect on the event, I believe that action was simply negligence, forgetfulness. When he departed from his ensuing visit a few days later, I found the door locked. More importantly, I have since found myself without access to that vacuum. After three months, I can't help but categorize myself as both disgusted by the carpet's perceived filth (even though I consider myself a rather clean individual) as well self-conscious about what it says about my hygiene. Somehow, I just couldn't find any reason in purchasing a vacuum, but I also couldn't bring myself to contact the landlord to ask if I could use it (interaction with him is quite awkward). That left me in quite a pickle, but, on this miniature milestone of my occupancy, I decided to remedy it. Sure, there is a lock on the door, but the door had quite a bit of apparent flexibility in its closed position. Add to this that I hold little respect for the manual ability of the lock's installer (the software engineer who calls himself my landlord), and I felt quite confident I could overcome it. 

We don't have many tools in this house, but I managed to find a few things here and there that I thought might work. Call me "MacGyver", but I figured that with a small set of jeweler's screwdrivers, a small disposable wrench, a Borders card and a pile of my housemate's silverware (top left of image), I could get the job done. As the minutes passed, I started to think I had attacked it with too much confidence. I thought it would take a simple insertion of a butter knife to pop the lock free, but that was not the case, and I can only hypothesize that it has something to do with the flexibility of the blades and door in correlation to the inability to get a good angle. You would almost think that the inventor of such a system was trying to keep people out. Let me just say, as I grew increasingly exasperated, my efforts grew even more illogical. I just had to snap a picture when I realized how many knives I had slid into the door in order to gain some leverage (top right of image). Not only are there five knives wedged in there to the point of supporting themselves, but each knife is different (apparently, my housemate has very little interest in his cutlery). I even went outside to investigate the level of difficulty of climbing in the second story window, but it was extremely high, and we don't own a ladder, especially not one that tall. So, that was out of the question, and I made a final attempt. It only took two knives, and the door sprung open. It may have been the light coming through the window, but it definitely felt miraculous. In the room, I found two things that piqued my interest, the vacuum in the closet (bottom left of image) and the door hardware on the desk (bottom right of image). I don't think I have ever been that excited to vacuum, but I drew a bit of satisfaction from the damage evident on the hardware in the drawer. After seeing how much he mangled the old door handle upon purchasing the home, I don't think my thinking so poorly of my landlord's manual abilities was a misguided thought. I think the few small marks I made, especially considering my tools, prove my manual abilities as slightly stronger than his. Sure, it took me an hour, but I got in. So, I vacuumed my room, returned the vacuum, touched up the slightly marred door frame with a white paint pen, and shut the door. I don't think the landlord will ever notice, and I feel very satisfied.

Now, let me illustrate my position on my thought process and the actions to which it led. I don't like to label myself as unemployed because that would imply that I would prefer to be working. I don't think underemployed is the correct term either because it suggests I have less work than I would want or need. At this point, I don't find myself wanting or needing a job. I don't even feel that society would argue I should be employed. I manage to keep my finances in order, and I am in the process of obtaining a college degree. That's enough justification for me, but there has to be a word that fits. There must be a name for this state of mind which led to my actions, and I think it is work-related. If I had a job, I might find myself going about things differently. I might have thought the financial burden of purchasing a vacuum more justified. I might have thought the time spent infiltrating the room a lot less reasonable. I might even have thought the repercussions of falling from an attempt to enter the window more bearable (I am insured, but more insurance would bring about more peace of mind). I don't think I could have found as much excitement in dedicating an hour to obtaining a tool for a household chore either. So, as this lack of a job seems to manifest a palpable level of influence on the direction of the stream of my consciousness, there must be a term that fits. Well, let's just catalog today's events in a compilation of anecdotes, chronicles of the adventures of the non-employed.

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