DISPATCH 5: WORKING ON YOUR BIRTHDAY
RE: LEPRECHAUN SEX APPEAL, BUJO GIRLIE BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, JOB HUNTING, AND 23 SONGS FOR TURNING 23
On Thursday, my mom called.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!” she said, which was a strong start. “I remember when you were born. It was painful.”
“I’m sure,” I said.
She asked me what my plans were for turning 23. I told her they were working the closing shift at my job. And then she said, “Did you apply for that program manager job I sent you?” The thing about birthdays is that I’m immune from having to apply for the jobs my mom emails me.
“No,” I said. “Not yet. I was busy yesterday because I was injured.”
It was true I’d spent most of Wednesday convalescing because my fingy hurt. I’d tried to cut a stale bagel with a new serrated knife right out of its Walmart packaging, and this went just as well as you’d expect. I thought for a moment I’d need stitches when what I really needed was my boyfriend to put a bandaid on it and get me an emotional support Gatorade. Wednesday — the last day I was 22 — was also the day I got my first ever parking ticket. Ending the year with a bang.
When I told my mom I sliced open my thumb trying to cut a bagel, she told me that makes sense.
“That’s how a lot of people are injured in the food service industry. Bagel injuries, super common,” she said.
Regardless of the veracity of this statement, I decided to believe it. Right, of course, bagel injuries ARE super common – I’m not bad with knives or anything. The only unfortunate part of this is that I do work in food service and being down an opposable thumb is a little inconvenient for work.
All week I had been dreading working on my birthday, and not necessarily because of the work itself. Working on my birthday does not tend to be any more or less shitty than a normal day, except no one should put me into a position where I have to pretend I’m happy about being there. No one should sing, give me a small token of their appreciation, clap, joyously tell me happy birthday, or do anything else that should require a smile and a heartfelt thank you. You get my labor, but not my spirit.
So I went into work on my birthday with one thing on my mind: If they sing to me, I’m walking out. Luckily, there was no happy birthday message written on the back whiteboard when I walked in. Instead, two managers told me almost immediately that they were likely going to deny a time off request. That was fine, as long as no one sang.
Going to work on your birthday and not telling any of your coworkers is what it must feel like to be in the Witness Protection Program. All I had to do was just act natural and nobody would suspect anything out of the ordinary – it was just another Thursday. I made small talk with my coworkers and listened to my manager discuss our action plan for reducing takeout mistakes. I did all my tasks immediately, and then searched for more tasks to do. I didn’t even scream in the freezer1. This was all fine, as long as no one sang for me.
Here is another pro of not telling any of your coworkers about your birthday: you get to experience all the standard indignities of having a job, but you can feel like an extra special martyr about it because it’s your birthday. When my coworkers started playing mind games with me about something that was not completed up to their standards (as they are wont to do), I scuttled out of the conversation as quickly as possible to avoid conflict. They could passive aggressively insinuate I’d fucked up big time, but I got to feel extra self-pitying about it, because only I knew it was my birthday and that they were being mean to the birthday girl. This was all fine, as long as no one sang.
Well, we all know where this is going. At least it took everyone until 10 minutes before close to figure it out. At that point, there was really no purpose in walking out, as all I had left to do was count my drawer. Everyone was duly offended that I’d neglected to mention my birthday and thrilled about the possibility of singing as loud as physically possible while I covered my face and then smiled graciously at the outpouring of joy. Thank you, everyone. At least I got a slice of cake out of the whole ordeal2.
In honor of turning 23, I’m getting my life together. Soon, you’ll find me HEALTHY, WEALTHY, AND WISE, thriving, moisturized, in my lane, gainly employed, spiritually enlightened, and stunting on the hoes.
I’m locating my inspiration in Benjamin Franklin’s daily schedule (taken from his autobiography). I’ve long maintained that Franklin is the only signatory on the Declaration of Independence who I’d trust to hold my drink. Wellness influencers have nothing on our hundred-dollar founding father3. He wakes up at five to rise, wash, contrive, prosecute, breakfast, AND address powerful goodness, all before the actual work starts at 8.
Just like Benjamin Franklin, I am, at my core, a bullet journal girlie. I love a list or a schedule, especially if it has a format. Perhaps one day my to-do lists and personal development layouts will lead to personal enlightenment, and I’ll get a job that doesn’t involve getting berated in front of or by customers.
At least, I’m trying to make a personal and professional pivot; I languished in bed for most of the morning Friday cringing through job boards because my stomach hurt and I didn’t want to do anything else4. Eventually all the postings started to blend together into one single job called “junior assistant administrative strategic business resources analyst & product outreach management specialist.”
At this point, most of the people in my life are likely used to my non-subtle evasion tactics when it comes to discussing jobs. “Have you been applying for jobs?” “Well, I actually cut my finger yesterday so I’ve been a little busy recently.” “Are you branching out into new fields?” “So last week I had the exterminator over, and couldn’t really make time to look at job boards.” “Have you considered moving to a new city for more opportunities?” “I’m down to move anywhere for a job, but I’ve been scrambling to order curtains off the internet as of late, so it’s not really in the cards until I have these window treatments done.”
Ruminating is unattractive and reduces your aura. However, I hope you’ll allow me a moment of self indulgence (it was just my birthday, after all): I applied for 101 jobs last year, by my count. This involved at least 68 cover letters, 15 interviews, and dozens of samples, supplemental questions, tests, recordings, videos, explanations, emails, entreaties, exhibitions, bribes, auditions, full-out cabarets, American Ninja Warrior-style obstacle courses, duels at dawn, riddles three, rap battles, and lip syncs for my life. In short, the reason why I don’t have a job in the field I went to college for yet is that nobody wants to hire me.
And yet: the name of the game is resilience. While I may be shocked that employers aren’t absolutely throwing themselves at my state school English degree, perhaps this is because I have yet to find that ‘special someone’ who wants to hire me just for who I am. Maybe my mom is right, and I should start applying for the senior level jobs she sends me that require five to seven years of experience even though I’m still being rejected by internships that require less than my prior positions. Maybe my uncle is right, and I should start thinking about (shudders) grad school. Maybe everyone in my family is right, and I should devote myself to networking, though just the thought of it sends ice down my spine.
Or, maybe I should just suck it up and learn to code.
LEPRECHAUN IN THE HOOD (2000)
I haven’t really read anything worth mentioning here5, so let me instead tell you about half of a movie I saw on television earlier this week.
The problem with streaming services is that you can’t browse channels on a Tuesday night with a beer and a pizza, the dream laid out for us in Black Flag’s ‘TV Party’. Instead, you have to pick a show with some kind of intention. You don’t, for example, watch Antiques Roadshow for a random 10 minutes, and then mindlessly flip to ‘What The Government is Hiding About Bigfoot.’
Luckily, my boyfriend’s TV has recreated this feature by showing live channels on streaming services, which is how I ended up watching the movie Leprechaun in the Hood. As far as I can tell, this is something of a Blaxploitation film within the slasher comedy franchise ‘Leprechaun’. I stumbled upon this film when our three protagonists, up and coming rappers from Compton, were trying to hide out in a church because they’d stolen a magic flute from the gangster with the incredible name of Mack Daddy O’Nasses, who is expertly played by Ice-T. Ice-T had stolen this flute in turn from a formerly dormant evil leprechaun, and now our plucky trio is on the lam, trying to avoid gangsters and ancient spirits alike, all while rapping their way through a competition which could land them a record deal in Vegas.
I started discussing this movie with Mary, and expressed my gratitude for the leprechaun representation in this day and age, as I feel like we’re all full up on stories about vampires and werewolves and dragons and what all. The leprechaun’s legacy in popular culture is fading – except in this film, where he’s portrayed by Warwick Davis. You may recognize Davis from his role as Professor Flitwick in Harry Potter or Wicket the Ewok in Star Wars. Mary said that perhaps the reason for the leprechaun’s decline is because of its relative lack of sex appeal when compared to vampires. But Leprechaun in the Hood gets around this perfectly by having the leprechaun be assisted by a gaggle of beautiful entranced women called the ‘Zombie Fly Girls.’
Shortly after I started watching, the evil leprechaun confronts our protagonists, Ice-T, and Ice-T’s crony, and uses unspecified leprechaun powers to explode Ice-T’s crony’s stomach. I’m not an expert in leprechauns by any means, but is exploding people historically part of their schtick? The leprechaun also has the ability to control people, which is how he manipulates one of the rappers in our main trio – a young man known as Stray Bullet – into killing himself with a gun. Also, and this is not really a power so much as an affectation, the leprechaun only speaks in rhymes (think, “I’ll take it from you homie, you’ll see/because you know the lep is the real OG”).
Having one of their friends kill himself in front of them does nothing to dissuade the other two rappers from stealing the leprechaun’s flute. I missed the part where they explained why it was so important the rappers get the flute, but what I can ascertain from the rest of the movie is that they wanted to make a sick beat with it. I would figure that maybe missing one of your bandmates would really screw up your quest for a record deal, or at least require some rejiggering of existing material, but our two remaining protagonists, Postmaster P. and Butch, are stolid in their quest for fame and glory, even to the point of dressing up as two beautiful ladies in order to get their flute back.
As a quick tangent, let me just say that I think we’ve also lost the joy of the crossdressing plot in recent years. I don’t know if producers consider it too fraught, but I think it’s pretty good when you get a bunch of guys to put on dresses for plot purposes. I like the gag when one of them looks in the mirror and is like, “Damn, I look good.” This is what, uh, Joe Biden took from us6. The woke left doesn’t want any more men in dresses, or something.
Anyways, so Postmaster P. and Butch put on dresses and stockings and bring the leprechaun a joint filled with four-leaf clovers, because apparently another part of the leprechaun lore I missed is that four-leaf clovers put leprechauns to sleep. The leprechaun almost makes Postmaster P. suck his leprechaun penis (!) with the couplet, “They say in the hood, you’re never down/until you have the courage to go downtown.” Luckily, the clovers take effect just in time and the leprechaun passes out before Postmaster P. has to suck real dick.
Postmaster P. and Butch make a daring escape with the flute only to find that Mack Daddy O’Nasses AKA Ice-T is DOWNSTAIRS with his GUN and shooting at them. Butch gets shot and tells Postmaster P. that he doesn’t want to die in a dress, but then he dies anyways. So Postmaster P. gets up and SHOOTS Ice-T, who crumples to the floor. Postmaster-P should be in the clear – but then the leprechaun shows up! And our protagonist is slung to the floor by his leprechaun powers.
And then, in a moment of dramatic irony that parallels an earlier scene in the film, Ice-T is actually ALIVE, and standing behind the leprechaun. Postmaster P. informs the leprechaun of this, but the leprechaun thinks he’s too smart to fall for the oldest trick in the book. But Ice-T, full of bullets, absolutely SMASHES a chair on top of the leprechaun, giving Postmaster P. a moment to recover himself and stand.
Enraged, the leprechaun turns around and explodes Ice-T in the stomach. So now he’s killed Ice-T to death, BUT it’s not over yet: Ice-T was holding the magic amulet which, when placed around the leprechaun’s neck, traps him in a hibernation. In dying, Ice-T flung the amulet in the air, right over the howling leprechaun — fade to black.
In the final scene of the movie, Postmaster P. is rapping onstage, sans his old pals Butch and Stray Bullet. So he’s escaped and finally fulfilled his dream of making it to the big leagues. He finishes his song and steps into the spotlight. But then: he lowers his sunglasses to reveal the characteristic glowing green eyes of the entranced ZOMBIE FLY GIRLS (okay subversion of gender roles!). The camera pans to the leprechaun, who is still very much not trapped in enchanted hibernation, and the film ends with our evil leprechaun rapping us out (“I’m lep in the hood/come to do no good”).
What a movie. I guess I don’t have much more to say about this other than the way that Warwick Davis as the evil leprechaun says “Mmmmmm…curious aroma….” upon Ice-T lighting up a joint in this movie is truly one of the top cinema moments of all time.
23 SONGS FOR TURNING 23
All You Gotta Be When You’re 23 Is Yourself – Free Cake For Every Creature
How I Get Myself Killed - Indigo De Souza
Chosen to Deserve - Wednesday: Remember last week when I said I was listening to MJ Lenderman and it made me go back to Wednesday? Well, this song is my new obsession. And by obsession I mean I think something spiritual happened to me earlier this week when I listened to this as loud as possible crying with my windows down going 80 on the highway.
Tendency Right Foot Forward - Kleenex Girl Wonder
La Valse à Mille Temps - Jacques Brel: Sometimes you go through a sort of psychosis where you can only listen to one artist (or song) for an extended period of time because that’s all your brain can handle. This happened to me with Jacques Brel earlier this year. My life was falling apart before my eyes faster than I could understand, and this song is kind of the musical equivalent of that.
Devil in His Youth - Protomartyr
Chinese Restaurant by Yung Lean: I first started listening to Yung Lean because we have the same birthday. Also, one of my standout memories of being a 22 year old is getting really drunk and then listening to Yung Lean facedown on the bed.
I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times - Beach Boys
Spider in the Snow - Dismemberment Plan: The D-Plan is kind of like teen angst music for your 20s, and Emergency & I is one of my favorite albums of all time. ‘Spider in the Snow’ is about being alienated and lonely and it being winter and also about how the trash goes out on a Tuesday now, gotta make a note about that.
The Competition - Kimya Dawson
Complicated Game - XTC
Storyline Fever - Purple Mountains
Just - Radiohead: This year, we reached previously unprecedented levels of Radiohead ‘Just’. “You do it to yourself, you do/and that’s what really hurts.” How it feels.
Kiss Off - The Violent Femmes
The Plan - Built to Spill: Keep It Like a Secret is one of the best albums of all time to listen to tearing out of the parking lot of your food service job some random midnight in February.
I Am A Rock - Simon & Garfunkel
Gold Chain Punk (whogonbeatmyass?) - Soul Glo: This is a great song for when you’re very, very angry at yourself, or you want a song to play obnoxiously loud in the car. The lyrics to this song are kind of fucking insane? So handle with care.
Lyrics to Gold Chain Punk. Angst in My Pants - Sparks
Your Graduation - Modern Baseball: Sometimes it is comforting to listen to what you were into in high school, especially if the song in question was also in semi-frequent rotation at the DIY shows you went to in college and induces a combination of intense nostalgia and FOMO. Sometimes it’s emotionally stunting, but sometimes it’s comforting!
Bloodstains - Agent Orange
Touch It / Technologic - Daft Punk: Listened to this song (and this album) a lot when I was going to the gym because it made me feel like I was the eponymous Blade Runner of Blade Runner while I was on the treadmill. This is me manifesting going back to the gym. One time my boyfriend told me he liked to listen to Robot Rock while playing online chess because it made him feel like a robot, and that’s kind of the energy I’m looking for here. Locking in, as it were.
The Summer Ends - American Football
What’s My Age Again?/A Milli - Blink-182/Lil Wayne: ‘What’s My Age Again?’ is the obvious choice for a turning 23 playlist. But I wanted to spice it up a little with this remix, which is on streaming services for some reason.
OTHER NOTES OF INTEREST:
Let me preface this by saying IDGAF. Not to be overly solipsistic, but I’ve kinda had a lot going on in my personal life this week what with a tragic accident involving a bagel. But if this is the sort of thing you care about for some reason, one of the presidential candidates was shot, and then the other guy got COVID, and now it looks like the president is dropping out of the race.
Earlier this week I wrote about the NYT’s Top 100 Books of the 21st Century list. They did a reader selected list that came out recently here. It has some of the books I mentioned as snubs, but I think it also has a pretty steep recency bias.
Only six in ten people globally have used the internet in the past three months. That’s insane to me because I use the internet all the time every day, as do most of the people I know. Within North America, that number looks more like nine in ten.
This issue of Internal Tech Emails is very funny to me.
I like the work New York Focus is doing about Kathy Hochul’s response to congestion pricing ending. Hochul, ostensibly a democrat, can’t explain how they’ll make up the MTA’s projected budget shortfall, and apparently New York Focus reporter Sam Mellins was ejected from the venue for asking about it.
Re: job application malaise, you all should read Mary’s piece from earlier this week about feeling stuck because it’s really really good.
MORAL OF THE STORY: DON’T GROW UP, IT’S A TRAP. WATCH OUT FOR ROGUE LEPRECHAUNS. AND LEARN TO CODE!
I do this frequently to let of steam and no, I don't think the freezer is soundproof.
To clarify, I work at a restaurant that sells cake — there was not a cake hidden in the back or anything.
I want to be entirely fair here and say I wrote this before looking up "Benjamin Franklin" on Youtube and finding out that someone had, in fact, tried his daily schedule -- naturally.
Between my bagel injury and my sore tummy, I'm basically the most pitiful invalid this side of the Mississippi.
Meaning, I haven't finished any books yet this week. Sue me!
EDITOR’S NOTE: This gag was written prior to Joe Biden dropping out and does not reflect this company’s current views or beliefs at this time.