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Thursday, September 24, 2020

I showered and shaved today and put on a shirt -- with a collar. 

I haven't looked this clean since my First Communion ceremony in 1973.

Today was meant to hump for server jobs around Bloomington.

Arriving early at what I thought was an open call for server jobs I found on Craigslist, I straightened my shirt and approached the restaurant.

I then promptly tripped and did a fast plant on the sidewalk.

Construction workers across the street laughed. I dig, I thought. Fatty Arbuckle made that a classic move 100 years ago.

Quickly, I righted myself, checked for long-term injury and then knocked on the door.

"Hi," I said. "I'm here a little early for the open interviews."

I'm sorry, the nice lady said. That was last Thursday.

The story is a perfect metaphor for my struggles to find a job.

In the meantime, I'm sure she told staff that Massive Head Wound Harry applied for a server job.

At other places I stopped, I was told to apply online. But how will people notice my wonderful goddamn personality? And how will the dumb bastards get to know my excellent people skills?

An old friend sent me a note this morning, telling me to stay humble and flexible.

The latter is a little harder at my age. The former? It's easy to be humble when you're lying on the sidewalk with a chorus of laughter.

Peace and safety unto you my brothers and sisters.


  1. I love your self-deprecating storytelling! The Fatty Arbuckle bit is so funny. What I want to say to you is what a complete stranger said to me many years ago when I published my first article about the death of my much older, much loved husband in the Connecticut section of"The New York Times" an essay that formed the basis for my memoir, A TIME TO MOURN, published by New American Library some years later: "If you can write so well, all is not lost." Keep writing! Keep entertaining your readers with your wisdom and wit! All is not lost!

  2. The way to find out if you’re old is to fall down in front of people. If they laugh and point, you’re still young. If they run to you and say "My God, are you okay?" you’re old.

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