Okay, here’s the rest of the story unless I get tired or distracted or something.

I’ve been laid off and I make the trek to the local unemployment office. Earlier I had been warned that the line of unemployed would be out the door, down the stairs, through the corridor and down the block. There might even be a hot dog vendor on the sidewalk plying his wares. I get there and there’s no line. I go into the corridor and up the two flights of stairs to the unemployment office and I see three people. Now, I got there around 8:30 a.m. Too early for the masses? So, I go in and get my papers (you’d think I was a pedigreed dog or something) and sit at a round table. I spy a magazine rack and pick up a copy of  “So You Think You’re Somebody” or, as is more commonly known, “People”. I flip through it pretty quick. I mean it’s full of celebrities and semi-celebrities and pseudo-celebrities and the occasional human interest story of the typical American underdog. Everyone wants their 15 minutes. I toss that over for some other magazines, trying to kill time waiting for my turn.

I look around. Most everyone has either a laptop or a magazine or a book. Some folks are at computers but they’re not waiting, they’re working. There’s this good-looking woman across from me with her PC. Nice gams. She was very intent with something on the screen. I keep to myself. She wants to be intimate with her Dell. The guy on the other side of my table has his whole frigging office with him. There’s a notebook and several papers neatly tucked into a portfolio. He seems to be working, scribbling away. He’s working in an unemployment office? With all the paperwork you get here, maybe he’s still filling in forms. That’s work, all right.

One of the unemployment folks (hereafter UFs) comes into the center of the room and calls out numbers. Mine’s 24. The UF calls out a few numbers. The next numbers are for the Dell woman and the office guy. Finally, the UF calls my number and I trot over to a line of six chairs to wait some more. I have my magazine so I’m fine. It’s Esquire with their dictatorial fashion advice. No imagination. I mean what’s wrong with red sneakers and a tux. Wood did it. My turn comes to sit in front of the Unemployment Clerk. She’s a pleasant woman who is all business. I try to engage her in small talk but she’s focused on her computer screen. A few questions from her, some answers from me, and I’m done.

Well, hey, sorry but I have to go. It’s Dolores. She wants me to walk her dog. That’s OK. If I bother to walk her dog, she gets hot. Then, after the walk, I get the fun of cooling her off.

Be seeing you.