I pseudo-job-search like Lindsay Lohan. I don't exert much effort.
I decreed I don't want an eight-hour-a-day office position. My body desires more activity abundance than staring at a cubicle wall for eight hours as lethargic as a koala on opiates. This requirement eradicates every position I know how to procure like the Black Plague. Unemployment demands I apply to ten openings every two weeks. I apply to office posts with the detailed, "Attached please find my resume. Thank you."
My phone rang with a number I postulated was my friend's boyfriend. I answered with, "Yo yo yo. What's up?" to a perplexed voice identifying herself as someone with some company and asking to speak to Kara.
"Uh, sure, hold on a moment, please," I bleated, removed the phone from my head, and held, one hand over the phone's face.
"Who is it?" a friend inquired.
I familiarized her with the situation over the next three minutes before realizing Woman was still waiting.
"Here, let me talk," my friend demanded.
I hesitated, surmised why not, and handed it to her.
"Hello, this is Kara," Friend said.
"Ya, I apologize for not getting to the phone earlier. My mentally disabled brother answered."
My swat at the side of her head didn't dissuade her from continuing.
"Ya, he's younger. Younger retarded brother. So what's up?"
"Oh, sweet. Ya, not really looking for a job right now. I just applied because the government makes me."
"Uh huh... my resume was impressive? I must have lied on a lot of that stuff then."
"Na, I don't have any references. I'm telling you, even if you offered me the job, I wouldn't take it. I'm happy not working right now. I collect unemployment and travel."
"Ya, sorry, but good luck with everything."
Click.
"You jackass! What if they call Unemployment and tell them?" I asked, smacking at her head again.
"Well, you'll just have to actually look for a job."
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