Life As a Country Song

By Jacob Bennett

I was vacationing in New York to forget my divorce the day they laid me off, and as I walked down the sidewalk a homeless guy asked me for change.

I ignored him, of course—I believed he would buy booze with it—but on the ground a few yards past his slumping body, I spotted a $5 bill.

For a moment, I left it there. But a friend convinced me to do the right thing: pick it up, walk over to the beggar, and hand him the money.

And I instantly regretted it.

After all, I realized: I'm just as unemployed as that guy.

My life has become a bad country song. Or maybe, a good one.

I'm a sad-sack statistic, one of more than a half a million people who lost their jobs in November, one of more than 10 million folks out of work now.

At least, execs assured me, the decision to can me wasn't based on performance. If letters of recommendation were paychecks, I wouldn't be eating Ramen noodles tonight.

I decided to stay in New York as scheduled and put some fun on my MasterCard. It costs $50 to see Joel McHale from "The Soup," but running into Lonny Ross from "30 Rock" on the sidewalk: priceless.

I'm going to have to pay that credit card bill with a government unemployment check, so I guess that means I'm no better than the AIG executives who spent $450,000 of their bailout money on beach resort facials.

But, hey, cut us some slack--that's chump change compared to the billions spent in that housing bailout. The one that offered no relief whatsoever when I told my bank I might have a hard time paying my mortgage in a couple of weeks.

At least I'm not alone, but the statistics don't tell you what the heck you're supposed to do next.
I've got plenty of material for that book I'd finally have time to write, if work hadn't repossessed my company computer.

So now I'm using library Internet like a hobo.

The rest of the time I've been off, I've taught my dog to go out for a football play-action pass, but she needs to work on selling the run.

I also set a record for consecutive days wearing sweatpants.

It's kind of scary, not knowing what I'll do or where I'll live or if I'll be able to find a rich older woman to take me in.

Until I figure it out, maybe that guy on the sidewalk will lend me $5.