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Authors: Joey Comeau
Tags: FIC019000, FIC016000
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my work home with me. I have my own life. Like tonight.
Tonight at dinner my mother showed me three photographs from when Adrian and I were young. In the first, the three of us are sitting in the cage of a fair ride called âThe Spider.â My mother has huge punk rock hair. Adrian and I are wearing ugly sweaters and grinning because we won. We fought and fought to be allowed on the ride and finally my mother relented.
In the second picture, the ride is in motion and my mother is holding onto the bar, smiling while our little faces are twisted with confusion and horror. Our grins are gone. This was not what we expected. We made a mistake.
In the final picture, Adrian and I are not visible at all, hiding in her lap, crying. In the picture, my mother is laughing, hard.
Anyway, as long as I come to work and do my job, what do you care?
Joey Comeau
Dear Park Lane Mall,
Hello, I am seeking a position as Santa Claus. I am including my resume, but I ask that you also pay special attention to this cover letter â I hope to show why you should look beyond my lack of experience with children to my other outstanding qualifications.
My resume will indicate that I worked for ten years as the foreman of an assembly line at Mattel. Day after day I oversaw the construction of thousands and thousands of toys for children. My employees were mostly middle-aged men, which didnât sit right with me. I used my considerable sway in the company to influence hiring practices, instituting signing bonuses and additional benefits for people of small stature.
I had new uniforms designed! Green slippers and ridiculous hats. I made everyone sing in time as they worked. This was my workshop full of elves. Everything was perfect.
For a while.
You will notice a period of unemployment on my resume, as I faced several harassment suits and three charges of racism from Irish midgets I allegedly referred to as âmy North Pole leprechauns.â They charged me with theft, too, when they found my bag of toys hidden away behind the lockers.
When I became unemployed I had nowhere else to go. I got very hungry, very fast, and took to sneaking into peopleâshouses, looking for milk and cookies. Thatâs all I ever took, no matter what the police reports said. Milk and cookies. The Jones family filed a fraudulent insurance claim, and they are no longer on my âniceâ list. I found that it was impossible to get in through chimneys, so usually I just busted in a window.
I think that my qualifications speak for themselves, and frankly, I think youâd be lucky to have me as a Santa. What kind of person applies for a job like that, anyway, having little kids sit on their johnson all day? Perverts, man. Perverts. Iâm doing this because I have no other choice. Itâs my calling. I donât even like kids.
Joey Comeau
Dear RAND,
I am writing to apply for a job with the RAND Corporation. The first time I heard of the RAND Corporation was on
The X-Files
, the conspiracy-theory-heavy television show I was obsessed with in high school. I watched every episode. That was the beginning of my paranoia, my belief that there are huge corporations behind everything. That everything that happens in the world happens for a reason.
This isnât the first letter Iâve written you, though I donât know if you remember. When I was just out of high school, there was a shooting in Colorado. Thirteen dead and twenty-three wounded. Children killed by other children. I spent a lot of time sitting in front of the television with the sound off. I found your address on the Internet, RAND, and I wrote you the following letter.
âI donât understand about Columbine. Please write back.â
I know exactly what it said, RAND, because it came back to me unopened. I still have it.
Two years later, when two planes full of people flew into the side of those buildings in New York City, I wrote to you again. I was in
Tonight at dinner my mother showed me three photographs from when Adrian and I were young. In the first, the three of us are sitting in the cage of a fair ride called âThe Spider.â My mother has huge punk rock hair. Adrian and I are wearing ugly sweaters and grinning because we won. We fought and fought to be allowed on the ride and finally my mother relented.
In the second picture, the ride is in motion and my mother is holding onto the bar, smiling while our little faces are twisted with confusion and horror. Our grins are gone. This was not what we expected. We made a mistake.
In the final picture, Adrian and I are not visible at all, hiding in her lap, crying. In the picture, my mother is laughing, hard.
Anyway, as long as I come to work and do my job, what do you care?
Joey Comeau
Dear Park Lane Mall,
Hello, I am seeking a position as Santa Claus. I am including my resume, but I ask that you also pay special attention to this cover letter â I hope to show why you should look beyond my lack of experience with children to my other outstanding qualifications.
My resume will indicate that I worked for ten years as the foreman of an assembly line at Mattel. Day after day I oversaw the construction of thousands and thousands of toys for children. My employees were mostly middle-aged men, which didnât sit right with me. I used my considerable sway in the company to influence hiring practices, instituting signing bonuses and additional benefits for people of small stature.
I had new uniforms designed! Green slippers and ridiculous hats. I made everyone sing in time as they worked. This was my workshop full of elves. Everything was perfect.
For a while.
You will notice a period of unemployment on my resume, as I faced several harassment suits and three charges of racism from Irish midgets I allegedly referred to as âmy North Pole leprechauns.â They charged me with theft, too, when they found my bag of toys hidden away behind the lockers.
When I became unemployed I had nowhere else to go. I got very hungry, very fast, and took to sneaking into peopleâshouses, looking for milk and cookies. Thatâs all I ever took, no matter what the police reports said. Milk and cookies. The Jones family filed a fraudulent insurance claim, and they are no longer on my âniceâ list. I found that it was impossible to get in through chimneys, so usually I just busted in a window.
I think that my qualifications speak for themselves, and frankly, I think youâd be lucky to have me as a Santa. What kind of person applies for a job like that, anyway, having little kids sit on their johnson all day? Perverts, man. Perverts. Iâm doing this because I have no other choice. Itâs my calling. I donât even like kids.
Joey Comeau
Dear RAND,
I am writing to apply for a job with the RAND Corporation. The first time I heard of the RAND Corporation was on
The X-Files
, the conspiracy-theory-heavy television show I was obsessed with in high school. I watched every episode. That was the beginning of my paranoia, my belief that there are huge corporations behind everything. That everything that happens in the world happens for a reason.
This isnât the first letter Iâve written you, though I donât know if you remember. When I was just out of high school, there was a shooting in Colorado. Thirteen dead and twenty-three wounded. Children killed by other children. I spent a lot of time sitting in front of the television with the sound off. I found your address on the Internet, RAND, and I wrote you the following letter.
âI donât understand about Columbine. Please write back.â
I know exactly what it said, RAND, because it came back to me unopened. I still have it.
Two years later, when two planes full of people flew into the side of those buildings in New York City, I wrote to you again. I was in
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