Day 121 to 125

Day 121

[Emails sent to Susan over the course of the day.  Completely unedited.]

Message 1:

Jan has taken his first drink. It is 10:03 AM.

Message 2:

Rose comes home from her agency interview. She is discussing the interview with an employment agency and when the topic turns to her proficiencies. Jan is still drinking wine and eating cold ravioli directly from the can. The following exchange occurs:

Rose: So the guy asks me ‘What are your skills in Excel?’

Jan: (long, long pause) Excel-lent. (Giggles profusely at own joke, then finishes ravioli as though he's made a contribution to society).

Day 123

Scene 1:

Rose: Jan, bring me something to drink.  And a snack!

Jan brings rose a snack.

Rose: Don't feed me this!  I'VE ALREADY GOT DIARRHEA!!!  Are you trying to make it worse?!?

Jan walks away wordlessly. 

Rose: [Eight minutes later] Jan! Bring me some cookies!

Jan returns with prune juice.  It is accepted without comment.

Scene 2:

Out of nowhere, Rose (sitting at her desk) yells at Jan that he is a lazy alcoholic.  Jan yells back that he is not lazy.  Jan is lying down on his bed, and, up until 10 seconds ago, had been snoring like a chainsaw.  Their entire argument occurs as a shouting match between bed and desk.  I believe Rose wished to rouse him for a snack (see above conversation).

Day 124

To really put you into the situation I'm living in, I've decided to spend this week's post posting the texts I've sent to Susan about what goes on at the house. These are roughly in chronological order over the last 10 days or so.

Brace yourself:

- Another fight. Rose has curtailed Jan's wine budget. Storm brewing.

- Rose just broke a chair by sitting on it. Said they used to have 6 of them. Now only 4.

- Rose is watching Touched by an Angel and cooking fried chicken. She just used her cell to call her son to dinner.

- Rose has cursed Jan for making her stand to find a button. Jan responded by opening his last bottle of inexpensive wine.

- (one minute later) After the fight Rose prepared a root beer float. She is blaming her and Jan's weight gain on stopping smoking.

- Jan just suggested starting a fake company to pay Rose's health insurance bills. Not sure he understands how money works.

- Am now encouraging Jan to enter mixed martial arts tournaments.

- Rose just mentioned she makes a point of buying "bacterial" soap.

Day 125

In the last ten days, Rose has almost single-handedly worked her way through an 8-pound can of nacho cheese. We're talking the liquid faux-cheese that movie theaters put on nachos. If the choice of foodstuff wasn't so disturbing, the banter that accompanies its consumption is, if possible, even more disturbing.

In spite of their frequent bickering, Jan and Rose have tender moments. By and large, these are almost entirely by coincidence. Many times, I have to stop myself from saying "that's what she said" after the latest bit of hilarity. Here's an example from this morning. As it always seems, it has to do with food preparation:

Rose: What do we need to get rid of? (as in the food in the fridge. Things become kinky)

Jan: We've got some strawberries...

R: You trying to stuff something down my throat?

J: Uh... no!

R: Good, 'cause I've had enough sugar today.

(pause)

R: All I want is some salty meat.

J: It's too hot for meat right now.

R: (angry and shrill) I want some meat!!!

J: I've got a bone you can pick.

R: Well... that sounds delightful. I'll gobble that up tonight.

My dictation broke down around this point, but there was a substantial amount of continued conversation about some mushrooms Jan had. It was not clear from the conversation whether the mushroom talk was euphemism for Jan's meat popsicle or a more literal reference to psychotropic fungi needed for them to get freaky. After Rose said she "enjoyed a little mushroom," they began discussing inviting others over to enjoy them as well. I fled, tears streaming from my eyes.

As a bonus for reading this far, I give you the king of the unintentionally sexual stuff (do not read if you've eaten in the last week or so):

Jan and Rose are sitting down to dinner. Rose is not feeling well. Jan is putting the final touches on the meal.

Rose: (weakly) Thanks for tossing my salad.

Jan: (characteristic pause) Thanks for lettin' me toss it.

Sweet Fancy Jesus.

Next Time: Noah runs out of money and a day in the life of Jan and Rose.

Day 115 to 120

Day 115

Jobless Day 14: Two week anniversary.  Still no job leads or interviews.  Still no unemployment.  Good thing mom’s in town.  I am still eating increasingly stale pastries stolen from the Marriott’s breakfast buffet, the goal being to stretch out my food reserves a few more days before having to break down and buy groceries.  I am being embarrassingly cheap with good reason… I am trying to stretch money past where it shouldn’t be stretched.  Like stretching a piece of paraffin… sooner or later… it’s gonna snap. 

Day 117

To escape the turmoil of the house, I have redoubled my training for the Chicago Marathon. It gets me out of the house for up to two hours a day, and leads to my first income since being fired: I find a dollar whilst on a run.  I have managed to cut back, at least as far as food is concerned, mainly by mooching off Jan and Rose, who have both been great in looking the other way. 

In the good news department, I had a phone interview with a smallish, 30-person startup in South San Fran.  I also get my second phone interview with another small biotech company, which reminds me of McCompnay.  I’m starting to notice that all of these start-ups have these bland corporate names that combine science and bland corporate culture. Everything is Sequencode or Reversacyte or Cerebrolomics or Rejuvalex.

Apologies if the biotech company names I just made up actually exist. Bigger apologies if they exist and I wind up working there.

Day 119

After nearly three weeks of running to avoid overdosing on Rose and Jan, I am now able to complete a run of 20 miles.  This, combined with a particularly frugal trip to the grocery store (total outlay $20.17 for an impressive array of stuff) and the fact that Jan left some extra French fries out, makes this day a pretty good one. 

It’s funny how your priorities and worries change when you no longer have a job.  Obviously, I’m no longer worried about dragging myself out of bed to impress my boss, or the fallout from a failed experiment.  On the other hand, when I go to the grocery store, I am now spending far more time dithering over which deal is slightly better, the generic diet soda at regular price or the brand name on deep discount.  Oddly, I am stressed a lot less with the soda. 

The observation does support one theory I have held for a long time: no matter how important or lowly one’s stature, your problems at the moment enlarge themselves to become quite pressing, even when they’re not.  As an example, a drowning man’s sole worry is treading water, but I contest that a man on dry land will allow his own difficulties to engulf him, even if they’re stupid, like his wife buying the wrong shade of BMW. 

Still no word from my first interview.  Interview 2 is next week with a small biotech.  I find the idea of working for another one man show distasteful after dealing with McBoss.  While I was looking for a new gig, my mother had Googled him (a bit more thoroughly than I did initially, it would seem), and found out he has strong roots to Arab groups alleging inappropriate acts against the Israeli government.  He also claims he was not allowed to speak at his high school graduation, even though he was supposedly the valedictorian.  Finally, just for WTF factor, he also claimed to be an award-winning poet*. In short, I was working for a psycho.  The fact that I didn’t last long is almost a point of pride at this point.  I do feel kind of bad, legitimately bad, for the people working for him.  Labor Day is tomorrow, and they do not get it off.  I started on July 1^st, and we didn’t get the fourth off.  Seriously.  I may be tough or stupid for working there in the first place – another reason to never mention this on my resume.  As Bill O’Reilly said after being sued for sexual harassment: “We will never speak of this… again.”  First time I’ve ever compared myself to O’Reilly.  Perhaps unemployment IS changing me…

* I followed that last one up. Apparently, during an online interview, McBoss was asked to submit one of his poems about stem cells. He did and, although it is not clear, the thing was so relentlessly mocked that McBoss asked the website administrators to take it down. If you have ever written a poem about stem cells, you are officially the punch line in a “Know how I know you suck at poetry?” joke.

Day 120

Rose is picking up her workout regimen again.  Having once been tremendously obese myself, I believe myself to be sensitive to the plight of the overweight, and I.  That said, I feel I can also address the topic frankly, much the same way that a Polish citizen can make Pollack jokes. 

Today Rose was too busy to get to the pool.  Her “workout” consisted of “swimming” in the family’s hot tub. Yes, the bubbles were on.  Yes, I saw Rose in a one-piece.  I would not mention this Rose hadn't brought it up at dinner, lording it over Jan.  I had run 18 miles that afternoon, and did not feel it was necessary to bring up at dinner.

A few days later, Rose announces she’s going to ride the bike.  The family has an entire fleet of bicycles, all safely unridden in the far recesses of the family’s overflowing garage.  When I enquired, I discovered Rose owned an antique exercise bike.  Later that afternoon, I asked her how the rise had gone.  “Great,” she said, “I did 50.”

“Fifty minutes?” I asked, impressed.

“No, fifty pedals,” she answered. 

Later, I calculated that, for a good cyclist, 50 pedal revolutions took slightly longer than 30 seconds and burned just under eight calories.

Next Time: Jan and Rose interactions. Lots of them.

Day 113 to 114

Day 113

Turned down for sperm donor job. No explanation is given. I find it hard to believe there is a shortage of demand for six-foot-five men with all their hair and Top-10 college degrees. This brings up the disturbing possibility that I am sterile as a mule. I make a note to examine my sperm under the microscope at the next scientific job I get.

Day 114

I just watched Jan waste over six hours on 40 cents. Jan made it look effortless. Here is a rough timeline of the events.

2 PM: Jan heads for grocery store.

3 PM: Jan returns with groceries, including a half-gallon container of milk.

3:15 PM: Jan, while putting away groceries, reads his receipt and determines he has been cheated out of a 40-cent rebate. He becomes inflamed, and compares the grocers to central African warlords.

3:25 PM: Jan is still talking about the 40 cents. I am bored, so I bait him.  “You should go all the way back to the grocery store and get in the manager’s face,” I tell him. Amazingly, Jan agrees.

3:45 PM: Jan heads back to supermarket, vowing to claim nothing less than a full rebate.

4:18 PM: Jan returns home, having forgotten to take the milk with him. Sensing greatness, I begin to record events via  live texting to Susan and other members of the burgeoning “Adventures of Jan” fan club.

4:32 PM: Jan pauses to eat cold Chef Boyardee directly from the can.

4:55 PM: Jan initiates trip #2 to the grocery store.

5:20 PM: Jan returns home again, still in possession of the milk. He has forgotten his receipt. Amazingly, none of this is wearing him down, and he’s still committed to the mission. This is the most passion I have ever seen him display for anything.

5:32 PM: Jan finds the receipt and is ready to head back. He attempts to get $5 from Rose to fill up the car, which he claims is now on empty following numerous trips to the grocery store.

5:33 PM: Fight ensues. Jan is chock full of righteous indignation. Rose invites him to engage in sexual congress with himself.

5:55 PM: Fight culminates with Rose dangling money in front of Jan, jerking it away each time he reaches for it. Rose finally capitulates after Jan claims he will sell the car for gas money if he runs out on the way to the grocery store. This was no one’s finest moment.

6:08 PM: Jan leaves for grocery store. Trip #3 for those counting. 

7:15 PM: My mother, some 2,000 miles away, calls me specifically to ask whether Jan has gotten his discount. The tension is palpable.

7:17 PM: Jan returns in disgrace, after learning the deal required him to buy two jugs of milk. Jan claims that the grocery store is deliberately wasting his time. Rose asks him if the store is looking to higher senior citizen baggers. Jan shuts up.

7:42 PM: Jan is still stewing. After about ten minutes, he announces that he will show the grocery store who is boss by returning the milk for a full refund. Everyone but Jan is apathetic. There is one problem: Jan can no longer find the milk. Jan commences full search.

7:51 PM: Jason shows up, looking for food. Jan attempts to extract an additional $5 from Rose to employ Jason in the search for the missing milk. Rose declines.

7:53 PM: Jan finds the milk, still in the trunk of his car. At no point today did he attempt to refrigerate it.

8:12 PM: Jan returns, defeated. He had left the milk in the trunk since the initiation of grocery run #2, some four hours previous. After a day of 90+ degrees in the trunk of a Chrysler, what Jan attempted to return was no longer milk. The grocery store is four miles away. Jan has made five trips, burning roughly seven dollars in gas in the process. Oh, and six hours of his time. Even for Jan, this productivity is below the going rate.

8:16 PM: Jan stands in the front yard, pouring curdled milk onto the grass like a rapper pouring out a shot for a deceased homie.

Next Time: Noah discovers disturbing things about his old boss; Rose resumes exercising.

Day 107 to 112

Day 107

Rose has a job interview at an employment agency this morning.  Jan is celebrating by drinking.  It is 10:19 AM. 

Day 108

Still no unemployment money.  Since my mother is still in town, I ask her to raid the complimentary breakfast buffet at her hotel for me.  I feel minimal shame, perhaps a 3 on a 1 to 10 scale.

Day 109

My skinflint former employer is fighting my unemployment claim.  Not sure if he genuinely believes this, or is protesting out of general cheapness.  Until this mess is sorted out, no checks.  There will be a hearing.  I am told it will take six weeks for the unemployment people to work through the backlog of claims.  I have $283 in my checking account.

Day 110

I’m going to the sperm bank to try to be a donor.  My mother is still in town. I can’t afford to feed a meter, so I take her That’s how poor I am right now. The sperm place is unmarked.  While I’m their another guy comes in and announces he’s Dan Clipon (Dan Clip-On? Really? Fake name if ever I heard one).  Clipon wants to bank his sperm.  I know how much liquid nitrogen storage really costs, and man, are they getting sopped hard.  Then I masturbated into a cup.  Need $. On a related note, I applied for 8 jobs today.  Getting numb doing it over and over (applying, not masturbating into a cup).  On the way out of the sperm bank, I asked if they were hiring.  The lady in charge tells me that applying for a job while applying to donate is a conflict of interest; I can only do one or the other.  I bet on my sperm. 

Day 111

It occurs to me that every living organism in this house may be depressed.  Skylar the cat has been sleeping in the same spot for the last six hours and Jan is snoring in the next room.  After consuming approximately seven popsicles, Rose is starting to nod off in the living room.  One of the other cats is sleeping on her gut.  I am the sole functioning life form ‘round these parts.

It takes a real baller to get a photo of a cat sleeping on someone’s gut:

Day 112

Rose and Jan were sitting at the kitchen table, finishing lunch as amiably as could be expected. Rose crinkled her nose suddenly. "Jan!" she cried, "are you... gassy?"

"Uh... no," Jan declared finally. Jan then began to blame a nearby bucket of plants that had been removed from the aquarium the previous evening. This defense appeared to fly, until Jan farted (again, apparently). Rose tore into him with her usual ferocity. Jan decided he needed to defend himself after being busted in another obvious lie. Suddenly, he stood up, walked to the mini-fridge, and rummaged through the bottles of condiments stored there. After a moment, Jan spun on his heel and accused Rose of opening one bottle of salad dressing before finishing the old one. Rose was now angry. She promptly accused Jan of sleeping all day (true) and of being an alcoholic (debatable, but an argument could be made). Jan was completely on the defensive. He stood by the counter, casting about for a bit of reparte. "You know what you need to stop doing?" he asked, "You should stop putting silverware on this side of the counter, because they might fall into the trash."

I looked at the fork in question, sitting unmolested on the solid marble counter, and wondered how often Jan lost cutlery in the trash can. Rose failed to join the battle on this point, preferring instead to continue their exchange of completely unrelated accusations. "Jan, where the hell is that bag of pretzels you were supposed to buy me?" she fired back.

A brief concordance ensued, as they agreed to blame the disappearance of said pretzels on their youngest son. Things might have ended there, but this was only the eye of the hurricane; Rose was going for the knockout.

"You know, Jan, you might be getting a social security check. Won't it be nice to contribute to the house again?" she asked tauntingly. Turning to me, Rose proceeded to tell me a little story about her husband: apparently, in the early 1990s, Jan had been working at a place and was being considered for a promotion. "At the last moment," Rose explained, "the foreman gave Jan's job to his Mexican cousin. They paid him under the table."

"Was he legal?" I asked.

"He probably wasn’t!" Jan blurted out, possibly trying to save face. "You can see why Jan hasn't worked in the last 15 years," Rose said, with a laugh that was anything but nice.

Jan had a little postscript that made this whole affair all the more sad and comical. I didn't get all of this down, but he told another crazy story about a job with HP that concluded with him roller-skating around the parking lot of the Hewlett-Packard Building, possibly getting himself fired in the process. Oddly, Jan seemed to regard this story as somehow vindicating, allowing him to win the fight with his wife. As he was concluding the story, the dull crump of Jan’s flatulent song rang again.

A pyrrhic victory indeed.

Next Time: Bad news from the sperm bank, and Jan wastes six hours on 40 cents.