Siesta

© 2004, By Thomas J. Clancy

I’m lying on my bed not quite asleep and it’s the middle of the day. I’m taking my midday nap, my siesta, a new habit of mine. A short distance away I hear the sound of a lawnmower, birds chirping, small children screaming and laughing as they play and the neighbor’s dog barking. I can tell from the blinds in the windows of my room that the sun is shining and that it’s probably warm outside, maybe fifty or sixty degrees. Spring is here finally and with it I’ve realized a major new pattern to my life: unemployment. It seems that every Spring since 2002, around this time, in fact, I’ve found myself out of work, polishing my resume as well as my dress shoes.

The first time it happened, over two years ago now, I frightened my wife silly by calling her on her cell phone as she was driving some distance away to her favorite scrap-booking store. Instead of continuing on she turned around and headed home. Like an idiot, however, instead of going home to be with her and to console her I went across the street with the whole, laid-off bunch of us and got drunk (food and drinks were on the founders of the company—our last supper, as it were).

My wife called me when she returned home and found me drunk and slurring my words on the other side of the phone. A argument ensued. Actually, she just yelled a lot and I tried to calmly explain, in what came out as long, indiscernible run-on sentences, what had happened and why everyone was eating and drinking. I promised to come right home and so I stopped drinking, sobered up, drove home and endured more yelling. It turned out that she was just scared about what was going to happen, afraid that we’d have to sell the house, the cars, even the damned bird. Like me she was wondering if I’d ever get another job, if I was eligible for unemployment benefits, if she could get me onto her health insurance until I could find a job, etc. I had all these fears and questions, too (except for the bird), which was why I had been drinking

That first night I couldn’t sleep at all. My mind was abuzz with awful thoughts of destitution. I imagined my wife and I splitting up, she taking the house and all my things and finding for herself a well-to-do surgeon or gynecologist, while I, penniless and in need of dental work a shower and a shave, stood like the rest of the bums at rush hour by the side of the road, a crushed sixty four ounce soft drink cup in hand and a sign around my neck that read “Will Stop Scowling At You For Money!” I mean, what would I do without my cable television and high speed internet connection, my books and my magazines and my XBox gaming console? What would I use for toilet paper? Heck, what would I use as a toilet?

The following day, tired but determined to find work, I discovered the whereabouts of the Pennsylvania unemployment web site and began to studiously read and digest the information on it. Afterwards I set out to establish myself as a newly out of work citizen, at which point I discovered that I had no idea how in the hell to answer any of the questions asked of me in the online application form. After royally screwing up the application I decided to call and speak with a human, assuming (and hoping) that were possible. A half hour later I was speaking with a human female named Debbie who, after looking over my botched attempt, could barely keep herself from laughing. She got my account straightened out and gave me my instructions and that was that. This, of course, put my wife very much at ease, and that’s always a good thing.

The second time it happened, just last year around this time, things went smoother. I’d given up the grape, as it were, so instead of doing a lot of drinking and crying and pissing off my wife, I just coasted through bottle after bottle of diet Pepsi. My wife and I were worried still, but we managed to handle things better. For one, the first night of my first day being laid off I dreamt, instead of destitution, that my wife and I remained together and moved into a small cottage in the woods amongst talking bears and unicorns (I’m still trying to interpret that one). Of course the very next day I hit the Pennsylvania unemployment compensation web site again, screwed up the form again, and wound up talking to another operator who got things straightened out for me (had it been Debbie, I don’t know how I would have handled it. You’d think that someone who makes his living writing software could actually use the stuff.) Sherri called to get me put on her insurance again and, after polishing my resume and my dress shoes, I hit the digital pavement ‘again’ in search of employment. In no time, really (maybe a few weeks) I managed to land a job and didn’t even have to collect an unemployment check.

Now it’s the third time for me as I lie awake during my midday siesta. Is this the charm I’ve been waiting for all my life? Perhaps I am in need of a change of scenery, a change of vocation. Perhaps this is a sign of my very own raison d'etre. Perhaps this third time is, indeed, a wakeup call telling me to put aside my keyboard and my mouse. Let the Indians and the Chinese have my job. Heck, any kid fresh out of college today can do the work I do. The irony is that we old timers had been writing ourselves right out of a job years ago and only now we’re finally realizing it. Back then we were creating software that made creating software easier and easier so that today, with the promise of a dozen or so ripe bananas, a trained monkey could do it—just point, click, scratch a little under the armpit, throw in a few grunts for good measure and voila! Software served up fresh.

I was lucky in that I was spared the humility of having to train my replacement. This, I suppose, because they decided to not replace me, but to just liquidate the need for my particular brand of service altogether. Well, at any rate, I’m sure that I’ll take whatever comes along for whatever they’re willing to pay. But right now I’m going to enjoy the rest of my siesta and dream a few good dreams before I head back to the digital pavement in search of work.