pounding the pavement

I’ve written in the last week about the tragedy that has befallen me. I’m not looking for sympathy, mind you, but I am getting a negative vibe around chez Jimbo’s girlfriend.

“I think you wanted to lose your job,” the little woman told me.

“No, dear,” I responded.

I think Jimbo’s girlfriend is a little like George Thorogood’s landlady in the song One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer. While Thorogood aficionados probably remember the discourse verbatim, let me remind the uninitiated of the conversation between the two.

The landlady said, "You got the rent money yet?",
I said, "No, can't find no job"
Therefore I ain't got no money to pay the rent
She said "I don't believe you're tryin' to find no job"
Said "I seen you today you was standin' on a corner,
leaning up against a post"
I said "But I'm tired,
I've been walkin' all day"
She said "That don't confront me,
long as I get my money next Friday"
Now next Friday come I didn't have the rent,
and out the door I went

Now, Thorogood’s song is the sad tale of a brother whose job parted ways with him, much as mine is going to in a few months. The song is the lamentation of the difficulty of finding another job in the economy that has been raped, pillaged and destroyed by the Bush administration. While many of you would be quick to remind me that George was not the original artist to record the song, and some might even say it was John Lee Hooker, I think I can successfully support my facts. The song was actually written by Amos Milburn and recorded by Hooker, but the original song didn’t have the story of George and his landlady. From what I have researched, that part was pure Thorogood. Some of you might correctly remind me that Thorogood performed the song and wrote the part about his landlady many years before Bush was elected President. I would contend that Thorogood’s artistic sensibilities helped him anticipate a day when the Bush administration would wreck the economy and leave guys like his character and me out pounding the pavement, looking for work. I also contend that he anticipated that there would be those who didn’t believe we were dedicated in our search for employment. Anyway, back to my story.

I don’t believe my girlfriend believes I am actually sincere in my grief. These weren’t her exact words, but this is a paraphrase that I believe depicts her actual opinion.

“I think you’re happy that you’re going to lose your job,” she said. “Now, while I’m at work all day, putting in the long hours, slaving for our rent, you will be out enjoying yourself. You’ll be sitting in some smoky gambling hall with your unsavory associates, smoking cigars, leering at the waitresses and telling your ribald stories. You’ll be playing pool and poker all day long and watching sports on television, wagering on the outcomes of the games. You’ll be drinking away all your severance pay, along with your friends, who won’t remember who you are when all of your money is gone. You’ll stay out late and come home in the middle of the night reeking of whisky and smoke and looking for loving. You’ll be piddling away your productive years in a life of sloth and debauchery and playing around on the Internet.”

“But, dear,” I’ll respond, “You know I don’t drink. Especially when I’m playing poker.”

This, unfortunately, will not dissuade her from thinking negatively about me. I suppose it always has been and always will be the lot of the workingman to suffer the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” and the skepticism of those who don’t believe we are actually trying hard enough.

And, that is our sad tale this morning, here in Jimbo’s world.