This Story Sucks

Too often, I find myself daydreaming about traveling back in time with some piece of modern technology and wowing the masses. I imagine myself presenting people from fifty years ago with a cell phone or computer, and standing in glory as they adore the prophecy that I bestow. Invariably, I scold myself for such whimsy, realizing that I would rather fantasize about taking credit for the inventions of others than contribute something new and exciting myself. Part of me wonders if this condition stems from my own lack of current employment, and by extension, sense of achievement. Coming fresh off of the heels of yet another unsuccessful job interview, I can tell you that feeling like any sort of success becomes increasingly difficult in the face of continual rejection. Worse, though, than a lack of victorious sentiment, is a decided lack of story. After all, we define ourselves through our stories, and, increasingly, mine becomes too frustrating to tell.

For a more inspiring tale, you might want to turn to my uncle Pete, who owns a successful company. He may very well tell you how, because of current economic conditions, he and every other senior member of the company also now serve as salespeople, in order to avoid further financial distress. Though unfortunate, I guess (he is still fantastically wealthy), it hardly serves as a tale of overwhelming struggle. Still, it does serve as a tale, one that informs us about Pete’s life, his character, and the supposed grit and devotion of his employees. Thus, in telling us about his work, Pete paints us a picture—however editorialized—of himself. We value our struggles, and use them almost as validation of our own existence. The fact that we work, run a household, manage a budget, etc., becomes proof of our own individuality, which we evidence by crafting first-person narratives with ourselves the protagonists.

All well and good, but the story becomes decidedly less enthralling without an improbably triumphant ending. We want to hear how Pete struggled—and succeeded—to save his company, even if our protagonist finds himself a little worse for wear by the final chapters. Problematically, with unemployment you find yourself with all struggle and no meaning, with a plot but no resolution. A job interview becomes a listing of labor and toil, with the job itself serving as the “hero gets the girl” moment when it all somehow falls into place. You even write the ending before you get a chance to read the final pages—you just know that the hero gets to tell all his friends and family about how, through it all, he landed this great new job that will really turn things around. You see yourself showing up at the office each day, sitting in meetings, talking to coworkers—doing something of worth and coming home stress-free and happy, though tired, after a long, satisfying day of work.

And then, of course, you get the email or the phone call explaining that they are “moving ahead with other applicants.” You endure the shame of telling your friends and loved ones—some of whom are equally invested in the outcome—that, once again, things did not work out. And you feel like a failure, though they will, of course, reassure you that, “Something will turn up,” and, “They probably just went with someone that had more experience.” The story does not end, but you put down the book and wonder if it’s even worth it to pick it up again. You will, of course, follow it to the end, because you need this all to work out, but as the plot twists and turns, you wonder whether you can truly still believe, still hope, that the hero does, indeed, get the girl.