tagLetters & TranscriptsSanta, All I Want For Xmas is a Job

Santa, All I Want For Xmas is a Job


A letter from the unemployed to Santa Claus hoping for a job.

Dearest Santa Claus,

I'm sorry, Santa. Maybe I asked you for too much last year, when I asked you for what I'm asking you for again this year. Since I didn't receive what I asked for last year, by asking you for the same thing again, I was hoping to receive it this year. Maybe I was expecting too much, when I asked for the same thing the year before, too, which would explain why I didn't receive it that year either and which is why I'm asking for it again and again.

Nonetheless, the previous two years are in the past and replaced by my renewed hope that you'll, finally, grant me my Christmas wish this year. I'm already over my disappointment. It's a new year of Christmas wishing, hoping, and giving, and I hope you won't forget me again this year, as you did the previous two years. Merry Christmas, Santa.

Maybe like everything else in life, my Christmas wish, without a doubt, is worth the wait to get. Now that I waited two, long, suffering years, three years, this Christmas, I don't mind, really, I don't. Of course, no doubt, you must have a long waiting list with a lot of others asking you for the same thing that I want. No doubt, I hope to believe, when my name finally reaches the top of your list is when I'll, finally, get my wish.

Right? Is that it? Is that how it works, Santa? I just hope that this is the year. So long as I get my wish this year, I'll be so happy that I'll no longer care that I didn't get my wish last year or the year before.

Patience is a virtue and no one can say that I haven't been patient in waiting to receive my wish, but along with patience, unfortunately, money is a necessity and now I have very little of both. My patience is exhausted and money has eluded me. Nonetheless, I'm hoping the third year is the charm. I'm hoping that this is the year that I'll, finally, get my Christmas wish, Santa.

Maybe it was just the timing and a bad time for me to ask you for what I really wanted for Christmas. Yeah, for sure, that must be the reason why I didn't get my wish two years in a row. Maybe too many people are asking you for the same, damn thing. Of course, that makes sense to me now. I should have known, you'd give me my wish, if you could and now that I've been waiting for so very long, three years this Christmas, this year is my turn to get my wish, finally, I hope. Right?

Then, again, if I don't receive my wish this year, sorry for the doubt, but maybe I was wrong to believe in Santa Claus. Just as there's no Superman, maybe there's no Santa Claus. Still, what did I have to lose in asking Santa Claus for what I wanted? It was worth a try. Desperately determined enough to try anything, I didn't know who else to ask for a job.

I really hope there is a Santa Claus. Other than believing in God, there's so little else to believe in with assurance these days of woe and worry. After 9/11, I no longer believe that good will prevail over evil. Other than death and taxes, there is so little to expect that will happen in life with any certainty. Since I can't believe what any politician promises, it would be a nice surprise if there was a Santa Claus, an intermediary, between the President of the United States and God, who could intercede on my behalf, when I need a bit of help in finding employment. Trust me, if I was Irish, I'd be asking for a pot of gold from a Leprechaun, but I'm not Irish.

Now that my unemployment benefits have expired and my representatives in Washington believe that the only reason why I don't have a job is because I'm just lazy and don't want to work, I'm desperate for work and frantic for money. I'd do anything to make a few dollars to tide me over, until I can find a real job. I tried everything else now, even writing to Santa Claus and asking him for a job for Christmas. If you don't come across with a job, Santa, I don't know what else to do. Any suggestions?

In hindsight, I know it was foolish of me to ask and to believe he or she could deliver, but I was desperate enough at the time, when I asked the Easter Bunny to bring me a job. Sadly, all he or she left me was a small, chocolate, cream filled Easter egg.

"Happy Easter, Easter Bunny. Thanks for the candy."

A bittersweet moment, I was so excited that the Easter Bunny left me a surprise but I was totally disappointed that it was only candy and not a job. Gee, thanks a lot. Seriously, what am I going to do with that? I can't sustain myself on one lousy chocolate, cream filled, Cadbury Easter egg. Seriously, what could I expect from a giant bunny rabbit?

I've looked everywhere, newspapers, Craigslist, online job searches, company employment sites, cold calling local companies, and monitoring the city, state, and federal employment links. I networked with friends and family, friends of friends, and friends of family, still nothing. I attended job fairs, had informational interviews, even tried internships, and volunteered my time hoping to score a job. I tried full-time permanent employment agencies and part-time temporary employment agencies, still, after three long, suffering years of unemployment, I'm still unemployed and I'm still hopefully looking, while remaining positive that one day, soon, I'll find a job. Tragically, about to give up hope, I'm afraid that there are no jobs, at least, not for me.

I'd move somewhere where there are jobs, but except for China and Fargo, North Dakota, the unemployment situation is the same sad story everywhere. Now, seriously, since I don't speak and understand Chinese, China is out of the question and who wants to live in Fargo? It's just too damn cold there. Sorry Santa, I forgot who I was writing to with you living at the North Pole. Winter in Fargo would be spring at the North Pole in comparison, I imagine.

Yeah, sure, there are part-time jobs without benefits that pay half of what I was earning before this recession, but if I couldn't afford to pay my bills on one hundred percent of what I was earning before, how can I afford to pay my bills on half of the salary they want to pay me for the same work now? Everything has skyrocketed except salaries? Everything increases, except for the amount that employers pay employees. You seem to have all the answers, Santa. Why is that? Tell me, I'd really like to know.

Food, gasoline, clothing, insurance, taxes, even coffee is up. I'm glad I quit smoking and I don't dare buy any booze because of the skyrocketing taxes on alcohol. I already skimp on everything that I can skimp on and cut everything that I could cut out of the measly budget that I have. I cancelled my cell phone. I don't have my hair done. I haven't bought anything new in years. I don't even buy a lousy cup of coffee. I brew my own. I combine my errands and don't drive anywhere, unless it's absolutely necessity.

"Mom! I'm bleeding. We have to go to the hospital now!"

"Can you wait until Tuesday for me to take you to the hospital? I'm not scheduled to go out again, until then."

Basically, I live the life of a Nun, but one without the convent, the habit, and the sexual appetite, as I heard some of those Nuns are really promiscuous.

I stay at home and don't go anywhere or do anything. I know better to stay home and not go out. As soon as I leave the house, I spend money I don't have to spend. Why bother? I don't need whatever I feel the need to buy because I'm depressed, so very sad, and now I'm angry, borderline insane, that I can't find a job and have no money.

Santa, let me make it official by asking your formally. All I want for Christmas is a job. Clearly and concisely, that's it, that's all that I want, nothing thing else. You don't have to bring me another thing. I don't care if my stocking is empty, so long as I have a job. I can fill the stocking myself, later.

I'm willing to work. I'm able to work. I want to work. Maybe I shouldn't but I still believe in the American dream. Only, after losing my job, my house, my car, and my children, when my marriage ended and my husband proved to the court that without a job I couldn't support my children, couldn't even support myself, and they were better off with him, I have nothing else left to lose.

I've already lost my pride and my dignity a long time ago, when I applied for food stamps. Pride and dignity were the first to go, especially when running into old friends who are doing well and he or she ask me about my job. Job? What job? Except for being buried six feet under, I've gone as low as I can go. After telling people that I'm unemployed and unable to find work, after bending their ear, until they can't stand listening to me complain, if another person says to me the only way is up, I'll choke him or her to death with the seatbelt of their BMW 3 series sedan.

All I have left is what my parents ingrained in me, hope in assuring me that with dedicated hard work, I'll have my American dream. Is that all bullshit, too? Only, without a job, well, that's the first step, isn't it? There's just no way that I can get my slice of the apple pie without a job to give me the money that I need to be a contributing member of the American capitalistic society.

I don't even have an identity without a job to define me. Who am I? I'm one of the faceless and forgotten unemployed. In today's economy, feeling so much like a loser, I'm a nobody without money.

It was different back when my parents lived. My Dad worked at the same company all his life. He retired, received his pension and with social security, they wanted for nothing. Now that Wall Street robbed our 401K's and with congress not only wanting to raise the retirement age but also wanting to slash Social Security benefits, we have no security. Where's our golden parachute? All of our political leaders have golden parachutes. They only have to serve one term to receive retirement and a lifetime of health insurance benefits. What about us, we the people?

The one thing that bothers me the most, the one thing that makes me insane and drives me crazy is when they show Wall Street at the end of the business day and all those smiling, rich people gathered on the little stage they have, before they sound the gong to close the business day at 3pm. First of all, when I was working, the only day I stopped working at 3pm was when I had a doctor's appointment and I had to stay late the next day to make up the time. Secondly and more importantly, it's so in your face insensitive to show, so many people who have nothing, the few rich people that have everything.

You know, Santa, besides being good all year and for the past three years, I'll have you know that I'm good, really good, if you know what I mean. Don't get me wrong, if I'm coming on to you too strong and I hope that what I'm about to write won't jeopardize my chance at getting my one and only Christmas wish, a job, but maybe we can make a deal? What do you think?

Here goes and hoping I don't offend you, but if you give me my one wish, I'll give you hot sex. Yes, I would. I'll give you sex that is so hot, you could deem it as lava sex. If only you'd just give me a job, I'll add a capital letter H and a T to all your ho, ho, ho's and make them Hot, Hot, Hot. When Santa is away, Santa Claus may play and fill more than my stocking, if you know what I mean. What do you say? I'm a willing participate in any Santa's sexual shenanigans.

Santa, for a job, I'll give you the best, damn blowjob you ever had. I'd suck your cock better than the blowjob you get from Rudolph the red nosed reindeer and better than the blowjob that you give Rudolph to make his nose shine so bright for him to guide your sleigh at night, if only you'd make me gainfully employed. What do you say, Santa? Is it a deal? Please?

Sorry, Santa. Even though I feel totally rejected and have embarrassed myself, it was worth the try. I told you that I tried everything, even offering my sexual services to you, Santa Claus, for employment. How low can I go?

I still see people living the good life. They are easy to spot. They drive new cars, wear nice clothes, talk on their Blackberries, shop at the higher end malls, and they can still afford their daily latte. They pay cash for their food at the supermarket, instead of paying by credit card, while hoping there's enough credit left on the card to buy what I need to eat to survive for one more month, one more week, and one more day.

Help! Help, help! Help me, Santa, I'm drowning in a sea of debt and red ink. I'd be okay, if only I could earn regular pay with overtime, sick time, holiday pay, healthcare benefits, life insurance, long-term and short-term disability, free parking, a company car, a company paid cell phone, company paid gasoline and a credit card for business expenses, along with a Christmas bonus. Okay, I'd settle for just a job, any job, preferably one where I'm not wearing a uniform and taking customer food orders.

"Welcome to McDonald's. May I take your order?"

Give me a break, Santa. Life shouldn't be this fucking hard. Why me? What did I do to deserve this? I'm college educated. I have decades of work experience. Is it because there just are too many of us, too many baby boomers to give everyone a job? Are they waiting for us all to die off, before the politicians take credit for fixing the economy and giving us full employment, when it took our demise to do that?

Yet, I know it's not just me. I know there are millions of people out there who are just like me and who are in the same financial dire straits. If they aren't unemployed just like me, then those that have jobs know someone who is just like me, someone who is experiencing the lows of life, while struggling to pull themselves up from the black abyss of unemployment.

Whenever the state and the federal government publish the unemployment numbers, they purposely underestimate them. For a more realistic unemployment number of how many unemployed there are, just double it. Why lie about it? I only have to drive around my neighborhood to see all the people hanging around all day looking for victims to rob.

When is it my turn, Santa? When can I get lucky and be happy? I always paid my taxes, I've paid my dues. I did all the right things, education, work experience, and climbed ladder, that is, until my ladder became a greased slide and I hit rock bottom. Tell me, who put the grease on my ladder? Was it my political leaders? Why did they do that to me and everyone else?

If it wasn't for my sense of humor, one of the few things that I have left, I wouldn't be writing Santa Claus for a job. Yet, I didn't want to leave any stone unturned. I still have my positive attitude that if I put myself out there to enough people that someone will give me a job, only Oprah will no longer answer my e-mails, after having asked her for employment so many, too many, times.

I'm so down because there's no dangling rope to pull myself out of the deep rut of depression, despair, and disillusionment that my political leaders have buried me in so deep. I remember a time when I'd leave a job on Friday and be working at a better and higher paying job on Monday. I'm up to my neck in bills. Now, with the threat of a double dip recession, the hole that I'm in is deepening and promising to go over my head and bury me. I really don't know what I'm going to do, Santa. Can you give me a job, so I don't have to go out to steal and rob?

I meditate and try to relax by watching television. Yet, when I sit in front of the TV to relax, all that I see are millionaires. Even watching television is no longer the enjoyable fun activity it used to be. Instead, I write dirty stories, I mean, erotic literature on a porn site, I mean, on an erotic literature site, while hoping to win a few dollars in a theme contest to buy food and gas.

America's past time of relaxing, the fun activity that it once was, after working a full day, or in my case, after being unemployed for a full day, is no longer fun. Now sitting in front of the television makes me sad, jealous, and angry. I turn off the television and read, instead.

All the programs on TV are of people who earn millions of dollars from playing sports, reciting the same news on a different day, giving inaccurate weather forecasts, or interviewing other millionaires. It's more of the same, when I listen to the radio with more millionaire pop and country western artists singing hoping to sell their CD's that I can no longer afford to buy. It's the same when I watch a movie. There are even more millionaire actors, directors, and producers on the big screen.

Then, if that's not enough, with these millionaire athletes, newscasters, television personalities, and movie stars earning more money in one year than I'll earn in ten lifetimes, they give one another awards. They receive trophies, Hall of Fame dinners, and presentations for playing a game, Peabody Awards for giving us all bad news, Pulitzer Prize for writing something, Nobel Prizes for inventing something, and Tony's, Emmy's, Grammy's, MTV awards, and the Oscars for being talented and good looking. It's not enough that celebrities already have fame and fortune, they want to receive awards on live television, too. Give me a break, Santa.

Is it that celebrities don't feel worthy of all that fame and fortune they've received, until someone gives them an award telling them that they deserve it? Is that why so many of them numb themselves with drugs and alcohol and spend the rest of their lives in and out of rehab? Seeing them all standing on stage applauding one another makes me insane with envy, when I don't even have the money to buy food to eat, oil to heat my home, and gas to drive my car, that is, before my house was foreclosed on and my car was repossessed.

Are you kidding me? When do I get my fucking award for maintaining my sense of humor, sense of decorum, and sanity after being unemployed for so long? Ha, ha, I get it now. I get the joke. The joke was on me and everyone else who doesn't have a job.

My government should give me the award for believing all of their lies, The Lie To Me Award for being the most gullible citizen. How is that fair, Santa, that all these successful people have everything fame, fortune, and even awards, when I have nothing? Tell me that. What did I do wrong? How is that fair? That's not fair, Santa. It's just not fair.

For people who are in the minority, gays and Jews, the entertainment industry is filled with gay and Jewish people. Why is that, Santa? Don't get me wrong, Santa, I have many gay friends. I have a lot of Jewish friends. I have many friends who are gay and Jewish. I hold no animosity towards anyone who is gay and/or Jewish. Good luck to them, but I'd like to have some luck, too, if you don't mind. Just because I wasn't born gay and/or Jewish, I'd like to drink from the trough of success, too?

Without having the expense of children, I'd have money today if I was born with a penis and born a gay man.

"Fight AID's."

Having the luxury of a family who helped me to buy a house and give me seed money start a business, I'd own a business today, if I was born a Jewish man.


Without doubt, I'd be loaded up the wazoo, with cash falling out of my ass with every step I took, if by a mere accident of birth, I was born gay and Jewish. Gees, I'd hit the fame and fortune jackpot then. My biggest problem would be writing my acceptance speech to receive my award, when accepting the Oscar for being a gay, Jewish man.

"I'd like to thank my mother and father for having sex and giving birth to me. Shalom, Happy Hanukah, and let's all help to combat AIDs."

Alas, I'm not gay and I'm not Jewish. I'm just an unemployed woman. Help me Santa. I've been asking you for the same one thing now for three years. Is this the year that you'll grant my Christmas wish?

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byandtheend© 38 comments/ 15831 views/ 4 favorites

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