Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Scarry thoughts on getting fired.

Thank you all for your kind words about my little, erm, employment situation, or lack thereof. I so appreciate your snark.

I've also discovered that you don't have to be an adult to have a strong opinion on unemployment.

On my way home from getting sacked, I saw 2 very energetic boys jumping up and down, waving a sign for their Kool-Aid stand. Of course I stopped.

As I walked up to their folding table, I was taken aback by the super blondness of both boys, and their Joker-like cherry Kool-Aid-stained mouths. They were adorable.

I paid 75 cents for my cup o' sugar, and gave them a 25-cent tip. They couldn't believe they got a tip!

But as I walked away, the blonder and more Kool-Aid-faced of the boys left the stand as well. "My brother fired me, but I don't even care," he said, holding up 2 dollar bills. "I got paid, so I don't even care! I'm gonna go play my game!" And off he ran.

I figured that was a good lesson. I, too, got paid, and now I can go play my game, whatever that happens to be.

Last night, My Guy and I celebrated my firing by going out for dinner with some good friends. We laughed and visited and I felt like things were going to be OK.

Well, that is, until the subject of Richard Scarry came up.

"You know," our friend said, "our kids are obsessed with hobos. And it's all because of this Richard Scarry book that has a hobo in it, with the stick and everything. And the book says, "Hobos don't have jobs."

My Guy started laughing.

Our friend continued, "So, we asked the kids if Mommy is a hobo, and they said that since she doesn't have a job, she is, in fact, a hobo. So, Cha Cha, I'm sure they'll agree that you, too, are now one of the hobo peoples!"
Don't you think this looks like me? My dad is a train nut, so I have always liked riding the rails.

Image courtesy of, where writer Lucas Wagner has discovered that he, too, qualifies as a hobo under The Scarry Hobo Law.


Rainbow Motel said...

My biggest complaint back when I was home with kids was that there was no actual term for what I did. It's years too late, but at least I know that there was a name for me. Hobo. I like it.

Kelley said...

When my son was younger if you asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, the answer was almost always hobo, so that he could 'ride the rails'. I blame Richard Scarry for my son's lack of ambition.