Finding the Right Job, My Employment Journey as an IMDB Page

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Madari Pendas


Synopsis:
I fumble through multiple positions as I search for the "perfect" job–the one that will confer upon
me freedom, financial stability, and the ability to buy $8 artisanal coffees. But each position saps
me of time or energy or the will to live. I continue the hunt, all while making up companies that
only exist as Tumblr pages, quiet quitting, "stealing" company time, taking edibles while talking
to customers, and purloining all the printer paper I can.

Director: 50% society, 49% generational immigrant trauma, 1% Instagram envy as inspiration.

Writer(s): Gender, economic class, that one controlling ex, CBT skills.

Producers: Mom, Dad, Abuela, and mental illness.

User Reviews:

JaneAustin,TX1234
Kinda unethical of M to lie to the restaurant manager about having work experience, like she
could have just told the truth. I get it, getting a first job is hard...but still & she stole so much
taro bubble tea and sake every day.

AgathaFisty8228
At Best Buy she became a WORSE employee. Our girl was buying Mike's Hard Lemonade and
drinking them in her car during her break, giving away cables to sexy customers, taking hour-
long lunches, and imagining a grand heist where she stole all the MacBooks from the warehouse.
She pretty much made-up product specs when clients asked–no fridge has a built-in baby! No
washer tells you if your clothes are too old!!

James_and_the_Giantz_Biatch22221
This bitch keeps looking for friends at every job she works at, then ends up sad when they treat
her like a coworker. Boooo! No stars. Also maybe try staying at a job for longer than two years.

TheSunAlsoRinsesandRepeats1996
She lashed out in all the wrong ways: coming in late; not caring how she turned in press releases;
having sex in a stairwell while on the job; abusing the time off policies to take trips to California
with druggie boyfriends; using the company's toner for her (unpublished) blackout poems. Why
did she keep warning recent grads to "Stay in school for as long as fucking possible!"

Thekittenrunner6969
I like that she collected a list of bullshit corporate phrases like yeah, I'll circle back; let's talk
about this offline; can you give me that rundown? What are your action items for this week? We
got client buy-in; Brenda, do a drill down; pivot; run it up the flagpole; pivot again.

EdgarAllenBroke3443
M's whole "awakening" after almost dying was soooooo cliche. So she was so burned out one
night after staying in the office until ten and ran a red light? So what? She wasn't hit and didn't
crash into anyone? No one was on the road anyways. This generation! In my day, we didn't even
sleep! Sleep was for communists and layabouts. If we were tired, we just got a second job.

Two-Mes_ina PodCast
She can't hide from the working world forever as a quirky adjunct who shows YouTube vids.
Give up on magic or adventure or whatever. There is no perfect job. She wants to feel something,
live in some grand way. Life can happen, but after five.

Trivia

I stepped on shit TWICE while inside of a Burger King. We're still not sure if it was human or
other.

I’ve stolen hundreds of paper clips.

While in the corporate world, I used to clock in the moment I woke up–since I was already
thinking about the job that counted as labor.

I once offended a member of the Hearst family.

I apply every year to work as a park ranger.

I once interned at a company with my childhood bully, who tried to bully me again as adults into
copy editing a sales deck.

I still doesn't know what to do or if I even have a "dream" job. When asked, I always say I’m
pursuing a professorship or a Fulbright (something fancy to get people off her back). I wish I
could admit I’m only interested in work that can be done while in pajamas and sleeping in with
my Pug, Borange Julius.

Author’s Statement: I wrote this piece reflecting on my unconventional work history. Having held over fifteen jobs, each experience has deepened my skepticism about capitalism and the role we play as workers. What does it mean to move between jobs rather than staying in one place for decades, as previous generations did? How is the workforce responding to a growing weariness toward exploitation and a rising awareness of class dynamics? I also wanted to comment on the current economic reality that forces many to juggle multiple jobs—a résumé that, in some ways, resembles an IMDb page, a long scroll of survival.

Bio: Madari Pendas is a Cuban-American writer, poet, painter, and cartoonist. She received her MFA from Florida International University, where she was a Lawrence Sanders Fellow, and won the 2021 Academy of American Poets Prize, judged by Major Jackson. Her work has appeared in Craft, Smokelong Quarterly, The Masters Review, Oyster River Pages, PANK, and more. She is the author of Crossing the Hyphen (2021) and She Loves me, She Loves me Not (2025), a queer love story told in poems.



The Mysterious Menagerie

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Chris Bunton

Dr. Bernhard’s Traveling Menagerie had a real problem. All the clowns had killed each other in an argument over whose rubber chicken was the biggest. It was a tragedy, and it could not have come at a worst time.

The wagon train had pulled into the small town of Grand Tower, Illinois on the banks of the Mississippi River, and the Yellow Fever was rampant.

The towns people lined up for the medicine show to get a dose of Dr. Bernhard’s Crazy Goat Tea.

“It cures everything.” He said from the stage, that jutted out from the back of a wagon.

He wore red and white striped breeches, a blue shirt and a doctor’s coat, under a black top hat.

“It’ll heal the fever, and help you rise to the occasion when needed.” The Doctor said.

His beautiful assistant walked in front of the stage showing bottles to the people gathered around watching the doctor with awe.

“This potion is made by witches in the backwoods of Tennessee. Just add it to a cup of warm water and drink it every day till you feel better. It’s a good thing we came when we did so you can benefit from its magical powers during the outbreak. It’s on sale for you only, I didn’t give
this deal to anyone one else. Buy one get the other half price.” He barked.

The people got into lines and pushed each other to get a bottle of the elixir. The blonde lady sold them as fast as she could make change. Meanwhile Dr. Bernhard stood around conversing and answering questions.

“You can use it to clean pots and pans or to get your husband ready for duty, if you want.” He told a little house wife. She blushed and smiled at the thought of her husband having more energy for his duties.

“This stuff will even cure your animals, folks.” He shouted.

After a few minutes he remounted the stage and started barking.

“Tour the menagerie folks! It’s just 10 cents to enter and see the beasts straight from the wilds of Africa!”

He pointed to the entrance of a fenced in corral where several large multi-colored tents were set up. A small dwarf of a man stood ready to take the money from the folks as they entered the corral.

“And don’t miss our freak show!” Dr. Bernhard yelled “We have the best freaks you’ve ever seen; including the Lobster man. He has lobster claws, folks. And don’t miss the one-legged whore, 20 cents a pop. She lost her leg in New York City, when she trespassed on a gang’s
territory. They said she’d never walk there again. It’s Men only for that one!”

The folks lined up for the menagerie, and Dr. Bernhard went back to his wagon for a drink. As he walked, he was joined by a dark figure which shimmered in a way that was ghostly. It was there, but not quite there. The being whispered in a fast tongue that only Bernhard understood.

“We will replace the clowns, with new ones like we always have.” Bernhard said, nodding to the being that drifted beside him.

The being whispered to Bernhard again, in a voice that was like a dozen whispers talking over each other.

“No. We will see who comes, and decides to join.” Bernhard said.

The Being folded into itself and disappeared.

***
The people meandered about going from tent to tent seeing all the animals in cages and tied up.

The biggest draw was the Rhino. He was a majestic beast. He wasn’t even chained; he just wandered around and looked at people with a sad intelligent eye. It was almost like he was human.

A group of four boys snuck away from the crowd and went behind the Freak Show tent. They peeked underneath and saw Sally the One-Legged Whore plying her trade. She saw them peeking, and winked at them.

The boys quickly pulled their heads out from under the tent and ran around the other side, till they saw a red and blue tent marked “Clowns”.

The leader of the boys group went into the tent, and the others followed. But there were no clowns. Only a table full of make-up and a large mirror leaning against a wooden post. The boys looked around for something to steal, but there really wasn’t anything except for the mirror.

The boys stood in front of it, and they saw themselves. But, for a moment they saw themselves painted as clowns. Each one of them was different. Each one of them was reflecting who they were inside.

The moment grew longer. Then, it turned into an eternity staring into the mirror of their souls.

***
The Traveling Menagerie pulled into the town of Cairo, at the Confluence of the Ohio, and the Mississippi. It was here that they set up the next show. The number of animals had grown it seemed; including a pack of wolves following behind Sally’s wagon, almost like they were
devoted to her alone.

A crew of what seemed to be gorillas wearing shirts, trousers and Derby hats set up the stage. Then, as evening fell and the hot summer air cooled, a crowd gathered.

Dr. Bernhard dressed in his barking outfit shouted from the stage.

“This elixir will cure anything! It’ll get rid of the fever and remove warts. Just pour a few drops into your coffee and see what happens.” He yelled.

His assistant dressed in a skimpy outfit walked around in front of the stage showing a bottle to the people.

The crowd stood and listened while a group of four creepy clowns appeared and ran amongst them, doing tricks and honking horns. The crowd laughed nervously, and Dr. Bernhard shooed the clowns away.

“Go on you! I’m trying to sell these folks some medicine.” He yelled “We can never get away from the clowns’ folks. It seems that every town has a group of them! Little rascals to their cores.”

Author’s Note: Most of my fiction writing jumps out at me from things I'm reading or watching. I might be reading a history book and the idea comes into my mind, "What if?" Or I might be watching a show and the thought comes, "Wouldn't it be weird?" Then, the writing comes from there. Like some other writers, I want to use my homeland as a setting for my fiction, when possible. The rest is just a crazy soup that pours out on the page as I'm in the flow of working.

Author Bio: Chris Bunton is a writer, poet and blogger from Southern Illinois.

Dress

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Bridget Hayes

You disappear tangled in shoulder straps, elastic bra bands, hanger hoops and swaths of fabric.
Hands punch and reach for holes, neck crunches, you try to turtle your way out, searching for the
opening, hurtling toward sunshine. Squirming, knees bent, writhing, one hand finds the sky while
the other arm, still pinned, knows it hastily needs to rescue the earring connecting your ear to the
silky liner. Finally loose, your head breaks free making room in the tube of flowery cloth for
your arm to unfold and reach out the right sleeve to freedom.

It is a workout. You wonder if it is even worth it. Is this fashion futile? Is style seeking silly?
You just need a dress to wear to the wedding. It’s such a short event. You’ll have it on and off
before you know it. You consider wearing that boring beige one that has been hanging in your
closet, unworn for years. You hate the thought of dressing for others and just want to find a dress
that pleases you. But you want to show some life, some pizazz, with maybe a small side of sexy.
You love the feel of what just-the-right-dress can do for you.

Now over your head, draped over your chest and bunched up on your middle, you help the
remaining fabric fall over your hips and down your legs like water. You sigh, relax, straighten
your back - half posing, and look into the mirror.

Not sure of what you’ll find, of who will reflect back to you, not confident that you’ll get what
you are looking for, you muster the energy to concentrate and focus your eyes on the figure
before you. You are face to face and alone with your very own self. Your glance shines back to
you shyly, and you register a soft, almost vulnerable content.

Your struggle and distaste for the dress hunt fall away. The distractions of chattering customers,
slamming dressing room doors, and clanging hangers become muffled. You slip into an almost
meditative state and can hear the sound of nothing slightly ringing in your ears. You feel the
warmth of your skin and regular pulsing of your heart. You are swallowed up by a humble sense
of quietness. You pause, soften, and utter a tiny involuntary, “Ohhh.” Like you realize
something, like something was made known to you, like you just shifted into a new perspective.

It takes your breath away. You remain still, staring in the mirror, but no longer at yourself in a
dress. No longer at shape, style, and glamor. You are halted by the gift of seeing your own
authentic beauty, the shimmer of your essence, the core of the magnificent truth of who you really are.

Author’s Statement: Inspired by the magic of friendship, I wrote this story at Raleigh-Durham International Airport while waiting for my flight.

Bio: Bridget Hayes lives in Northern California with her wife and two orange cats. Her writing is published or is forthcoming in Yellow Arrow Journal, Wild Roof Journal, Ionosphere, Ginosko Journal, Ink In Thirds Magazine, and Bear Paw Arts Journal. She is a tech librarian who helps people overcome their fear of technology. When she is not reading or writing she is likely outside. Visit https://bridgethayes.carrd.co/ or follow her on Instagram @beoutside2writes.

Fried Chicken and Pumpkin Pie

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Adrianne Beer

My father and I got into a fight over a kitchen mouse that lived in our bread. He wasn't
willing to put a trap out. He said “that’s what the cat is for.” I scoffed at him, "The mouse will be
dead either way."
My father is a soft man. He throws away important mail before it is opened and fixes
two-dollar mugs with seven dollars' worth of super glue.
The first time my heart was broken, he bought me fried chicken and pumpkin pie. We
were in charge of dinner because my mother was at work that night. We strolled the grocery
store quietly. After 20 minutes he had ordered eight fried chicken breasts from the deli and I
picked out a sale pumpkin pie.
"For the whip cream we have at home," he said to me when I set it in the cart.
I was home from college for the weekend. I had arrived hungover and puffy. The boy that
wasn’t my boyfriend had broken things off days before. He said we could be friends. I got drunk
and sent him 22 unanswered messages. The next day I drove 2 hours home just to save face.
After the grocery store, we stopped at the Redbox and the gas station. My father went in
alone and came out with two Coke freezies. The movie we picked was War Dogs. It wasn’t
good, but we laughed at the same things. I ate the skin off one piece of chicken before cutting the
pie.
It was during the scene where Jonah Hill and the less known actor were being chased
through the desert that I told my father I might be gay. He was in mid chew and mumbled
something. He swallowed then repeated, “Good. I’m sure it’s easier dating women than men.” I
nodded my head. I hoped.

Author’s Note: I wrote this story thinking about the warm and incomparable comfort of a kind father. I hope it reminds you of the solace you get from coming home. 

Bio: Adrianne Beer received her BFA in creative writing from Bowling Green State University and went to library school at the University of Arizona. She is from Yellow Springs, Ohio. Her writing can be found in Moon City Review, Chicago Reader, Southwestern American Literature, and elsewhere.