If you’re wondering, I still don’t have a job. I’m not sure if it’s because of the economy or workplace discrimination against very good-looking people or the fact that I haven’t applied to anything, but here we are.
Faced with the threat of unemployment, I developed a plan. I was watching old episodes of “30 Rock” when it occurred to me that the show’s star and creator, Tina Fey, probably does not have much trouble getting jobs. You know who wants to hire Tina Fey? Everyone. You know who wants to hire me? Not T.G.I Friday’s, that’s for sure. I realized if I wanted people to hire me, all I had to do was be the sort of person everyone wants to hire. I had to pretend to be Tina Fey.
To be clear, identity theft is no joke. Not to brag, but I get my credit card stolen like all the time, so I know what’s up. But I like to think Tina would be happy to help out a friend. Technically, you might not say we’re friends, as we have never met, but we do have a lot in common. We are both brunettes, both humans and both Wahoos. Not to mention I ate a piece of pizza yesterday, and I am guessing Tina Fey has eaten pizza at some point in her life, possibly even yesterday. Our uncanny likeness is a cold, hard fact, not some shaky theory you can poke holes in, like evolution or global warming.
And so I got to work assuming Tina Fey’s identity. It was pretty easy. Whenever I picked up the phone or entered a room, I declared, “Hello, I am Tina Fey, the actual person.” If you’re wondering how I thought of this trick and how you, too, can come up with such clever ruses, the answer is I’m very smart and you’re probably not.
I took things a step further to be prepared in case anyone got suspicious. I reread Tina’s book, “Bossypants,” and memorized key information. Thank goodness for this forethought, because just a few days later I pulled up to the Taco Bell drive-through and announced, “It is I, Tina Fey, here for my order of however many tacos you currently have the supplies to make.”
The drive-through worker looked at me. “You’re not Tina Fey,” he said.
“Oh, but I am!” I assured him, but he was not convinced, so I swooped in with my vast Tina Fey knowledge.
“You’re being rude,” I said.
“Rest assured my best friend Amy Poehler, who I know in real life, will be hearing about this! And I don’t think my husband Jeff Richmond will be too happy either! We have been married since 2001!” He sighed and handed me my 76 tacos, a reward for a job well done.
The plan was going great. I mean, I still didn’t have a job, but otherwise it rocked. But all good things must come to an end. Soon came the fateful day of Jelly Belly’s All You Can Eat Sweepstakes. It was a phone contest to win a lifetime supply of jelly beans. I don’t actually like jelly beans but I do like winning, not to mention this was my favorite kind of competition — one that requires no skill whatsoever. All you had to do was be the 100th caller to the Jelly Belly hotline. I grabbed my phone and began calling. Finally, it happened:
“Congratulations, you are our 100th caller!” the man on the other end said.
I was over the moon. But then he spoke again: “I’ll just need your name and address and we’ll get you set up with your prize.”
I froze. What could I do? After a lifetime of never winning anything, I needed these jelly beans. They were a symbol of something greater. But I had been sticking to this “Pretend I’m Tina Fey” plan for awhile, and the first rule was to stay in character. I knew I had to commit.
“My name is Tina Fey,” I said before giving him the address that popped up when I googled, “What is Tina Fey’s address?”
The thing is, I still really need those jelly beans. I figure if I call Tina and explain my predicament, she will be like, “Of course I can send you the lifetime supply of jelly beans you rightfully earned! And I’m definitely cool with the fact that you’ve been using my name! Let’s be best friends for life and also I’d like to offer you a job.”
Plus, I figure once she knows about my little ruse, we could team up. Like if there is ever a dinner party or something that she doesn’t want to go to, I’ll put my skills of deception to work and go in her place. If they have spent a lot of time around her, the people at the party may say something like, “Tina, you look shorter and less accomplished today.”
“Yes,” I will say. “It is a new moisturizer I am trying out.” They’ll never know that in fact, the real Tina Fey is at home eating the jelly beans I have graciously shared with her. As long as she doesn’t eat them all. Because I mean I won them, not her. So it would be really uncool if she ate too many of them. But she can have some. Like 20 percent. I’m flexible. Anyway, if you have Tina Fey’s phone number, please hook me up.
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