free pens

I get dropped off
because there’s not
a single open space
in the parking lot — 
everyone needs a job…
these are hard times
and the unemployed
and the underemployed
have arrived in droves
for the chance,
for the opportunity,
for the possibility
of a face-to-face…
this job fair
is in a hotel — 
the holiday inn express
 — most of it
is in a ballroom,
tables line the walls,
each employer’s rep
sitting up straight,
receptive, eager,
ready to greet the masses…
they are the awkward front line,
the kind and understanding front line — 
do they want to be here? unsure…
but they do get paid to be here — yes,
which is more than you can say
for the rest of these grimy ass fools
in their thrown-together best,
sweating through dress shirts,
and poorly tied ties,
bad-fitting khakis and
cover-lettered lies — 
they roam around,
trying to look as impressive
as possible despite their feeble,
anxiety-riddled
corporate-directed piety,
with their imploring voices,
their inquisitive, attentive,
and energetic go-getter tones,
they need jobs, we need jobs,
 — somehow I try to distance myself
from this hoard, and yet I know
I cannot, because I am here…
anyway, supposedly
this is where there are jobs — 
this is the watering hole for jobs…
lap it up, take the free shit
that’s offered to you, the shit
that mostly serves as advertising
rather than charity,
and yeah, put your name down
and neatly print your email address
on the line below — tell us a little
about yourself, your experience,
whether or not you’ve gone to school,
et cetera, et cetera…
they need bodies,
and the bodies need monies,
and wow this place is damn hot
for a hotel — there are fans,
and a few of the rooms have A/C
but the main heat source
is desperate flesh,
which always burns hotter
than the rest,
and the air is sweat vapor
and resume paper,
yes, piles of bloated resumes,
easy little listicles with
their bullet-pointed personhood
condensed to ideally
less than two pages…
more giveaways: free chapstick,
free toothbrushes,
and stress balls (needed, yah)
and the pens,
oh the free fucking pens — 
a writer can get all he wants here
in pens alone,
well, and also material,
because the human state of need
is indeed palpable,
my own need commingling
with the rest
of this starving city…
and so I take it all home
with me, I take it all in,
and cinch it up in this free little
logo-covered
drawstring bag

Garbage Notes:

I wrote this a while back when I was looking for a job. I was having a hard time finding one. It was probably the longest stretch that I had ever gone as an adult without a steady paycheck, and things were starting to get desperate.

So desperate in fact that I was willing to attend a job fair. I know, I’m not exactly one for attending big public gatherings where sweaty strangers congregate in their closest approximations of formalwear. But what choice did I have? Supposedly there would be opportunities there…

It was hot as fuck, and so loud and crowded. I could not believe how many people were looking for jobs post-pandemic. The experience of waiting in line to make personal contact at a table with a low-rung representative at some random place that probably wasn’t even remotely well suited for me—it was rough business to say the least.

I was there for maybe an hour, scooping up whatever collectibles I could find. Because I knew it was unlikely I would actually land a job from this absolute festival of bullshit. So I tried my best to make up for it with swag.

Anyway, I wrote this poem shortly afterwards. Out of sadness and frustration mostly. It’s never a fun place to be in, looking for a job when you know your survival is at stake.

You’re basically in fight or flight mode. It always feels like time is running out. Bills are staring back at you, and you have no idea what you’re gonna do to get by.

A close family member of mine is in this current situation. It’s a real crisis. When you are like that, you aren’t yourself. It’s hard to impress anyone in an interview, for instance, when you know their decision has so much potential power over your future.

Eventually I did find a job—not from the stupid job fair—from somewhere else. But I definitely collected a lot of free pens that day.

You can buy my new book Work is Work on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and pretty much everywhere else books are sold.

Franco Amati 2026

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