That this is played out in a low-paying fast food restaurant – in a sector notoriously and consistently neglectful of workers’ rights – is significant for a show directed at kids, many of whom would at some stage work similar jobs. Krabs, the employer who constantly tries to cut corners and find new and fishy (pun very intended) ways to save or make money, often at employees’ expense. Patrick, in the meantime, celebrates the joys of unemployment, most visibly in an episode where he shows a recently fired SpongeBob the secrets to being “funemployed”. Squidward has a far less glorifying outlook on his job at the Krusty Krab, often voicing his contempt for the place’s working conditions (and even once going on a strike with a very unaware SpongeBob). Different approaches to the concept of labor have since been a recurring theme in the show, without preferring the view of the protagonist who was very often oblivious to how much he’s being used. After that, you could possibly catch any episode and notice SpongeBob’s admiration for his workplace and pride in the products he’s making, whether this is delivered as a side note or serves as the main focus of the episode.
In the pilot, which basically sets off the trajectory of the entire show, SpongeBob applies for a fry cook position at the Krusty Krab restaurant, which is very clearly portrayed as his dream job. A prominent unique aspect of the program has been the sole constant feature of its protagonist: his job. By giving the show a harmless veneer, Hillenburg was able to actually dive (pun semi-intended) into certain social matters a bit deeper than other animated shows, or at least describe such issues in new terms. It took me a little longer to appreciate what makes the show stand out among its predecessors and contemporaries, an idiosyncrasy hidden in its apparent cuteness. I didn’t need this hit kids’ show right now.īut then, at some point, I learned to accept the presence of the show on TV, and later even came to like it, mostly for what it’s inherited from the earlier Nickelodeon cartoons I mentioned: the hideously realistic close-ups, the ridiculous and extreme mood swings, the juxtaposition of lovable oafs with smarter but equally helpless characters.
Gradually, SpongeBob would take over this nighttime block, a change I welcomed with a self-righteously countercultural frown. It had just the right amounts of coolness and infantilism I needed to escape the reality that surrounded me.
Often I’d turn on Nick since during those hours they aired reruns of some of my favorite 90s cartoons, like The Ren & Stimpy Show or Rocko’s Modern Life.
The nights were especially dull and lonely, but luckily there was also a satellite TV in the room to pass the time. I think the change came during my military service, when I would be stuck alone in a room with computers and phones for 12-hour shifts. I certainly did not expect that from a glowingly yellow, annoyingly happy character whom I’ve seen mostly on balloons and school bags alongside Dora the Explorer, the other big Nickelodeon star of the day. But as far as contemporary shows were considered, I wasn’t sure if anything can combine the joyful spirit of daytime animation with some of the social commentary of prime-time toons of the Seth MacFarlane or Matt Groening varieties, and still be amusing and appealing. I didn’t have anything against animated series, and in my late teens I was a serious Cartoon Network head (I once even sat through a great part of their weekend Looney Tunes marathon). When SpongeBob SquarePants started airing in Israel, I was pretty sure it’s a silly children’s show with an adorable lead. This time: Marine biologist and cartoon powerhouse, Stephen Hillenburg. Especially when I get to insert myself into it, which really is the whole point of a eulogy, right? So this is a segment I’ll always hope I won’t have to revisit too often. Recently I’ve discovered that among my many, many talents hides one peculiar and morbid gift: formulating parting words for the famous and deceased.