A couple of weeks ago I learned I’m losing my job in November. I’ve been with the company almost a decade.
We were herded into a conference room and provided a Power Point presentation on how restructuring would create more efficiency. (What about me?!! You could feel the silent scream.) HR then handed out severance packets, dark blue folders customized for each employee. No one made eye contact. We all rifled past the mental health brochures and the list of resume building websites, looking for the sheet of paper that told us what our severance pay and retention bonus’s would be. Not fun. But not the hard part. The hard part was the call to Mr. K.
“We’ll be fine.” Mr. K says.
“I know, I know.” I’m pulling up job websites as we talk.
“We’ll just have to cut back.”
“Uh-huh. Hey, there’s a job in North Dakota
“I think Montana
“Who’s not calm? I’m calm. How about Guam ?”
“This might give you a chance to focus on your writing.”
“Whuzza…what?” I stop typing. My eye’s narrow. “You’re just saying that to calm me down.”
“I thought you were calm.”
“Asshole” I mutter.
“Sure, why not? Thing#1 and Thing#2 will be in school. You’ll have to cook dinner, though.” Mr. K is normally the chef in the house.
“Dinner. Sure. No Problem.”
So there you have it. I’m a broke-ass full time writer starting in November.
