OFF.
Yes, children, I was made redundant, let go, given the pink slip, received my walking papers, had my position impacted by a corporate reorganization, invited to leave, shown the door, and given the bum's rush.
I do not have a job. Or health insurance. And no, I did not see it coming. On Tuesday, I got a raise. On Friday, I was laid off. Yeah, I don't understand it either.
The severance package I've been offered? Not great. The usual two weeks. I don't get my three weeks of vacation for being with the company six years and I wasn't allowed to say goodbye to my friends. Which makes me a little sad and a little bitter, even though I know it's not personal. If you work for a company that's owned by one of the biggest media holding companies in the world, well, you've got to know up front that it's always going to be about the Benjamins. I get it.
I don't love advertising and I was planning to quit later this year. Just not this week. Because my ducks are all over the fucking place, not in a row. In any case, I'm sure everything will work out. I've got my mom committing insurance fraud to get me free drugs and my friends are being so wonderful. Such good people I'm blessed with.
I'm making a list of all the things I need to do. File for unemployment. Get a library card. Carpet bomb the job market with my resume. See if I can hack it freelancing. Get my old apron from Wings N More out of storage and practice doing tip percentages in my head. Take down my naked Christmas tree. Don't sleep until noon. Exercise instead of watching daytime TV. Put a plane ticket on my credit card and go to Paris for a while. Go to Vegas and gamble my unemployment checks. You know, all the practical things you make excuses for because you're too busy or too tired after working all day.
Tomorrow: Take a final look at my resume. Email it to everyone in the world. Sign the damn "separation agreement" and return it to my former employer. Be nice. Don't burn the bridge. Arrange a goodbye lunch with my former co-workers. Let them pay. Talk to the admissions adviser of the nursing program I'm trying to get into. Cure cancer. Save some orphans. Generally behave in a saintly manner.
I thought I might hang out at Starbucks, but they probably will want me to buy something. I'll hang out with Legless Joe, the head bum in my neighborhood, and get homeless tips. I'm too soft to live on the streets. I don't know how to carry a razor blade in my mouth like the best crack whores do. I better start practicing.
It's going to be weird when I don't go to the office tomorrow and don't yell at people all day. I've been telling people they're morons every day for six years. I won't know what to do with myself without awkward sentence structure to correct and ignoramus art directors to browbeat.
They wouldn't let me take my red pen. Bastards.
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