Instrument of Fear

You probably thought I was dead but no such luck. I have just been in transition. I like that I can live without the neo-necessities like internet, cell phones and cable TV without making a big impact on my quality of life. Those things are over-rated.

Anyway, I was just let go from my job and I recently got a highspeed connection at my house so the blogging outlook is strong, my friends.

It was the first time I have ever been let go from a job and I was dissappointed at how peaceful the experience was. There was no "from the depths of Hell I stab at thee and spit at thee with my last dying breath" from the bosses. For all of the threats and humiliation they always dished out in the past, they were surprisingly spineless when they told me "you no longer have a job with the company" and "your temporary term has expired."

It was my fault, of course. I knew the rules and I got sick anyway. That was the end. I made jokes at my own expense during the final signing of papers but nobody was in the mood. They were nervous and formal. They even repeatedly said, "Thank you for all of your hard work" and "you can apply for the position again in 60 days." What a bunch of wusses. I am sure they just wanted to get me out of the door before I made a scene.

It was not a great job. If I said to them, "The priviledge of working my ass off for you is right up there with winning the Powerball lottery," then they would fear me for my ability to read their minds. They were fond of telling people that their best would never be good enough. They played a game that I dubbed "The Horrible Human Being." The game started when a boss would approach you on a Friday night and asked, "Would you like to work tomorrow." The customary response is, "No. I would hate that." Then the boss would disappear for about ten minutes only to return with this:

"I checked the records and YOU have the least amount of hours this week... only 43."

Bam! You are The Horrible Human Being. How dare you? How dare you not be the guy with 45 or 50 hours this week? You sicken me. Come back tomorrow or dont come back at all.

And even as the bosses sat doe-eyed and calm during the firing, you can rest assured that they had images of returning to your peers with your severed head. Holding it high and saying, "Do you see? We are not afraid to drop the axe on someone even as handsome and witty and (assumably) good in bed as our wonderful Emmett! Work harder or pay the consequences!"

I was not sad to go. I will not lose sleep wondering who will move all of those chips. I will go to the furniture store on Monday and ask them if their Motherf*cker position is still open. I know it will be. And life will be back on track.

For now I am enjoying the unlogged break and leave without pay. See you all in the ratrace.