My First Last Day

I don’t know who is more disappointed in me, you or me. Yes, me. Myself. The one on “being read to.” In case I don’t make it through this and you’re ever in need of something to write about, stand on someone’s back above all others with, or simply gossip about, it is 11:55 p.m. on August 5, 2019 and, from this, you can pick at my bones. By all accounts it was a beautiful day today. That is part of the reason why what happened today is so depressing, because no one wants to hear about it. Oh, the “it.” Yeah, I lost my job today. I can’t say I was “fired,” because that sounds so vengeful like a duel or knife fight that I lost. I’m not so eager to share this. I don’t thrive in the same drama and pity that others do. Not the, “Oh, you’ll find something better,” or “This is all part of God’s great big plan for you.” Because I ask, “Will I?” and “Oh, is it?” I’ll remember that when it happens to you because, for you to say that, it hasn’t.

Maybe I feel better in a way. I mean, we can both stop pretending we care about one another. We, as in “them,” and I. Okay, yes, there are things I just couldn’t get done. That was made perfectly clear in the paper trail of all my mistakes that they made to protect themselves after I suggested we do something a little different to address what might be a legal concern for them later. Damn, this hurts. This has never happened before. But why, in the millions of times it has happened to others just like me, does it have to be a social distancing catalyst for others? It is like slight of hand for the non-accountable. “Hey, look very closely at these mistakes of others while I continue to go about my own with tit-for-tat praise and appreciation.” (Don’t worry “friend,” I won’t tell anyone what you did).

Up until now, I never had to answer “yes,” to that small box I had to check on an application that asked, “Have you even been terminated from a job before?” Or felt so sinful in answering, “Why did you leave your last job?” Oh God, what will they think of me? They probably won’t say what they really feel and the phoniness will hurt the worst. “I’m sorry to hear that. Something better will come along. Pardon me, I have to get dinner ready,” said the man at 1:30 p.m. who never cooks. Or, I’ll see Caller ID avoidance at its finest as those who never missed my call before will now not answer—yeah, gaslight me into believing I am crazy for calling and that I should stop calling because, if I were to call anymore, I’d be the crazy one for calling again. Oh God, maybe I already am. Maybe that is why they let me go—oh shit just say it man, “was FIRED.” Maybe my anxiety was their writing on the wall. People aren’t dumb when it comes to the word “appointment,” when used vaguely for weekly requests for “time off.” They’re smart enough to know you either have a job interview or a mental health appointment. Oh they can’t say anything...HIPPA, HIPPA, HIPPA,...geez that sounds like a frog. But, the little you say is enough for them to smile about and feel ego-enriched by your weakness that they can use against you in a write-up veiled as “making the customer uncomfortable.” Oh geez, diary or whoever you are, who could possibly want to listen to all of this? Who could even if they were paid? Will anyone find any scrap of sanity or sense in anything I say? I bet therapists have coping skills for dealing with people like me too—it’s called “doodling.” Hmm, maybe I should ask to read my notes after my next appointment. I can’t wait to see her artwork.

Yes, this is the first time I have been “fired.” Such a word seems to give them some sadistic power over a now former employee. No wonder they were so vague for so long. If only I knew sooner, then I would have won in the race to see who controls my manner of separation. I just can’t forget that day. How can I? If I did I would not be prepared for the veiled “kindness” of others. Yeah, when they preserve their reputation as a kind person, place of business, employer, or other entity. But, damn it, that day. Perfectly orchestrated to where I could not avoid a meeting with them. Extending their rotten olive branch of management to help me reduce my large list of customers. Oh, yes, they had to have a meeting to gather all my notes and information. A place for them to state their charges and facts, then serve me the news like a court-appointed process server. Then, gather their stake to my intellectual and company-acquired property upon my employment death. No last words, no employee will, and the bare minimum obituary of my life as an employee. And I remember how they slid the box of tissues across the table less than a minute after handing me the letter. I didn’t have to know how to read to know, by an action such as this, what the letter said. But still, they insisted on reading it aloud to me while I was supposed to read along. Vacuum-packed unemotional due diligence. Yes, I cried. I made sure some of my tears hit the table—left for them for future consideration in case this process was too easy for them. Oh the customers I worked with and got to know—so well that I had to be reminded of the bottom line. Profit. Can’t profit come more by trust and retention and not asking for more from them? I guess there are aspects of any job we won’t like and if we don’t do them they will outgrow what we do like and then we will wither in our effectiveness. Like I did. I’m waiting for the next season. Maybe I will be buried deep enough to still be able to grow. Maybe there are opportunities like rain and sympathetic hearts like sunshine to where I can grow again. Forgive me. I want to move on.

(not based on any actual person or actual events)