The Firing Squad

There's one sure fire way to ruin someones lunch break: telling them there's rumors about them getting fired. An even worse way to ruin someones lunch is when those rumors are reality. KFC chicken will never taste the same to me. The rumor was I was getting fired because I was friends with someone of the male persuasion at work. The actual reason I was fired was because I sucked at my job, or so they claimed. Coincidentally, the company posted a new position on Craigslist the very next day of a recruiter position who would also happen to do my job. Seems like I got screwed if you ask me. Might I add that this all took place about 2 weeks before Thanksgiving and three weeks before my lease was up. I was now jobless, and soon to be homeless. Happy Holiday Season to me.

I wasn't one of those people who gracefully left the company either. Oh no, not this girl! I instead lost all control of my emotions and composure, cried in front of my boss until my mascara was running into my mouth, dumped the contents of my desk into a cliche box (minus the ficus) and practically threw my keys at him. I walked next door to say goodbye to two friends of mine, and to shake the hand of the VP, all while my eyes looked like tremendous swollen tumors from all the tears. When it comes to making a memorable exit, I'm a pro.

The only thing that made sense to do that night was to drink wine. I proceeded to buy not one, but two bottles all to myself and bring them to my friend's apartment. Word of advice: if there's a 'buy one, get one free' sale on wine, don't buy it. There is a reason it's $5 for two bottles. I was, however, on a budget now and couldn't think about such things as taste or quality. I had a mission to accomplish, and it was to forget who I was by the end of bottle number 1. We toasted to my failing life and drank the world's worst wine imaginable. I can't even begin to describe what was so bad about it. It was dry, but it wasn't supposed to be dry. It sort of tasted like rubbing alcohol mixed with potpourri and vinegar. I was a trooper though, and drank the contents on bottle number one on the couch, while we watched Love Actually. Bottle number two is still sitting untouched in the fridge. It shall be saved as a souvenir.

The next day I went to the new gym I just joined that was across the street from my job to beg them for my money back, since it was no longer a convenient location for me and since I had no money to pay them with. I walked in there with eyes still swollen, makeup dried onto my face, smelling of bad wine, wearing ripped up sweats and a mangy pony tail, hoping that the more disheveled I looked, the more pity would be taken upon me. Mission accomplished. At least something worked out for me.

Everywhere I went I swear people knew I was a jobless statistic. Why else would I be wandering aimless around Wegman's in the middle of the day looking like a homeless person? People with jobs don't look this way. Perhaps my vivid imagination was taking me places and nothing was going to convince me that no one saw the scarlet letter on my chest. I went home, filed for unemployment, updated my resumes and started my quest. Perhaps it was time to change my career path. I could become a lady of the night... that's tax free money, and I could still collect unemployment. Or I could go into street pharmaceuticals. No? Bad Idea? I'll keep looking then