So, in case you missed the memo, today is Friday. In case you missed the other memo, and all the “Friday the 13th” marathons on cable, today is Friday the 13th. You’re welcome.
I would normally treat this day like any other mundane Friday. I wouldn’t say I’m superstitious in any way. I mean, I walked under a ladder once and it didn’t fall on me or anything. I frequently step on sidewalk cracks, and I do in fact own a black cat. It’s just another ordinary day, you know? Just any other day….
Okay, this is where I cut the binds of bullshit with the biggest hypothetical knife I can find. It was just another day when I got up this morning. Husband went to work, I got the first part of Budgie Bigelow’s “Sci-Fi Hell” edited, and Fuckin’ Prompts was right on time with his #FuckinFriday prompt for A Million and One Magazine.
I was just kicked back on the couch, minding my own business until I looked at the clock, and…..WORK TIME!
With a little bit of lethargy and even less enthusiasm, I picked myself up off the couch and got ready for work, leaving at noon when my friend’s parents picked me up. I wouldn’t say I was completely bummed about being stuck in retail hell for ten hours on a Friday night, but I was less than excited. The only upside was that I working with my friend, who’s been on day shift for a few months now.
How lucky I was I, then, when I walked in, chipper as fuck because I’m a ray of fucking sunshine y’all understand?! My boss saw me and looked at me like I’d just punched her in the face. She took me into her office, only to tell me I needed to turn in my keys because the owner wanted her to let me go. The fuck did she just say? I don’t think I reacted in any kind of way, specifically. I pulled my keys from my purse and took them off my key ring, chunking them on her desk, not exactly hard but harder than would have normally been required. I definitely did not see this coming.
The reality of the situation is, I’m not mad or whatever that I got fired, even though I have NEVER been fired from any job, EVER. I’m more pissed the hell off that my now ex-boss sat in her office chair and fed me the biggest line of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life, right to my face.
Louisiana is a “No fault” state, meaning they can fire you if your socks don’t match and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it. The reason, allegedly, for my departure from this glamorous eight dollar an hour job, is because I was not happy, and it showed. Allegedly. I feel a little gas-lighted. I mean, first she lied, then she tried to tell me how I, myself, feel. Bullshit. I can still smell it.
I’m pissed that I got lied to like some kind of fucking child who can’t handle the truth, and I’m even more miffed that I still have no clue why I was actually fired. It’s not because I’m unhappy. I mean, no, that job wasn’t my favorite, but I didn’t necessarily walk around pouting all the time. I am a professional, thank you very much. And I’m southern. I can fake smiley charm like you would not believe.
I think all the chemicals from her box-color hair got to her.
This has me pondering now. I hate pondering. What am I supposed to do with all my precious time off until the next job comes along? Well, I’m going to write, and catch up on all the editing I’ve procrastinated, and I’m going to do art and love the fuck out of my dogs.
As far as finding a job, my hopes want to snag some editing or graphic gigs, but my practical sense of mind is telling me to put out applications for the local Walmart. We’ll see.