Yesterday, I was at work, doing cataloging and putting spine labels on books when my boss came in and told me they would have to lay me off.
I immediately felt like a factory worker.
As I explained to Theatre MILF’s husband after she and I had a lovely dinner (which is kind of an odd thing to do after being told that someone is going to stop paying you, but the plans were already made), “It’s a non-profit, times are tough, they need to cut the fat– and I am that fat.”
Already this experience has made me start using phrases that I never thought I would, and also made me feel oddly introspective.
Everyone kept asking me, before I left, if I would ever come back to visit. “Well, I have a book checked out.” I told them, “So I’ll have to come back in about three weeks.” That made everyone relax.
It’s kind of funny because I’m not really upset. My boss (a different one than the one who let me go) was very worried that I’d wind up starving in the streets until I told her that my real job pays me enough to keep me alive. This was just my extra job, my fun job, my job where there is usually free food, and the paycheck that is very handy, but is not the thing in my life that stops me from turning to prostitution. It’s still weird to be told not to come back to a job when you haven’t done anything wrong.
I feel like I should be re-evaluating things, and learning to live a different way or something– making head-cheese, sewing up holes in my patchwork clothing– but that’s unlikely to happen.