The long awaited day has finally come. The day that I’ve been waiting and hoping for. The day that felt like it would never come, like it would never happen, and I would be miserable forever.
I got fired! And fired in the right way, with the severance package and bells and whistles. If I wasn’t so out of shape, or even remotely flexible, I would do a back flip. But I’m not so I won’t because I don’t have health insurance anymore.
I guess most people in my position would probably be upset, worried, tearing their hair out. Unemployment rates are sky high and the maximum weekly unemployment benefit in my state is among the lowest in the nation, at a whopping $275.00. I have terrible credit, a black mark on my record for getting fired and I may be entirely unemployable.
Thank God for that.
My fear of financial ruin was only outweighed by one thing. My intense hatred of my job.
Whenever I used to say that, I would always get the same idiotic response from someone, usually along the lines of “everybody hates their job.”
Why the hell does that make it ok? For some reason, people think that as long as everyone else is miserable, its ok for them to be miserable too. The only goal in mind is the ability to make it to Friday, so they can have a weekend that disappears in the blink of an eye, followed by another week of doing the same thing over and over again. At least well Bill Murray did that in Groundhog Day, he learned a valuable lesson…and how to make an ice sculpture with a chainsaw.
Unless you’re a rich trust fund baby, the majority of your waking hours will be spent working. If you’re miserable when you’re doing that work, then in all honesty, your life is miserable. That’s not ok, and it should never be ok, not even if Bob from accounting is just as miserable.
People don’t die regretting the hours they didn’t put in at their cubicle, so they could bloat some corporate blowhards bank account. They die regretting not following their dreams, not trying for more, and not living like everyday will be their last.
For me, the ten years I would have probably lived after I retired (let’s be honest here, I’m probably not making it much further than 60) weren’t going to be enough. So instead, at 32, I’m starting over.
The way I see it, I’m pretty good at two things. The first one is writing, and the second is snorting lines of Pixie Sticks without sneezing. So if the writing career doesn’t pan out, I have something to fall back on. Awesome.
In all seriousness, I know I’m not always going to get to write what I want. Some days, I’ll be writing boring articles about Social Security Disability and back injuries until my fingers bleed. But at least I won’t wake up dreading everyday anymore. Instead, I’ll push through the boring articles so I can work on my books instead or so I can write angry rants for all my blog followers’ entertainment. Because every word I write makes me a better writer, even if those words are boring as fuck.
And if none of that works out, there’s always Taco Bell. I look pretty in purple.
So, in conclusion, I would like to thank my former employer for firing my ass. It’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.
Everyday, while I am at work, watching my life drain away, I have the same fantasy. I fantasize that the my supervisor and the management staff will finally notice me. I want them to see what kind of employee I am. I want them to see my level dedication I have to our company.
I dream that they will pull me aside and say, “We’ve noticed you. Namely, we’ve noticed your lack of work ethic and general disdain for personal hygiene. We’re going to have to let you go.”
I want to be fired in the worst way! I want that elusive pink slip like nothing I’ve ever wanted before in my life. I have done everything I can think of. I show up late and leave early. I take 2 hour lunch breaks. At great personal risk to myself, I’ve increased my smoke breaks from 4 a day to somewhere around 37. I wear flip flops and shirts with visible nipple in a business casual environment.
Time and time again, I see people get terminated. It’s never me. It’s never me because the holy grail of the office, an excel spreadsheet that tracks all our performances, indicates that I am a “middle of the road” employee. Too suckish to promote, but just good enough not to get fired.
Apparently, if I want to reach my goal of collecting unemployment and watching reruns of NCIS and Golden Girls all day, I’m going to have to kick it up a notch. So I have devised 10 fool proof ways to obtain that blessed severance package.
10. My boss has a British accent. I could develop my own British accent and then deny all knowledge of it. “What do you mean I’m speaking with an accent? This is how I always speak, you wanker .”
9. I’ve heard it said that you should dress for the job you want. Ever since the premier of Firefly, about 10 years ago, I have believed that the only appropriate career choice for me is space cowboy. Finally, a chance to use my spurs and space helmet at the same time. I’m bringing a whole new facet to casual Friday.
8. Two words; ass copies. All of my coworkers are getting a little something special in their inboxes tomorrow.
7. Treat my job like I’m training for the Olympics. Start referring to my boss as “coach”. Every time I get off the phone, gasp like I just played thirty rounds of tennis and spray myself down with my water bottle. At the end of every work day, dump a gallon of Gatorade over my bosses head while screaming “we did it coach.”
6. Get involved in a really offensive past time and try to get my coworkers involved as well. Send out mass emails asking of anyone wants to join my Casey Anthony fan club or attend the Westboro Baptist Church picnic with me.
5. Regress to my teenage years. Dress in goth and spend all day writing angst fill poetry from my cubicle. When my boss attempts to correct me, state loudly “I didn’t ask to be born” and storm out of the room in tears.
4. Play angry birds all day in my cubicle…but not on my I phone. Play live action angry birds, where I fling dead birds I found in the parking lot at my coworkers as they walk by my cubicle.
3. Go old school. Refuse to use a computer at all and complete all my work by hand, using tools from the 1800’s, like an abacus, quills and parchment.
2. Correct all mass emails our company CEO sends out and return them, via reply all, with condescending statements like “good effort,” and “watch that comma usage.”
1. Spend all morning working on strategies to get fired, rather than doing my job.
If I really stick to my list, I think there’s a very good chance that I could be on an extended job vacation by summer. Of course, not all plans are foolproof, so I may need a few more ideas. If anybody has some, I’m open to suggestions.