Returning To The Workforce, Part 2

Dear Diary,

I sat in my cubicle as the entire accounting firm (where I work as the photocopy guy) remained silent as still water. My boss Sheila stood over me, having just fired me. She had difficulty accepting the fact that I had been missing from work for five weeks with no calls from myself during that sojourn, nor a valid excuse, or even a doctor's note.

SHEILA: Pack up your things.

I looked up at her.

ME: I never wanted to work here. Even during the interview I didn't have the heart to tell you. I felt sorry for you that this is where you have to work.

I stood and proceeded to make peace with everyone in the office.

ME: Charisse - you are a sad excuse for an accountant. We might as well have hired a bag of cement, propped it up in your chair and given it a calculator and still it would get a hell of a lot more done than you ever could. Ruthie - you are old. You are so old that I always think for sure you'll die when you get home after work, and then when you show up to the office the next day, a part of me is always shocked that you're still walking around and that maybe now you're a zombie and you'll want to eat my head. That lipstick and blush isn't fooling anyone anymore. You're old! And you smell like sardines. Howard - you are the crabbiest man alive. You're so unpleasant, your wife should be given some kind of Nobel Prize for not slitting her wrists. And she should get that prize every day. Don - we all pretend to like you, but we're all just pretending. You're annoying and everyone rolls their eyes behind your back, or when you call our extension, or even if we just have a fleeting thought about you. If I see someone roll their eyes, I know it's because they either saw you, heard you or just thought about you. Raymond - I know you're just the janitor around here and all, but would it kill you to clean something once in while instead of just staring at us luridly all the time. Derek - you, I just hate. Whenever I look at you, you make me wish someone would just legalize murder already.

I turned to Sheila.

ME: And you. You. You really take the cake. You are the most debased human I have ever laid eyes upon, in real life and on TV... or in the movies or on Cops or America's Most Wanted. You're worse than anyone who's ever been on The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, Tila Tequila or America's Got Talent or Jon & Kate Plus 8 or on The View. You repulse me. You gross me out. You're grody to the max. You're filthy, dirty, smelly, stinky, and disorganized. You belong inside a vacuum cleaner.

SHEILA: I'm calling security.

ME: Goodbye everyone. Thank you for finally ending the absolutely worst year of my life.

I made my way toward the door, then turned back toward Sheila.

ME: You know, all you have to do is apologize and I'm back. Simple as that.

SHEILA: Turn around and get out.

ME: Do you mind if I just print my resume? I need to make lots of copies and my wife won't let me use up all the ink at home.

SHEILA: Good bye Eric.

ME: Can I just write up a reference letter and you can sign it and then make a few copies for me?

SHEILA: Howard, call security.

ME: How long do I have to wait before I can re-apply here again?

SHEILA: You are never to come back here again.

ME: Can someone just take out their cell phone and take a group shot of all of us before I leave?

A half dozen security guards burst through our office doors.

ME: So this is it...

I turned to the guards as all six grabbed a hold of me. I eyed Sheila one last time.

ME: I'll call you tomorrow when the dust settles and we can work this out like adults.