I knew I was going to get fired.
I tend to be a bit paranoid, especially after having been fired from a job, but this didn’t feel like paranoia.
This one, I felt like I had earned.
Reggie Jackson was my first favorite baseball player and I always read way above my grade level as a kid …
… which is how I wound up reading a book published when I was 9 that had the expression “uppity (you know the word, starts with ‘n’)” in the third paragraph and “If bull—- was religion, he’d be the Pope” on Page 9.
On our Christmas travels through the Berkshire Mountains, to my parents’ house in upstate New York and back home to a Boston suburb, we passed several vacant, abandoned businesses.
They were in various states of disrepair. Some had signs as a reminder of what they had been. Others had signs that they were for sale or lease, the past or present hope that a future was still possible.
Some had neither, and some had both.
And all of them were a good idea, at some time, to somebody.
When I was growing up in upstate New York, going out to eat meant one of the local diners in Schoharie, the town where I went to school 15 minutes from my parents’ house.
The fast-food places were a few towns over, and for whatever reason, pizza places didn’t really stick. (I’m actually kind of surprised there’s a taco restaurant there now.)
For years, my Friday night dinner was hot turkey sandwiches, mashed potatoes (instant) and chocolate milk. Continue reading “One dollar … hopefully the first of many”
My boy Poopsie sent me this from Phil Kadner of the Chicago Sun-Times this morning.
“A hamburger does not have cheese. A hamburger with cheese is called a ‘cheeseburger.’ …
… “People who want cheese on their hamburgers should be forced to say, ‘I want a cheeseburger.’ I should not be required to say, ‘I want a hamburger, no cheese,’ or even answer a question such as, ‘Do you want cheese on your hamburger?’”
Poopsie knows me well, having heard, among other things, me exasperatedly explain that, no, a plain turkey sub does not mean I want lettuce, tomato, mayo or anything else to befoul the meat and bun I ask for. Continue reading “A grumpy customer and a Grumpy Cat”
So the day I got laid off was, in a way, the last day in a whole long, uneasy season of getting laid off. It dawned on me that I was one of the casualties the afternoon I sent a rare third follow-up email asking for my boss’s blessing on my Thanksgiving vacation dates. I wanted to get my flights booked. Again, he didn’t respond.
— Ashley Fetters, “The Anxiety of Waiting to Be Laid Off”
Ashley Fetters’ clue was not getting an email returned.
Mine should have been the Army-Navy Game. Continue reading “When you know the end is coming”