….everything was going so well.
I being a little tornado of industry: 40 hours a week editing emails and working my spreadsheet magic at the Office Monkey job, teaching my teenaged scholars two nights a week, and doing 10 hours of miscellaneous work for a local attorney whose regular paralegal is out on maternity leave. My decision to quit academia inspired me to teach the fuck out of the material: I got two new positive reviews on ratemyprofessors.com. Group therapy for recovering addicts twice a week, AA two mornings more, almost daily discussions with people (including, to my happiness, my old professors, who have not branded me a traitor for jumping ship) about changing careers…I got the car…yeah, things were going okay.
Then the Italian office supply company was purchased by some assholes who restructured HR.
I was laid off with 48 hours’ notice. Then they changed their minds and asked me back for a day.
I know it was a temporary job, and nothing that I wanted to keep anyway, but…a week’s notice would have been nice. I feel bad for complaining, though, because three other people got sacked along with me, and they are older than I am with families to support.
I didn’t take it very well. I started acting out almost immediately.
The first thing I did was check into a hotel for 3 days. The good news is that it hardly cost me anything, because all of that professional and recreational whoring around in New York earned me about 13 billion Expedia points.
“I’m thinking about going back to sex work,” I told my counselor. “Just for a little while. Until I find something else.”
“You know, one of my co-workers was an escort. She got arrested and the board suspended her license. She had to petition to get it back and attend all these hearings and stuff. It took almost two years. I can give you her card if you want to talk to her about it. I think you just need to take it easy, apply to two jobs a day, watch a lot of Netflix, and not make any big decisions right now. And get out of that hotel room. It’s not a safe place for you.”
“I’ll go to San Francisco. I have a car now. It’ll be safer there. Nobody knows me!”
Later that evening:
“You vant to do VAT?!” Heinrich groaned into the webcam, holding one hand over his eye, like he had a terrible headache. “Margo, you vill NOT run away to San Francisco and become a prostitute!”
“Hey! Not full-service! Fetish work! I do fetish work! There’s a market in the Bay Area! I’ve lost 15 lbs! I look great! I could go on the weekends and be back in class on Tuesdays!”
“Vat about your Plan?”
“I can’t have a Plan if I’m unemployed!”
“You are not unemployed! You lost a job from an employment agency, vat, 3 days ago?”
I went to the gym, lifted weights until muscle failure, and then went back to sleep at my mother’s house.
Then next morning, since I still had the room till noon, I went back to the hotel and sent Heinrich an email. It was a personal email, so I won’t reproduce it here, but the crux of it was: Take the keys, I’m drunk.
(Note: not actually drunk. I’m still totally dry and taking my Antabuse medicine every morning.)
He texted me a response almost immediately, before he went home to write an email: Yes, of course. I thought you would never ask.
(Another note: the man’s been batting 1000 since the Holidays, and I’m paranoid enough to wonder about it.)
He put me on a schedule. Blogging is part of it, so here it is: 30 blog posts in 30 days.
We’ll see how it goes.
….everything was going so well.