A few years ago, I had a brief stint at a giant company that was, to put it mildly, a bad experience. Funny how things work out, though. So, I wrote this, meaning to appended it to the end of that shakily-written story:
"Epiloque, 2013 . . . Ha, ha, ha, ha! OMG! OMFG! Every last one of
those people were fired, no notice, out cold. Some of them, I hear, have been out of
work since the mass layoff, going on two years. As for me? No worries,
mate. After penning that diatribe, I wrote up a wrongful discharge and
defamation action, sent their house counsel a courtesy copy and got as
follows: an apology, cash money, and unopposed unemployment benefits in
exchange for F*CK YOU, you lying pack of criminals. Your country-club
hoppoing, golf-addicted in-house didn't even bother to get a quash or even a release, so
there's nothing, nothing at all, stopping me from telling this story
over and over and over again, to whomever I like, as long as it's true and since
your papa says it's true, it's true.
"You're all out of
work now! Ah hahahah! Benefits running out soon, yes? House on the
market in an immovable economy? Yes? One of your key people tried to
stick and stay at my company and what happened? I found out about it, naturally. We used him up and spit
him the f*ck out. Gone baby gone. Did any of you fine folks ever bother
to find out who I knew in the industry and who knew and respected me?
No? Next time, instead of behaving like arrogant, manipulative school
girls, size up the "enemy" before you cobble together a downright stupid
plan to maximize your overtime while exposing your company to enormous
legal risk. You just can't lie and lie and expect to get away with it forever. Or, actually, you can throw up enough stuff on the walls and see what it gets you. You're lucky I was knee-deep in a divorce then. Today, I
would personally enjoy having your attorney empty your bank account
while I turned down each and every offer to settle and carefully and thoroughly wound my way through each case management conference and motion hearing, knowing that it was an excellent bet that I would prevail. See, I don't
settle when it comes to my honour and to my reputation. I will NEVER
deal from weakness - ever. Better to figuratively die on one's feet than live on one's knees, to paraphrase. And though it's not in my nature, truly, I
promise that I will change your life forever the moment you bully mine.
Your boss has been hiring lately - did you know that? Did you know that
your boss will never hire back any of your idiots? Do you know why? He
told me exactly why. Last week. At the club. It was a chance meeting. I
After looking it over, I thought that it seemed trite and very angry and not particularly clever. I like being clever, especially when it takes the form of stream-of-conciousness writing. I truly get hoots when I read back old essays, sometimes shaking my head and muttering, "Now, that's really f*cking funny."
There's a bird that's taken up residence at Chaos Manor II. He's a cockateil named Ozzie.His crown has tall yellow feathers done up in London Punk fashion, circa 1977. And he has a punk attitude to match. I had a similar hairdo during my brief rise to musical obscurity in the early '80s.
Sure, he was nice enough at the store, but now? I didn't know that birds could hiss. When I put my hand into his cage to change the water, it's full-on Assault On The Humans. The dog is mostly bored, but somehow, secretly, mildly amused. I can take his pint-sized pecks, but the anger . . . it hurts, okay?
Is it because I purchased him for money, like I might a slave? Perhaps he's angry because I tore him from the warmth and bosom familiarity of his brood. But maybe he's just angry. Just because.
So, he can bite me. I've made that vow. The world's been sympathetic to my wiring, so I should return the favour. Chomp away, little bird. Dig in.