The office manager would shop for Birkenstocks four or five times a week when she had nothing to do. As if wearing Birkenstocks wasn’t offensive enough.
And the swapping of partners that went on in the place was enough to make the Bunny Ranch in Nevada look like a convent.
It was a well-known fact that Mark Reynolds in sales was dipping his pen in about four wells of company ink and what was worse was that they all knew about each other.
But yet I get fired for not filing my evening report correctly. What a world I live in.
When I finally emerged from Delores Morris’s office with half a paycheck and my pockets full of Tootsie-Rolls I was greeted by Ron O’Malley. Ron was a retired police officer turned security guard who I not only had lunch with in the lunchroom on more than one occasion but I even had a beer with when everyone at Mangan Financial bailed on him on his birthday.
“Hey, Ron. Sorry they’re making such a big thing out of me.” I said smiling at him as he stood from the chair he had been sitting in that was near the door. He didn’t smile. They had gotten to him. It was like a scene from Invasion of the Body Snatchers. He didn’t show a shred of emotion. I felt like I was all alone on a raft.
He escorted me to my desk and handed me a banker’s box in order to collect my personals.
“Good thing I stole all those reams of paper an
d boxes of pens last week.” I said to O’Malley with a smile and a wink. He just folded his arms and gave me a dirty look.
Mangan Financial’s Human Resource Department had waited until everyone was gone to lunch to get me out of there without incident. I thought that was kind of humorous since I was only about five foot four and wearing heels and a skirt. It wasn’t like this was Walmart and there was a sale on flat screen televisions or something. I was a professional. An Administrative Assistant to be exact.
So, while I packed my coffee cup and my pictures and my little personal effects in the box with O’Malley breathing down my neck I couldn’t help my hands shaking a little. I was so mad, yet, as I said I knew it was coming.
There was a sting in my eyes. Quickly I bit my tongue until I thought I’d sever the tip in order to keep any tears behind my eyes until I was a safe distance from this place.
I grabbed a file that was filled with all kinds of notes and positive emails from clients I dealt with and contact information for other offices and dropped it in the box.
“That stays.” O’Malley said.
“It’s mine. It’s my file with my notes in it.”
“It stays. Put it down. Don’t make this difficult.”
“Right. I’m making it difficult. My getting fired is making this difficult for you. Are you kidding me?”
“All right. That’s it. Let’s go.”
“Natasha. Remember? When I waved good morning to you every day for almost two years? My name is Natasha, Ron. They won’t fire you for being nice. Well, I don’t think they would.” I scratched my head but left the file in the box. It wasn’t that I really needed it. It was the principle of the matter.
Tossing my purse on top of it I saw Ron thought better than to grab that in an attempt to get what essentially was unreadable doodles. A few people were still in this area of the building as Ron escorted me to the elevator. I couldn’t blame them for rubber-necking. I had done it, too. What bothered me was that most of them didn’t know me and they weren’t going to know the truth. The rumor mill was going to crank out something outlandish and obscene and there would be no one here to defend me. No one would say no, Natasha Morgan did not cry when they escorted her out or no, Natasha was not fired for getting drunk at Leo’s birthday party and calling her boss a skank while trying to make out with Keith in accounts receivable and then Ben in accounts payable.
No. Those rumors and a dozen more just as bad if not worse were going to circulate all around until someone else did something so stupid I fell from the front pages. I give it about a week in this place.
It was sinking in now. Like that iceberg that just snuck up on the mighty Titanic. I was feeling the reality of my situation sink in and now what was I going to do. I had half a paycheck in my hand, about negative ten dollars in savings and one credit card for only $800 that was maxed out.
Couldn’t I have kept my mouth shut? What would have happened if I had called in sick today? Would they have fired me over the phone or would I have earned myself another week so they could fire me on a Friday again? How was I going to pay my rent next month? Where was the nearest unemployment office? Was it really the people in this place or was it me? No. It was them. It had to be because if it were me then that would mean I was doomed to get fired at every job from now until I was dead.
The elevator door slid open and I strolled in saying a quick prayer of thanks that no one else was in there. But as I turned around I was surprised to see O’Malley stepping onto the elevator, too. What do they think I am going to do, get off on another floor and proclaim squatters rights?
Delores Morris watched from the safety of the hallway past the lobby to make sure I didn’t run back to my desk screaming sanctuary. I gave her the finger to which she turned and walked away as the elevator doors slid shut.
Don O’Malley didn’t say a word to me. When the doors finally slid open I stepped out of the elevator carrying my box of belongings and expected him to just press the twelfth button and go on back upstairs but he didn’t.
Instead, he walked behind me through the lobby and to the glass revolving door that lead out onto the busy city street.
Everyone was looking at me carrying my banker box with security behind me. I wanted to scream. I just wanted to scream that I didn’t deserve this. I wanted people to know I got canned because the people in my office didn’t like me. It wasn’t because I didn’t do my job. It was because they just didn’t like me.
I finally pushed my way around in the revolving door and felt the cool, fresh air on my skin. I would have stood there for just a second to get my nerves settled but O’Malley came out behind me, his arms still folded across his chest.
“Move along now.” He said, looking out at the bustling street acting like a real dick.