The extra time I would have used gossiping with my sister, I spend on a quick phone call to an old friend from college. I have a feeling I’m going to need her legal advice for my meeting with my old boss today, and thankfully she’s able to tell me exactly what I want to hear in less than ten minutes. Today is not going to totally suck. I hope.
After dropping the girls off at before-school care and Sammy at daycare—I refused to buy in to the stomachache excuse again—I’m headed over to my former job to pick up my last paycheck and the things I left there at my desk. If it weren’t for my new temporary job with the Bourbon Street Boys, I’m pretty sure this trip would be one of the most humiliating experiences of my life, but instead, I’m walking in the front door with my head held high. I only went one day without a job offer, and I didn’t even try to get it.
So what if it’s my sister who technically got me the job? Last night I was able to use my skills to impress a guy who I know is very intelligent and can hold his own behind a keyboard, and that’s not nothing.
Now I see what my sister meant when she talked about being part of a team that feels almost like a family. The Bourbon Street Boys are something special. I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, though. It’s not like I’ve been offered a permanent job; and even if I were, I don’t know that I would accept it. There’s still that whole danger aspect, which everyone kept trying to convince me wouldn’t be there but ended up being there anyway. I think we got pretty lucky with the people who broke in being just kids. They could’ve been career criminals with guns.
“Hey, there! Long time no see.” It’s Eddie, the kid I got the virus program from, and one of my favorite people in this place. I run my security badge through the machine and then wait as it turns red and the guy at the desk looks me up.
“I’m just coming to get my things,” I say to him.
He nods, recognizing me as the lady who often brought him coffee and doughnuts. “Go ahead. I was told you were coming.”
I turn to my former coworker. “Hey, Eddie. What’s up?”
He leans and mumbles in my ear as we continue on through some glass doors and toward my old supervisor’s office on the far side of the cubicle farm. “Did you hear the latest?”
“Nope. I don’t work here anymore, remember?” I weave in between desks, waving at people as I walk past. I don’t feel like hanging around and chatting. Being here is embarrassing enough; I don’t need to prolong the experience.
“Well, apparently, we’re getting some new funding. And they’ve got new investors coming in who’re gonna be taking a really close look at our operations. We’re all supposed to be on our best behavior.” He snorts after that.
I know exactly what that sound means. Eddie has a prank planned. This silly boy could never be completely well-behaved, but when he’s warned he has to toe the line, forget it. That’s the surest way to get him acting up. He’s worse than my son. My guess is management will send him on vacation just before the investors show up.
I try not to let my anger at the news show. “It’s funny you say that, because I heard that times were tough and they were letting people go because of their dire money situation.”
Eddie backs off the happy-mania a little. “Hey, I’m just telling you what I heard going around the rumor mill. But I think it’s true; they have dates on the group calendar where everything’s blacked out, and they’re not saying what we’re going to be working on during that time or who’s going to be taking lead or whatever. They just told us to get our shit straight. We had to get rid of all our squeaky toys—can you believe that? How am I supposed to code without Lionel?” Eddie has a little rubber man he squeezes, making the eyeballs pop out over and over. It helps him focus.
“You should apply for an exception for Lionel.”
“I know, right? I mean, what’s the big deal? Who’s going to come in here and care if Lionel’s sitting at my desk with me?”
There are so many things going through my head right now, and none of them are good. Did they get rid of me because I was going to make a bad impression for the company, like a stress ball named Lionel? Were they showing off, proving that they could be ruthless and cut anybody who might not be the most economical employee? Did I do something wrong?
The wise part of my personality is telling me that I should just get my box of belongings, collect my last paycheck, and go. But the other part of me, maybe the reckless part of me, wants to know what the hell happened. I worked so many hours for these people and sacrificed so much. Why don’t they appreciate that? They seemed to appreciate it well enough at the time. I was always told what a great employee I was. My performance reports were impeccable.
“You come in for your stuff?” Eddie asks.
“Yep. And my paycheck.”
“There’s a box of your things on your desk. They haven’t replaced you with anybody yet.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s surprising.”