it. Why can’t you guys just leave me alone?”
“We will leave you alone, as soon as you pay your bill. Give me the number of a credit card that can cover $4,321.98 today and you won’t hear from us again.”
“Do you really think I have access to that kind of money?”
“Well, we always hope you’re still a ways up your downward spiral into financial destruction.” I shouldn’t have said that, but I’m in a bad mood and this guy sounds like an idiot. He sounds like the kind of guy who got in trouble refinancing his house to pay for new jet skis.
“That’s so not cool. How do you do this? How do you live with yourself? This shit will catch up with you.”
This shit will catch up with me? My problems stem from being attentive to my responsibilities over everything else.
“You know how I do this? Because it’s this job that lets me be a man and pay my bills. You want me to feel sorry for you and feel like the bad guy? How about you go get a job you hate and take care of your fucking responsibilities and then you’d never hear from me?”
“Are you serious? Haven’t you been watching the news? Don’t you know about the unemployment? And I don’t think you should be talking to me like—”
“Yeah, I’ve heard about the unemployment rate, and then my bosses tell me about the bonus we’ll get if we refer an employee who lasts six months. A bonus! Because people would rather complain that there are no opportunities than take one they don’t like. So when you tell me you can’t get a job and pay your bills, I know you’re a liar, and that puts you on a whole different level. I can at least respect the guy who admits it’s a choice he’s making, that he’d rather go on buying stupid shit and maybe work part-time down at the video game store and eventually claim bankruptcy when things get bad enough, but don’t lie to me. Don’t sit here and run a sob story past me. You just want someone else to take care of your responsibilities. But you probably don’t even know you’re lying. That’s the thing. People lie to themselves. Look at your situation, really look at it, and tell me it’s not a choice, that there isn’t some part of yourself you could sell to get five thousand measly dollars. Dig deep, and you’ll find you’re making the choice to be a loser.” I stop for a moment to catch my breath, and I realize what I’ve done. “Hello?”
“Jessie, this is QA. We cut you off a while ago but wanted to see where this was going. Why don’t you go take a break and we’ll page you when we’re ready for you.”
I don’t feel like taking another break. Instead, I go to the copy room and find an empty box, bring it back to my desk and start loading my things into it. By the time they page me, I’m all packed up and ready to get fired.
Everyone stands when I walk into the meeting room. There’s Scott, my supervisor, Greg, a management dude I haven’t seen in forever, and a woman, I’m assuming from HR, I’ve never seen before.
“It’s been a while, Jessie.”
I shake Greg’s hand. “It sure has.”
“This is Felicity from HR.”
Her grip is feeble, and I feel awkward, like I might have hurt her with my normal handshake.
Felicity says, “So, in looking at your file, I see that you’ve basically been on the phones for longer than anyone else and in that time you’ve pretty much been a model employee until the last couple of weeks, when we’ve had some problems with our customer relations.”
“We” and “our.” Yeah.
“But, I also see that you’ve recently used some sick leave. You’re having sleep issues?”
I blink. My lids drag across my tacky, bloodshot eyeballs. I remember how I looked this morning in the mirror, and I’m sure I look worse now. “Yeah, I’ve been having trouble with my sleep.”
“Do you want to tell us about that?” she asks.
I sigh. Tap my fingers on the desk. I might as well. “I have night terrors. Very, very bad night terrors.
“We will leave you alone, as soon as you pay your bill. Give me the number of a credit card that can cover $4,321.98 today and you won’t hear from us again.”
“Do you really think I have access to that kind of money?”
“Well, we always hope you’re still a ways up your downward spiral into financial destruction.” I shouldn’t have said that, but I’m in a bad mood and this guy sounds like an idiot. He sounds like the kind of guy who got in trouble refinancing his house to pay for new jet skis.
“That’s so not cool. How do you do this? How do you live with yourself? This shit will catch up with you.”
This shit will catch up with me? My problems stem from being attentive to my responsibilities over everything else.
“You know how I do this? Because it’s this job that lets me be a man and pay my bills. You want me to feel sorry for you and feel like the bad guy? How about you go get a job you hate and take care of your fucking responsibilities and then you’d never hear from me?”
“Are you serious? Haven’t you been watching the news? Don’t you know about the unemployment? And I don’t think you should be talking to me like—”
“Yeah, I’ve heard about the unemployment rate, and then my bosses tell me about the bonus we’ll get if we refer an employee who lasts six months. A bonus! Because people would rather complain that there are no opportunities than take one they don’t like. So when you tell me you can’t get a job and pay your bills, I know you’re a liar, and that puts you on a whole different level. I can at least respect the guy who admits it’s a choice he’s making, that he’d rather go on buying stupid shit and maybe work part-time down at the video game store and eventually claim bankruptcy when things get bad enough, but don’t lie to me. Don’t sit here and run a sob story past me. You just want someone else to take care of your responsibilities. But you probably don’t even know you’re lying. That’s the thing. People lie to themselves. Look at your situation, really look at it, and tell me it’s not a choice, that there isn’t some part of yourself you could sell to get five thousand measly dollars. Dig deep, and you’ll find you’re making the choice to be a loser.” I stop for a moment to catch my breath, and I realize what I’ve done. “Hello?”
“Jessie, this is QA. We cut you off a while ago but wanted to see where this was going. Why don’t you go take a break and we’ll page you when we’re ready for you.”
I don’t feel like taking another break. Instead, I go to the copy room and find an empty box, bring it back to my desk and start loading my things into it. By the time they page me, I’m all packed up and ready to get fired.
Everyone stands when I walk into the meeting room. There’s Scott, my supervisor, Greg, a management dude I haven’t seen in forever, and a woman, I’m assuming from HR, I’ve never seen before.
“It’s been a while, Jessie.”
I shake Greg’s hand. “It sure has.”
“This is Felicity from HR.”
Her grip is feeble, and I feel awkward, like I might have hurt her with my normal handshake.
Felicity says, “So, in looking at your file, I see that you’ve basically been on the phones for longer than anyone else and in that time you’ve pretty much been a model employee until the last couple of weeks, when we’ve had some problems with our customer relations.”
“We” and “our.” Yeah.
“But, I also see that you’ve recently used some sick leave. You’re having sleep issues?”
I blink. My lids drag across my tacky, bloodshot eyeballs. I remember how I looked this morning in the mirror, and I’m sure I look worse now. “Yeah, I’ve been having trouble with my sleep.”
“Do you want to tell us about that?” she asks.
I sigh. Tap my fingers on the desk. I might as well. “I have night terrors. Very, very bad night terrors.
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