Ryan Adams hated this town too...

I’ve never met a red haired girl that I didn’t like.

This just dawned on me.

I tried to think about it. There had to be one. Somewhere along the line. Just one that annoyed the crap out of me. Or scared me. Or made me want to date a blonde.

But, it’s never happened.

And I’m dating a blonde now.

Irony.

No.

I got fired today. It didn’t hurt. At all.

I hadn’t been fired from a job since 1989 or 1990. Whenever I worked at Toys R Us and got busted by the manager for playing with the toys in the loading dock area. We used to bust open boxes “on accident” to see what goodies were inside. Busted open toys had to be sent back, but not before we tried them out.

Well, one night after the trucks were emptied and we had free time – we were quick like that – we busted open some Laser Tag equipment.

Bad idea.

Soon we were dodging rays all throughout the storeroom.

The boss walked in on us. He wasn’t amused. There were no video cameras in this place. He just happened to come back there. God knows why. He never did. But this night he did. And we were shit out of luck.

I got canned.

So did a bunch of other guys.

Not everyone.

But I was a long-haired smartass.

Now, I’m a bald smartass.

And I’m out of work again.

I thought I’d care. I didn’t.

I did have trouble sleeping. And on the drive in, I contemplated quitting before they could fire me. It’s with cause, so no unemployment for me. It’s rack up debt and hope that I find a job time.

Ha.

Anyway. I walked to the door – my key card didn’t work. First real sign of what was coming. So, in the rain I had to walk around the front of the building to the main entrance. I came in with my USPS bin to put my belongings in.

I rapped on the HR lady’s door.

“Can I just go fill this up now, before our meeting?” I asked.

She hurriedly got the guy she was talking to out of the office.

“Hold on just a minute,” she said in her small North Carolina town accent. It always annoyed me. It was very fake in its sincerity. If you catch my drift.

Anyways, she called my boss over. He came in.

“What’s up, man?” he said to me. Always a man with the right words at the right time that guy.

I didn’t reply. I did laugh, however. Not nervously or weirdly. But kind of hardy. It was awesome.

“I guess since you brought a box, you know what the answer is,” the HR lady said.

“Yep,” I replied. “Not much of a secret.”

“Well, you crossed a line,” she said, trying still to be all nice.

“Yep,” I said. “I know what I did.”

“So, you’ll be getting a package in the mail with your COBRA information. Any questions?”

“Nope. I can’t think of any.”

“OK. Your final paycheck will have your vacation in it. Paid in full.”

“Allrighty,” I said as I stood up to leave.

I went to my desk and filled it up. I threw away anything that had passwords or addresses on it. No need to help out the guy or gal that replaces me.

I threw some paper plates on the desk of the guy who partially put me where I was going. It was my fault, for sure. But it was also a bit of his.

Adulthood is fun.

We made up 10 minutes after the fracas. But, a lone person saw the aftermath. I knew immediately my fate was sealed. She hated me. I hated her. She got an upper hand and took full advantage of it.

Good for her. It was the first bit of inspiration I’d seen from her in the nearly two and a half years I’d worked there. Maybe she had something inside her afterall?

Ha.

I walked out with my boss. Well, my former boss.

“My only mistake was her being there,” I said as we exited the building.

“I was going to say exactly that, man,” he replied.

I laughed. He smoked a cigarette.

I felt a surge of energy. I was free of this place. I came here expecting it to suck. And it did. It only got worse from there. Some of the suck was self-generated, but not much.

A photographer came outside. He looked at me and smiled. He tucked his head down low.

“Keep your head down, man,” he said laughing.

“I never was able to do that,” I said with a laugh. “It’s why I always seem to end up like this.” I point at my USPS bin full of all my “professional” loot – a couple of staplers, a gaggle of notepads, a dictionary and a thesaurus. There are some printouts of pages done and a bobblehead doll of a kid I used to cover. Finally, my Godzilla doll – been with me everywhere since I bought it at a KB toy store in Potomac Mills back in 1999. It doesn’t roar anymore, but I can get a new battery.

Just like I can get a new job.

I shake my old bosses hand. I think that’s the first time I ever did.

“Sorry it had to be this way,” he says. “I may be following you out the door soon. By my count, the last six guys who got canned, they all ended up with better lives afterwards. It must be the only way out of here.”

“Good luck finding your ticket,” I said.

“And getting it punched,” I continued laughing.

He finished his cigarette and went back inside. I got in my car, sat in the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition.

Ryan Bingham’s “Mescalito” album was playing. I did not want to listen to that right now.

I turned on the radio. Whitesnake was on one channel. “Still of the Night.”

I clicked over to the Mexican station.

I have no idea what the song was, but those corny horns and synths got me out of that God-forsaken town for the last time.

I wonder if Ryan Adams felt the same the last time he was there? Probably not, but it could have happened.