Happy New Year...

…you’re fired.

I come into the office on a Monday morning, having awoken next to my beautiful girlfriend in our new home (the “our” being new, not the “home), and am bracing myself for the hell day of arrivals with the new cast we have coming to the theater. Past hell days of arrival have included me being chewed out for following directions as I was told (strange, no?) so I was determined to make this day a good one. I have only three arrivals, two on the same flight, and about five hours of downtime in between them both. Going about with normal company management assistant stuff I am beckoned into the office across the hall by my supervisor. “Can I talk to you?” she questions, her voice sounding sweetly tart like candy but the words soaked in saltiness like sardines. This is the very same question that on two former occasions as led to serious talks about unserious matters. Only today, it’s very serious. I come into the room, take a seat at the table of dread, and am told that today is doom’s day: I’ve been terminated.

Jesus Christ…and things were going so well for so long. Literally, it’s all in the timing because Sara and I have just been able to establish residency in the same city for a week—all due to this amazing job I got way back when—so fate must reside with me getting the ugly side of Two Face’s coin. Virginal at best with the situation, I take it in stride, but my boss continues to hammer is home: “cut backs…luck to have theater still open…I don’t know if I’ll have my job…I’ll be working more for the same pay…” and on and on and on. This makes me want to scream, to tear my hair out at every strand, to completely lose it with a hoarse cry, “This isn’t about you! It’s about me! All right? Me! You still have a fucking job! What the hell am I supposed to do now?!?!” Not a word of this escapes my lips. They’ve given me a week (not two weeks or until the end of the month) to clear out my stuff and say good-bye.

The option was given to take a day’s pay and go home, but I ended up logging 13 hours so I’ll have some overtime coming to me for the day. On second thought, I kind of wish I had just gone home. It was very strange picking up actors and designers, doing the whole chit-chat deal, and realizing that it’s all obsolete because in a week it won’t matter. I’ll be that kid…oh, shoot, what was his name? Y’know—he picked me up from the airport, took me grocery shopping, got me a bike, a cutting board, and fixed my internet. Jay? Jay sounds right, doesn’t it? Yeah…Jay…that was it…

I’m just dreading tomorrow morning at the company breakfast when we do the oh-so-unpopular tradition of everyone going around saying “Hi, my name is _______ “ and “I work in __________ at the Playhouse.” What am I going to say? I’ll probably fake a smile and just give them my title. I really don’t want to put on the façade. I’m incredibly tired of sacrificing myself for little or no return, especially in the dignity department. But at the same time I don’t want to leave. I want to work at the Playhouse, I want to be a part of their team and do amazing works of theater. Guess the feeling is not mutual on their end.

I was angry, then I was disappointed, and now I’ve finally accepted the reality of my situation. Mark came up to me and without a hesitation on his breath said: “I just wanna let you know I think this is bullshit.” Mark and I have always been the guys around the office. But that was the first time I saw him stick up for me as a friend and I really appreciated it. Exit interview on Thursday, last day on Saturday, and…the hunt begins…