Mar. 19

Is it me, or is it impossible to tie a good single Windsor knot? This is the question that ran through my mind as I tried for the tenth time to do up my tie. I still haven't figured out how to tie one properly. After a couple of instances of near asphyxiation, I got it done good enough to be passable and set about the rest of the set. It was my first office job in about six years and I was somewhat nervous, hoping to hades it was not one of those work places with a "casual Friday" allowance. I would look a right pillock.

The company, publisher called RAYENR BOOKS, had hired me on as a proof-reader. I lied so thoroughly on my resume, I seriously considered a career in politics but I got the job and felt well fit. I always got A's in English in school and some very nice comments on my spelling. It was the suit that scared my most. Mostly because the weather had started to get warm again.

It soon became clear the situation in this particular office. The floor I worked on was ruled over by Mark. He was known as Atilla the Hun with a cinnamon bun, due to his long hair black beard, foul temper and taste for the aforementioned pastry treats. The job was easy but Mark made it hard. I didn't make mistakes but it seemed like he wanted me to. Finally I snapped and told him exactly what was one my mind. I was summarily fired before quitting time. It was by far the shortest time I had ever spent at a job. Can't say I was exactly sad. I just gathered my personal possessions, which consisted of the clothes I was wearing and was out of the building by three.

My feelings of indifference were replaced by one of mixed horror and morbid satisfaction tinged by relief when I heard later on the news that the company had been bought out and everyone had been fired. There was footage of Mark in tears, going in about his fifteen years at the company. This Shaudenfreude was replaced with another feeling all together when I got the cheque for my severance pay a few days later.