Knock Knock....You're Fired

So last Friday, I got "Laid Off." It's not quite as bad as it seems. I work part time for the state of California under a grant that ends this June (June 30 will be my last day at work) - and we all know California has about as much liquid cash as MC Hammer did after he squandered all his money on bodyguards, bling and genie pants. The worst part was that I was notified by mail. On my day off. During the middle of a heavenly nap - the kind where you are wearing your softest, yet scumiest clothing, your hair is completely disheveled and you are drooling full blast. Then my completely uncouth Postman (who once yelled at me because my mom sent me a oversized birthday card and didn't put enough postage on it - so he stood there with his hand out while I searched through the pillow cushions for that remaining $0.22 - see I told you California is broke) rang the doorbell and then banged on the front door as if he were the SWAT team at a meth lab.

I originally ignored the ding-dong, bang-bang. But hell, I was already awake now, so I went downstairs (you never know when Publisher's Clearing House will show up with a 6 X3 foot check for $20 million, a bouquet of Carnations and a bottle of Frexinet) I opened the door and although UNCOUTH mailman had zipped off  - he left behind the ever-so-dreadful "Certified Mail" card. Typically, unless you are claiming your inheritance from that Nigerian Prince that you met via e-mail, the "certified mail" card is usually something bad. While ordinarily I would have just slammed the door, wiped the spittle from my mouth and headed back to napland - I instead decided to chase down uncouth mailman as he sped down the street at a whopping 8 miles an hour. I'm pretty sure he put the pedal to the metal when he saw me running after him in my hot pink drawstring waffle pants and over sized gansta-tee that said "Stanford" on it. The crazy-lady bed head and drool might have freaked him out a bit too. Nevertheless I chased that Mutha down and asked if I could retrieve the letter. As I stood there, half-a-block away from my house looking homeless - he handed me a thick letter and I could see from the return address that it was from "Human Resources" at my job.

I walked back to my house not unlike Charlie Brown after the kids have just kicked him off the school play - with my head down and read how I was being "laid off" effective June 30th. On the bright side - I have three months left - and my job loss isn't going to take any food of of the table (maybe just a nice Coach bag once every so often - and I'll probably have to switch back to L'Oreal makeup). In a world where so many are being laid off and losing their homes, I'm pretty damn lucky.

By the way, my husband got the mail last night and the Human Resources sent me the same exact package via regular mail. OK cuties - I get it - I'm  "Laid Off". Maybe if you didn't spend so much on postage you might be able to keep some employees around.

PS - when I told my son I got laid off he asked me, "Did they send George Clooney to do it?" (Up In the Air reference). No, god dammit - they didn't even send Clooney.