Chapter Twelve of Suggestive Amusements came to an end sometime last night, at the end of what I can only call a long day. Writing at the end of the day, as I was, usually leads to a mild case of creative burnout, but I never felt that way. If anything, by eleven-thirty PM, I was still awake, though I could feel the exhaustion starting to close in on me.
Even then, it seemed to take me forever to fall asleep.
Keith’s days with his company came to an end, and he spent the time telling his manager and the company’s HR flack what he was going to do, and what they needed to do to prevent the loosing of a viral meme that would eventually declare them, “Gigantic Assholes of Sin City”. The company backs down, Keith removes his things from his Cubical of Hell, he leave down the elevator, and the HR flack is left hearing something coming from said elevator that tells him, in no uncertain terms, that they lost their asses in the latest conflict between company and employee.
I will admit that, at the very end of the story, this was something I wish I’d done when I was leaving my last former position. I’ve stated that when I was told my position was being eliminated, I felt a wave of relief that I’d no long visit that dump. At the same time, there was the urge to leave a little of me behind as I was walking out the door–something that someone would probably bring up a few weeks down the line, by mentioning my name and saying, “Can you believe they said that?”
That didn’t happen, probably because deep down, I’m not the sort of person who can do what Keith did. Which is a shame, because each of us has an inner Lester Burnham who they’d like to turn loose as they’re being let go from a place of employment, so they can dish out something tasty before they’re sent on their way.
The closest I’ve actually come to that point was when I caught up in a massive layoff at a company where I’d worked for over thirteen years. I was brought into a room filled with seven or eight people, told what was happening, and was then told I’d sign a paper that would prevent me from coming after the company for anything if I wanted to receive $19,000 in severance and a year’s worth of medical insurance; don’t sign, and I’d leave the company with two weeks pay and nothing else.
I signed and was then told goodbye. I got up, and as I reached the door, I stopped and turned around, then told the assembled, “You guys are lucky I’m on meds,” which I was taking at the time for depression. It was at that point that someone in the room followed me to my cubical, watched me closely as I cleaned out my possessions, then walked me to my car. They didn’t leave my sight until I pulled out of my parking spot . . .
Not that I actually would have done anything, but sometimes it’s good to keep the suckers guessing.
With this part of the story out of the way, now comes the strangeness, and I do mean that. Well, maybe: your strange is just another day in my imagination. I mean, I find werewolf gangbangs to be pretty strange, and not at all erotic, but I’m certain there are a few people out there who find those pretty normal–
I think we can all agree on furies, though . . .