It never fails.
It’s a bright sunny day, you convince yourself everything is A-OK, and you get gobsmacked. I don’t know why that word popped into my head but it was the only one that worked.
I’d barely gotten to my room. A cold-eyed Mallory Johnson appeared: “Karen, come to my office.”
She walked off not looking to see if I followed. I almost didn’t.
I knew what was coming.
Afterward, I walked out of the building to the parking structure as I had twice a day for ten years.
My phone rang. It was Paul, calling to tell me he’d just been let go. Would I please get some stuff out of his office for him.
“There’s a slight problem with that.”
I filled him in.
I’d managed to get the stuff out of my office. My motto was: Be able to leave in 20 minutes or less. I was and I had.
“But I don’t think they’ll let me back in.”
“Oh my God, Kari. I’m so sorry.”
“Me too. And I’m sorry to hear about you.” Followed by a few expletives deleted.
Gobsmacked, I sat down on the little half wall outside the structure, sunlight bright in my eyes. The Gestapo hadn’t confiscated my laptop. No one had shown up to “escort me out.” So I kept it and left. I’d see what files I could rescue before they locked me out of it entirely.
The cerebral modern-human part of my brain knew I was severely screwed. The primitive lizard brain felt something more akin to WTF.
It had been a bad job well done. And now it was done.
I called Paul back again.
When you’re gobsmacked and you don’t know what else to do, you go to Olde Chalet and have a drink.
“See you there.”
(C) Susan Walsh 2018