About three weeks ago I was unceremoniously fired from a job I’ve held for a little more than 6 years. I’ve never been fired before so, I admit, I took it personally. Unemployed, and from a volunteer position, no less. You know where I’m going with this. My three year old let me go.
Following an especially difficult trip to the grocery store, I was buckling a disgruntled Zack into his car seat when he informed me, “You’re fired, Mom!”
I was stunned, because really, where had he learned to say that? And then, shouldn’t he have warned me in some kind of formal performance review?
“So are you giving me two weeks’ notice or should I leave you here so you can call a Taxi?” I asked. He wasn’t amused. I continued my bitter monologue home. “Do you have someone in mind or are you just going to take this to the classifieds?” And then, “Remember to ask for someone who will wipe your tears, wipe your nose, and yes, wipe your bum. Not a very appealing job description. You may want to offer a salary with benefits.”
As I considered the untimely end of my career I couldn’t help but entertain my options. I could get a job where I only had to work 40 hours a week, where I could clock out at 5, catch a movie on the way home and then, well, go to bed. I could pursue more exciting avenues like becoming a secret agent or working at a waffle factory. Imagine, all those hours I would get paid for working.
But those thoughts were dashed the next morning when Zack came in to wake me up at 6:30.
“Mom,” he said. “I hungwee for beckfast.”
“But you fired me,” I said. “Last night. Remember?”
“Mooooooom,” he said, pulling on my sleeve. “It’s time to wake up.”
Employers these days can be so fickle. Especially when they’re not potty trained.
So I’m back on duty, full-time and uncompensated – well, at least with anything my bank will allow me to deposit. And there are perks. I can wear slippers to work. I get to go to the park a lot. My employer sometimes shares his Halloween dividends with me. And while it may be considered inappropriate in a more traditional work environment—the boss gives me lots of wet, sloppy kisses.
It’s a sweet job, really.