Getting fired last month was the best thing that had happened to me all year. I mean don’t get me wrong. For the first two hours after that bitch∗ terminated me I sobbed with my whole body. Heaving up and down, I could barely utter a word. My dad, my boyfriend and my assistant bore the brunt of my hysteria. They reassured me that this was for the best; they reminded me how miserable I had been for the last year and a half. This was a good thing – a great thing. But still – they were the ones rejecting me. This was quite a beating for my ego to withstand. I was hurt.

Everyone knew the firing was bullshit; corporate rules they themselves created to a game they invented. So why had I lost the game? I knew I didn’t deserve this. Those that mattered to me knew it. So why did I give a fuck? I was so disappointed that they were the ones that ultimately kicked me out; I always wanted to be the one to leave. Gone were all the imagined scenarios of how I would go in and tell the bitch I was quitting. But it didn’t matter if I quit – or if anyone quit … there was no trumping her.

Beyond the hours, I gave work my passion, my creative ideas, my motivation. I wanted to believe in what I was doing so I came in everyday and gave it my all. As a practice I don’t do things half-assed and if it has my name on it, I want it to be outstanding – not just mediocre. Life is too short for mediocrity and while I’m not entirely black and white on the issue, one of my biggest struggles at work was that an environment surrounded me where mediocrity was the norm. Why do extra if good enough was good enough?

I always thought I’d l leave on good terms. No matter where I went, I imagined the lines of communication would be left open – bridges solid. I would have given them the expected two weeks notice. I would have backed up all my work, explained and transitioned everything to the next person, and documented completely. They always knew how well I documented!

They, however, did not give me two weeks notice. The bitch called me in during lunchtime on a Wednesday. By the time I got back to my office 10 minutes later, my phone was disconnected and my computer logged off. My security badge was deactivated. I gave them 4 ½ years and they gave me 15 minutes. I needed to leave immediately.

I wonder if the bitch feared her life or something. Did she think I would go loco and pull a Falling Down reenactment, smashing everything in sight? I had no such urge. I just wanted to get out of there very fast. So I packed up my office into the 6 shopping bags and multi-colored recycling bags I had stuffed in my bottom drawer. As I was leaving, the bitch had one last comment. “Will I hear from you again?” she had the audacity to ask. “I doubt it,” I managed to utter out and then waked down that gray, depressing hallway one last time.

No matter how much unfairness I felt at the time, I never felt vindictive or angry. I believe in the greater reason behind things and more importantly I believe in karma. I knew that it would come back around.

Never did I imagine karma would deliver so quickly. A month after the firing, I had arrived at a very good place. I was very happy. I felt like I was walking between the raindrops, the sun shone everywhere I went – I was euphoric. I was taking the summer to be with my son, to write, to travel, to figure out a better path.

I was sitting in Union Square when my old assistant called me from her cell phone. She was whispering so I could barely hear her. I wasn’t going to believe what happened she was saying. The bitch was fired.

The bitch was the Vice President of the branch of the company I worked for. She had been running this group for the last 20 years since the larger company acquired her smaller company. She commanded the group like it was still her own company, rather than a division of the larger company. Her better-than-them, apathetic attitude finally had some repercussions.

The bitch was trumped.


∗ I think that ultimately using the term “bitch” to describe my boss is rather cliché. However, it really fits. Calling her my boss would imply she provided any guidance, encouragement, mentorship or inspiration. Her name didn’t even appear on my paychecks. She was a self-centered, delusional, bitter woman who earns no other title than bitch in this account.

2 thoughts on “Bitch*

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