How to ruin Thanksgiving dinner without even showing up

One of my favorite things about my old job was the two hours of volunteer time we were allotted every month, which I spent with my kid brother under the cover of "mentoring troubled youth." I may have been laid off, but I'm sticking to routine, at least for now. Yesterday I met Shane at Java Joan's at the usual time. I saw my first Christmas tree of the year there, though I couldn't tell if they were done decorating it. There were only seven ornaments on it, and the lights didn't seem to work. Maybe Joan is making some kind of political statement.

We got our coffee and sat in our usual booth. Only this time when I asked Shane what was going on, instead of his usual initial response of "nothing," he launched straight into an impression of Rob bitching about how I portrayed him in the book. Rob claims he never drinks in the driveway like I said. "Never" is a matter of timing. He finished off part of the garage when I was in college and set up a card table and two chairs behind an old shower curtain so he couldn't be seen from the house. That was in response to Stephanie complaining about Shane always wanting to go outside to be with Daddy because he could see him out the kitchen window. Shane was 3 then. Please note in my book, Shane wasn't born yet. Stephanie was nowhere to be seen yet. Nothing Rob complained about was actually untrue. He just has a shit memory.

So while I was uninvited to Thanksgiving dinner, I was present as some kind of invisible guest, pilloried in absentia by Rob and his partner-in-moronity Pat Donovan at subsequently louder and louder volumes as the day progressed until Stephanie finally lost it. She slammed a wooden spoon against the table, snapping it in half and then tossed the handle on Rob's plate. Shortly after that, he and Donovan relocated to the gentlemen's lounge out in the garage. Apparently Donovan didn't find any of my descriptions of him flattering, either. (They weren't meant to be.)

Tis the season to be thankful

Every Thanksgiving at dinner, Drew's mom asks everyone to say one thing they're thankful for. Usually I can't think of anything, so I just say them, for inviting me. And everyone laughs, because it's the same thing I said last time. Seeing how I just lost my job and my book sales aren't exactly looking like they'll make up for the lost income (reminder, it's only a mere $3.99), I'm sure they'll understand if I fall back on the old gag once again tomorrow. But I've spent the last hour or so thinking about it, and I've come up with a few things that legitimately deserve mention.

Here's what I'm thankful for:

1. Yesterday outside Safeway, a woman and her daughter were giving away kittens. There were four in the box on my way in, and three left on my way out. I never had a pet when I was a kid. Rob never wanted one in the house. I don't think Janice did, either, but she would have caved if I had asked. Rob, not so much. I stopped and peered in the box just long enough to lock eyes with the mouthiest one. Black all over, with white paws and a white stripe on his nose. I needed someone, and he needed a home. I had to ask the woman to save him for me while I went back in the store and bought food, bowls, litter, a litter pan, and a little toy mouse. Free kittens are expensive. I'm not sure Drew was 100 percent in support of it, judging by his perplexed expression when he came home from work. But he knows me enough to know I'll clean up after it, so all he said was, "What's its name?" As it was literally biting and scratching me simultaneously at that moment, I went with Diafol, Welsh for Devil. It's not as mean to call someone the devil in another language. He is a little devil, but he's so cute, and he really seems to like me. So I'm thankful for Diafol.

One angry man, and a Thanksgiving dinner un-invite

My first free weekday since the layoff, and I went to bed early last night because I wasn't feeling well. I thought I felt a cold coming on, but I seem to have dodged it. Whew. I woke up to an interesting voicemail, though. It's been a while since I've scored a drunken screed from Rob. This one was quite the ramble. Give it a listen.


Here's what he said, if you couldn't make it all out:

"Jason, come on, man, I know you're there. I know you're there cause it's a cell phone. You just saw it was me, you don't pick up. I don't think I'd pick up if I was you either. Yeah, I saw the book. Ray Donovan had a copy on his iPad in the store. I saw it. He showed me the, all the parts. You know, you said when I asked you, you said there's nothing bad. You know there was nothing good. I didn't see one good thing about me in that entire book. Not the parts that I saw. You never appreciated anything I ever did for you, Jason. Nothing. Nothing. I hope some day, you know what I think would be funny, your kid writes a book about you, someday, and you'll get to see what he really thinks about you, and I bet you it won't be good. It won't be good at all. I'll laugh my ass off. I'll buy a copy of that book, that's for sure. I'm not buying yours. Ray wasted his money on it. You can thank him. You know, don't come over here on Thursday. You're obviously not thankful for anything, anything I've ever done for you, all the things I've ever done for you. No, not thankful. And don't bother apologizing. I know you won't mean it. I thought I knew you better than that. Ah, fuck it. I'm disappointed."

Finding hope among the Unlucky 7

Today was my last day at McGlothlin-Zilch. Yes, that's the real actual name of the company I've been employed by for the last eight years and four months. I no longer fear getting fired for identifying it, as I've already been kicked to the curb. The separation agreement I signed prohibits me from "disparaging or holding up to ridicule the name of the Company, its current and former officers, agents, and employees." Reporting that I was laid off does not violate that clause. (Also, I don't think making fun of the name "Zilch" is what they mean by "holding up to ridicule," but since I'm not a lawyer, I'll let you make up your own Zilch jokes and I'll leave that one alone. Though don't imagine for a minute that you'll hit on any my co-workers haven't already shared.)

And share they did this afternoon. All afternoon. We were walked out, one by one (there are only two security officers in our building and one had to man the front desk), starting at 10:30. Which would have been a long time already to sit around doing nothing if I had arrived at 8:30 like usual, but my boss (a true humanitarian, and I don't mean that in any sarcastic, severance-agreement-defying way) told us all to not bother coming in until 10:00.

So one-by-one the Unlucky 7 were debriefed in the most perfunctory and pointless of exit interviews (actual question: "Would you recommend McGlothlin-Zilch as an employer to a friend?") then relieved of our employee ID badges and marched to the front door. One-by-one we gathered in the Four Norsemen down the street. Sunil and Courtney got there first. I was third. The others trickled in as I nursed my ginger ale. I was the only non-drinker, which is why I never made a habit out of joining them on post-work outings. I do go to bars, but usually to see a band or for some other specific reason.

Ten ways to run out the clock after you've been laid off

If you've ever had problems getting motivated at work, try doing it after you've been laid off. Seven more days of this. I'm not alone, either. I can see it in the other "choppeds," as we refer to ourselves. Or "The Unlucky 7." That's literally half the team in the Seattle office that do what I do. What I did. I'm not doing it anymore, not even for the next seven days. Let the Mumbai crew get used to it. They'll be the ones taking on our work. For pennies on the dollar.

While I'm showing up and counting down the days/hours/minutes, here are some things I've been doing to keep occupied.

1. Scrubbing my personal data from my work computer. Any document, email, downloaded file, you name it, that I've saved over the past eight years is being reviewed and removed. Anything worth keeping goes onto a thumb drive. Most of it's not worth the space. Man, it's amazing how much crap you save on the off chance you might ever want to look at it again.

2. Shredding. Same general principle as scrubbing the hard drive, only you can physically see the progress. Our company has shredders in every printer alcove, which are meant for business sensitive information to be destroyed. I've found it's also an effective way to get rid of anything that might be incriminating or embarrassing, like cartoons I may have drawn of former co-workers and the Bullshit Bingo scoresheets this guy Benj and I used to mark up during team meetings. No sense taking the chance on someone mining that gold out of the recycle bin.

Slashed by the corporate reaper

If you think Halloween is scary, you should experience November in Corporate America. No treats, but plenty of tricks, all played on the employees. The cruelest part is you don't even see the Grim Reaper coming, because they're never wearing a hooded cloak or carrying a sickle. Just a wool blazer and a laptop.

The first sign is the hastily announced, mandatory staff meeting. When you get invited to an all-hands meeting that begins within the next half hour, rest assured, someone's getting laid off. Multiple someones, most likely. I was caught offguard the first time, four years ago. I thought something had happened to my boss's husband, because he'd been in the hospital the week before and she seemed suddenly so upset. He was fine. Four of my co-workers, not so much. That one came the week before Thanksgiving. Very festive. Every year since, the meetings have crept closer and closer to the start of the month. Almost like they never want us to be too sure when gallows-humor season officially opens.

This year's opened today. We got the meeting invite at 9:06. By 9:30, we were all gathered in the large conference room wondering who the unlucky bastards would be this time around. Things kicked off per usual, with a video presentation from our CEO Ed Slauss, or Slash, as we call him. From his cushy office in the Kansas City HQ, he small-talked us about all the trick-or-treaters they had in his neighborhood last night, how many Fortnite characters and Star Wars costumes he saw. Just a regular guy, connecting at the human level, like they taught in MBA school.