You're Fired!

It was Friday, the busiest day of the week and here I was strapping on an apron, my hair neatly tucked away under a ball cap. It was the end of my second week at a glorious institution I called work.

I’d been out of work for three months. I’d searched every job I could have in Historyville for a decent job in management, but no one responded to my applications. Then I’d applied for jobs in retail, but apparently they were well stocked too.

I know a great deterrent to hiring me had been the days I’d requested off. Every first, third and fifth weekends. Not only was it confusing, I was asking for a free pass on the days when they would be needing me most. No one who makes the bulk of their sales on the weekend wants to hire someone who won’t be there for the busy times.

Finally, I’d lowered my standards and applied for food service jobs. Finally someone called me in for an interview. An hour later I had a job answering phones for a pizza place making minimum wage. It wouldn’t pay the bills, but at least it would give me something and something was better than nothing.

I’d been there for two weeks and I was starting to get the hang of how it worked. I was starting to make friends, even if they were all teenagers. I was ready and pumped up for my first Friday on the job.

“I didn’t expect to see you here today,” one of my co-workers said as I began to fold pizza boxes, waiting for the phone to ring.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Because it’s Friday. Don’t you get your son on Fridays?”

“Oh, no, that’s next Friday. I get him the first, third and fifth Fridays.” I answered confidently.

“But Ogamy, it is the third Friday.” she said.