I met up with an ex-co-worker the other day. She had been laid off several months earlier. Her tan and happy face beamed into mine over a salad.
“I thought it was the end of the world,” she said, cheerily. “And it wasn’t! I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy, you know?”
No, I don’t know; because frankly, since she and the others were let go, frustration has been layered in amongst the work the “let-go” used to do, leaving us survivors a work lasagna heavy on task and light on flavor.
She looks great, this unfortunate, laid-off employee. Unemployment has been good to her. She had a little money tucked away, has a room-mate who has cut her some slack in exchange for a straightened place and dinner on the stove three nights a week. She runs in the morning, works in her garden, walks her dog, goes to job interviews when she can.
Her eyes twinkle when she talks. Her teeth look straighter. She appears to have lost weight and gained muscle tone.
“You look stressed,” she said.
Who, me? Stressed? Little Miss Taxpayer? Little Miss Monday-Will-Be-The-First-Paid-Holiday-Since-January -1? Me? The bus-ridin’, lunch-totin’, cheerful SOB pickin’ up the slack?
Nah. I don’t feel stressed. Why do you ask?
Ack. Don’t get me wrong. I know there are people who want jobs and are unable to find them. Believe me – I don’t want to look for a job.
But could I just be unemployed for a bit?
Terms of Endearment
35 minutes ago