i go from writing day 1 without facebook to day 1 without a job… who knew that tiny leaf i turned over the other day might precede the turning of the biggest leaf i’d have to fuck with in the last few years. this is my first layoff post-mfa. that changes things a little, that this one thing remains the same…that despite a master’s degree, years of experience and education, i still find myself at the bottom of the totem pole professionally. the first time i was “let go,” it was from an executive search firm while still pursuing my master’s. i was a writer/editor/researcher and the most i brought to the table there was editing expertise, or perhaps the name of a minority we might place in one of the fortune 500s in need of a woman or minority hire in order to be in compliance with the eeoc. she was juggling multiple businesses and having personal issues, so it was understandable when my boss, karen chung, ran out of money to pay me a full-time salary. she ended up hiring me back when she could, but i was certainly, suddenly, out of a job and without any notice. several years later, at the ad agency where i got my first taste of marketing and fell in love with branding, i was sad but not surprised when jeff “let me go,” almost as an afterthought, on his way out one friday evening. boeing had pulled out of the upcoming year’s ad campaign and they were responsible for over 40% of our income. it made sense to me. i even saw it coming. i remember smiling too hard and being way too reassuring of jeff who looked like he was headed out for cocktails as soon as he left the office. it felt really important to let everyone know that i would be just fine even though i was pretty devastated that i had to leave the coolest place i’d ever worked. the company was owned and operated by jeff and harriet, two very hip and very rich jews who were progressive to a fault, always on the lookout for the next best thing to market in this “new brand world.” the girls i worked with on the creative team wore designer jeans and t-shirts and raised the bar on casual dress for work with their colorful pumps and salon-ish white girl hair. i was the only black chick there, and though i never fully fit in because of it, i always held my own and was glad to be working with smart people. smart, cool people, unlike the smart, uncool people who are currently sending me condolences for my lost job and offering empty promises of help. i just asked my boyfriend, because i’m way too literal/don’t understand small talk/need basic truth, “why do they keep writing me saying, ‘if there’s anything i can do’?” he said they’re just being nice. oh. i breathed into his shirt, puzzling over the warmth of my day…i went to the beach today with a girlfriend. ate cereal on the couch for breakfast. i don’t have to go to work in the morning. or the next one, or the next one… today, also, a rather random burst of tears came while i emailed my thanks to the senior editor at the university where i worked last. she stood out, my tears revealed, as the only person i would truly miss working with. she was a real goddamned professional–someone and something i could really dig. she was also smooth, kind, and funny. the mom of two bi-racial daughters in college (as no one would ever guess), she confided one day over lunch that she was an atheist. i was fascinated. this dowdy, heavyset, white woman was married to a big, grizzly, beard of a black man who found christmas ridiculous when their girls were little. they didn’t play that tree shit. she admitted to struggling with combing their nappy (my word, not hers) hair and gave it to me straight on how to get my own girl in the best public schools chicago has to offer. laurie had a stroke recently, and now walks with a cane. sometimes i’d see her husband walking her to work in the mornings. he’d kiss her goodbye and with a flick of her stringy wet hair, she’d be on her way to the basement…to first tend to her gazillion plants, second, get coffee, and third, deal with whatever minor stresses had arisen for our small editorial team. i wrote her something about ‘writing her brought tears’ and i wonder(ed) how unprofessional was my humanness? earlier, i wrote other mildly inappropriate emails to these now-former co-workers, but what do i care? i used to clean our kitchenette when i didn’t have much else to do. kept the whiteboards clean, the fridge tidy. it was hard on me psychologically because i was the only black person around and here i was acting like mammy–washing dishes (only mine, but still), wiping counters, and shit. white people have such a sense of entitlement; blacks have such a sense of servitude. or maybe it was just our personalities. i do the same shit at home. if it needs doing, i’m going to do it. but i wonder how dangerous that is in an environment in which i’m trying to snag a career for myself… they saw my ability to keep shit afloat alright…in the supply room. my added duty became not more work to edit but privileges to order supplies. supply girl…mfa. my girl liz said that means i’m a MuthaFuckingAuthor. hmph. not just yet, my lizzyboo… whatever about all this though. i’m just ruminating on things that don’t amount to beans. i just find it ironic that lily white lila, hired the same day to do the same shit, still has a job and i don’t. and she doesn’t have a fucking master’s degree either. she was fresh out of undergrad with less experience editing and incidentally, she’s a jew too.
that’s all i have to say about my first day unemployed, or on “paid vacay” as some of my friends might put it… i haven’t returned phone calls and texts tonight because i don’t have the energy to tell the story again. i’m going to close my eyes now and enjoy the escape inside my head. the two i live with and love are fast asleep and the only thing that’s certain is that things could always be worse…
Nonfiction Woman 