Freaky Freddy Gets Canned

It all started the day I lost my job. I had been an unhappy failure for years. I was 32 years old and still worked only bullshit jobs. The long string of lame jobs started when I flunked out of college more than a decade ago. I’ve worked at all the fast food places, some factories, and of course I’ve worked at some gas stations. With these jobs, I could never even hope to pay off my loans from college. So I’ve been doomed to be in debt forever. How could I hope to live the American dream with that hanging over my head?

Basically, I had been feeling pretty sick of everything for a good while. I could barely afford the whiskey I needed every day, let alone food. When I would happen upon a little extra cash, I would blow it on something worthless. I would visit Jake occasionally to blow money on a new tattoo. My latest tattoo summed up my feelings of late by saying: Earn Money to Keep the Poor Down. I needed a change, something to motivate me to keep living.

My boss fired me that morning; the morning after I got robbed. The robbing only confirmed my belief that all people care about is money. When, I was held up, the robber had a crazy look in his eyes that said he needed and desperately craved that money. I still vividly remember the tattoos of spiders and spider webs all over his arm. Instead of challenging the gun he might have had in his pocket, I gave him all the money in the store. Why would $500 be worth threatening the life of another person?

My boss was pissed and fired me almost immediately after the police left. He did it right in front of the regular morning customers. That uptight guy, Ray, saw the whole incident. He had a look of sympathy on his face. How embarrassing, my boss told me I was a worthless piece of crap not worthy to have a job in his country. He never liked me anyway.