Stumbling in Flats

The saga continues. Yesterday, I was to go to The Office Of Doom at 9am for one last time (hopefully) to pick up my belongings, the memory stick and finalise details of my employment and dismissal. I’m all psyched up but I have no idea what I am going to face.

I arrive early and call on the off-chance I can get this over with. No reply. Ten minutes later, one of the bosses hurtles out the door, so I go over to see what’s happening. Barely casting a glance in my direction, he shouts over his shoulder that he will call me later, he has to leave. Nice.

I go home. Do I still have my job for two months? What’s going on? My mum comes over for coffee. We go over every possible scenario. At half ten, I call the office. I need to get this over and done with.

The office junior picks up. I ask if I can come in. Of course I can. She sounds bemused. Everyone loves a drama. Coward that I am, I take my mum. We go armed with two bags and an attitude. The office junior is alone in the office. Apparently the boss has gone out to buy a memory stick.

I pack all my things, and while my mum makes the junior a cup of tea (!), I divert my emails, scribble a quick letter explaining I have left my ID card and could the memory stick be dropped off later. Collecting my mum from the kitchen where she is washing up and bleaching the sink, we leave, balancing a plant and two bulging bags between us. I look back, remembering the awful times. It’s history.

But will the memory stick be dropped off? Am I still employed for two months as agreed? There’s been no phonecall, no recognition of my letter, or that I have been to collect my things. I feel humiliated and worthless. Am I really meant to be treated like this?

But no matter what happens, I have my freedom. And dignity. Which is a lot more than can be said for them.