It's too bright and sunshiney a day to lose your job.  But the sun doesn't care that you're now unemployed.  It has it's own job to do.

You had made it in early.  Some random dream (something about a wasp or something buzzing around your head, chasing you down a stairwell) had woken you up an hour earlier than usual.  And you hadn't been able to get back to sleep.  Where the random urge to head in early came from, you aren't sure.  But you got it, and so you did.  Go in early that is.  Whatever else you did that morning is between you and the mirror above your bathroom sink.

You have never been the first one into work.  Suzie is.  That's part of her job.  To get in early.  Turn on the lights.  Brew the coffee.  Get things turned on.  Even if it's not in her job description, she does it anyway.

And when Suzie is on vacation, it's usually Max or Fredia who beat you in and unlock things.  Max makes terrible coffee.  It's no joke.  Doesn't matter how he does it, even if he uses a K-cup, his coffee tastes like old gym socks.  Everyone at works always calls him the Anti-Coffee.  Max just shrugs and gulps down some of the coffee Suzie or you made.

Fredia doesn't make the coffee.  But the again, she owns the place.  So she doesn't have to.

But what she did have to do is tell you that the company was being closed down.  She must have known ahead of time.  When you got in early, Suzie was there, struggling with the door.  The two of you tried, but the passcode for the door alarm didn't work.

You tried calling Fredia.  You got a message saying her number was no longer in service.

Max got there, and that started the whole round of questions and no-answers all over again.  He also tried Fredia and got the same result.

It was the Landlord who finally told you all what was going on.

Fredia hadn't paid rent on the space in seven months.  He had gone in last night and switched out all the locks.  He spoke to Fredia four days ago, telling her he was going to do it.  She hadn't said a word.

The Landlord was decent enough to let you all in to get your stuff.  But he only let you in one at a time and he watched you gather everything up.  Once Max was done getting his stuff, the Landlord wished you all the best of luck and shut the door in your faces.

Suzie was crying and Max said he'd take her home.  There was also some kind of thing going on between the two of them, though they never actually dated.  It was against policy.  Well.  At least that's not an issue any more.  Maybe they'll name one of the babies after you.

So you are standing there, a cardboard box in your hands with whatever few bits of yours that the Landlord let you take, watching Max's car pull down the street.

The numb of waking up early is wearing off.  You were supposed to get paid tomorrow.  Do you have enough in the bank?  The first of the month is three days away.

He really should have seen this coming; but had he somehow overlooked the clues that might have warned him?   Had any of them had any idea that this was going to happen; though he suspected that the answer was going to be "no".   He mentally wished Suzie and Max the best, realizing that he'd been just staring at the empty space they'd been in a moment before.

He shifted the box back and forth in his hands, deciding in short order that he was avoiding leaving rather than jugging the box.    He mentally squared his shoulders then headed for the exit.

He didn't say anything to anyone on the way home, setting the box on the floor in front of the door long enough to gain entrance.   The box went on the kitchen counter, as he decided that he'd just go ahead and have that steak dinner he'd set aside for the weekend now.

And there was that bottle of scotch that his grandfather had left him.   Did he still have that in the bedroom dresser?    He turned on the television to ESPN as he wandered the apartment; changing into a pair of grey sweats before doing much else.

Within an hour both dinner and scotch were ready, and he popped down in his arm chair with both.   He let the game occupy most of his attention; and eventually consumed both, dozing off at some point without being aware of it.

In reply to Andrew Ferguson (msg # 2):

You didn't put enough pepper on the steak.  Otherwise, it was fine.  The scotch tastes like old movies from 1950s: some of the ideology might make you cringe, but part of you is on top of a chemical plant, shouting, "Made it Ma!  Top of the world!"

Didn't James Cagney's character blow up after saying that?

Another glass of scotch will help you resist the urge to Google that reference.  Some questions are better left ungoogled.

Cedrick Prates is on fire.  Your team consists of Cedrick Prates and all the other guys.  Well, once Brady Hannon comes back from that groin injury it will be Cedrik Prates, Brady Hannon, and all the other guys.  But for now, it's all about Cedrick.

Speaking of, Cedrick is standing over you.  "Hey.  Andy?  Or is it Andrew?  Anyway my man.  You're wanted."

He points at the lip of your empty scotch glass.  There's a wasp perched on the rim.

"Izz'ms paying attention?" the wasp buzzes at you.  "Izz'ms angry?  There iz no pay if there iz no work.  What izz'ms going to do?"

Cedrick nods.  "He asks a good question."

"Izz'ms must eat.  Pay the billz.  Zo hard thiz life of yourz."

"Truly a burden."

"Blood of Jedidiah Ferguzzzon. Izz'ms given to thinking of what comez next?"

Cedrick and the Wasp seem to be very interested in what your answer to that question will be.

He didn't think that he'd had that much to drink, but he was clearly hallucinating or something.    His alcohol addled brain couldn't come up with a better explanation; and he certainly couldn't have gone crazy...now could he?

It took a bit of effort to attempt to wave the hallucination away, but only served to bring him closer to sobriety.   He finally gave up on trying to ignore it and mumbled out something resembling an answer.

"I'll deal with it tomorrow."

In reply to Andrew Ferguson (msg # 4):

Cedrick and the Wasp are both silent a moment.  Then they lean towards you.  Close enough that you can feel Cedrick's body heat and smell the Wasp's aftershave.

"We will be back then."

You blink.  For a really long time.

When your eyes open, it's clearly much, much later.  It's still dark outside, but your cell phone says it's 3:27 AM.


You only have a slight headache pounding behind your temples.  Maybe you didn't have enough scotch?  No.  Feels like there's a layer of scotch tape all along the interior of your mouth.  A gurgling of mouthwash should make it go away.

You're a bit peckish.  The TV is still on, but the game has long since been over.  Now there's a rerun of that show on the screen. You know.  That show.  The one about the guy who's got the wacky neighbors? You catch a bit of it out of the corner of your eye as you go to the bathroom for that mouthwash.

That actor.  You know.  The actor who's always playing the middle aged dad?  Yeah, that guy.  He's arguing with a woman while they are making what you guess are cookies.  Something about it seems a bit off.

But that taste in your mouth isn't going to go away on it's own.  You should really brush your teeth.

It's now 3:32 AM.

It was some time before Andrew woke up, feeling a bit hung-over from the day before.    He had recollection of trying to put his phone on something within reach; so he ended up checking the floor to find it.

That accomplished, he made his way to his computer.   First priority, aside from some aspirin for the hangover; was to get his resume updated and distributed.    The sooner he got it done and out in the world meant that he'd sooner get back to work.

He had a pause though; was the experience he'd gained at his last job unique enough, or would it simply get lost in the haystack with everyone else's?

The phone screen has cracked.  When you set it down, it must have tumbled across the floor and smacked on the edge of the bookcase.  The crack isn't huge.  Just the upper left corner, from one side to the other side.  Like some high school geometry teacher was trying to diagram a triangle in that portion of your phone.

The phone still seems to be working.  For now at least.

I will leave what Andrew actually did for a living up to you.

You work on making the last few years of your work life sound relevant for a while.  A few weak rays of sunlight are poking in through the window near your desk.  You've been at this longer then you thought you had been.  It's already 6:32 AM.

A quick scan through Glass Door, Indeed, and the usual job sites show a few leads.  But the companies are ones you've never heard of.  Maybe this is a good time to try something outside your field maybe?

You're looking at the search bar for the latest jobs site you pulled up.  Maybe typing something different in will help break the flow?

What term will you use for the search?  Or feel free to do something else.